“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just so tired of it. I had the memorial. I need him to be dead in my mind. Isn’t that terrible? That’s awful. I can’t think about it anymore. I am so sick of wondering where he is, and this isn’t any better. It’s not any closer really to having a definitive answer. As far as I can tell, they aren’t going to be able to prove it’s him. So I’m not actually any better off.”
“What does Detective Reynolds think?”
“He never says what he thinks. He just says what he can or can’t prove. I’m so frustrated. I need this year to be over.”
“Do you want me to come over?” Mom asked.
“No. I need to go meet the bus in an hour or so anyway. Thanks for listening.”
We hung up, and I checked on Leah before going upstairs to Greg’s study. I braced myself for the smell as I opened the door, but it seemed to have dissipated and didn’t hit me as hard. I grabbed his brown leather journal and went back downstairs to sit at the island in the kitchen so I could keep an eye on Leah.
Slowly turning every page, I looked for any reference to a Melissa or MR or Syracuse. Nothing. I studied the note Call Karen at Omni S.D. When had it been written? I tried to figure it out based on the location in the book, but it was jotted sideways, so if he couldn’t be bothered to turn the book upright, then would he have made sure to turn to the next available page? No, probably not. On the next page of the book, “2009 Resolutions” had been written and underlined twice. If the chronology was to be believed, Call Karen was written sometime in late 2008 or early 2009. I didn’t think that was likely if Karen was the mystery woman. Our marriage was great in early 2009. No, I believed the note had been jotted on the backside of a randomly opened page, sideways, in a hurry.
I reread all the pages. Some comments were still endearing. Others were more puzzling. I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart. A line from a poem, maybe? And jotted next to it was “C!” which may have been intended for me. But Greg hadn’t liked poetry much. Or at least the Greg I knew didn’t. I felt a pang of tenderness. I wish I had known the real Greg. He had held everything close to the vest, protected. What were you protecting yourself from, Greg? I closed the book and got Leah ready to go pick up Hannah from the bus stop.
Chapter 28
We awoke on Christmas Eve morning to discover an unexpected snowstorm had hit Clinton. Almost ten inches of snow had fallen, and the grass and trees were covered in a marshmallow blanket that evoked Christmas spirit. Among the clamoring of high voices, I dug out snow suits and boots from the previous year—too tight all around, but good enough for one day.
After building a lopsided snowman and having a snowball fight that ended in tears—because with a three-year-old, most activities involved some tears—we retired in the comfort of the living room with mugs of hot cocoa. We hunkered down for the evening and played Memory and Candy Land.
When darkness fell, we all dozed in the living room, watching A Charlie Brown Christmas. I carried both girls up to bed. I watched them as they smiled in their sleep, dreaming of Christmastime magic, Santa, reindeer, and candy canes. As perfect a day as I could ask for. With Christmas music softly playing in the background, I lugged all the presents downstairs and wrapped them—brightly colored packages under a lit Christmas tree.
For the first time, I was alone on a Christmas Eve. I curled up on the couch, with the music and the lit tree, and sipped a glass of wine while I reflected on the year. Just as I was about to call it a night and head to bed, I heard a soft knock. Thinking I was imagining things, I waited. I heard it again. Someone was definitely knocking on the door.
I tiptoed down the hall and peered through the peephole. Drew stood on the porch, his hands in his pockets, staring at his shoes.
I opened the door. “Drew! What are you doing here?”
He stepped over the threshold and gently, unexpectedly, his hands curved around my jaw, and his lips crushed to mine. My mouth opened automatically. He pulled me to him, running his hands down my arms, then around my back. He shifted his weight and pushed me back against the door jamb. The desire swelled up in me so fast I couldn’t contain it and let out a sharp gasp. He pushed my sweater up, cupped my breasts, then trailed his fingers down my stomach. I couldn’t keep track of his hands. He kissed my neck, then sank to his knees and kissed my stomach. He stopped and rested his head against the top of my jeans. We were both breathing heavily, and my hands were immersed in his thick hair. I caught my breath and knelt on the floor in front of him.
“There is only one woman in my life, Claire.” His face was hopeful, filled with love, anticipation.