I look at him, holding my breath, waiting for the answer, thinking that a yes would explain so much of her animosity toward me. Yet I can’t imagine her holding this back for so many years—not when she throws far smaller things in my face.
Sure enough, Nolan says, “No, she doesn’t know any of this. Nobody knows….Everyone thinks he was going to get a burger.” His voice shakes, but he continues. “The next day, when your parents asked me to call Daniel’s friends, I took his phone….I knew his pass code…4265….”
“Why was that his pass code?” I ask. It is beside the point, but I still want to know.
“It spells Hank. For Hank Aaron.”
“Oh,” I say, thinking of the baseball card that he used to keep in his wallet. How my parents had tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket right before they closed the coffin. I swallow, willing myself not to throw up.
“So, anyway, I knew his pass code,” Nolan continues. “And got on his phone and checked his call log….I prayed that he’d called someone else after we talked…maybe Sophie before she got on her flight….But no.” He shakes his head, then takes a deep breath, trying to keep it together. “The last two calls were with me.”
“Two calls?” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “The first was fifty-two seconds. When I asked him to come get you.”
“And then you called back?” I ask softly.
“No. Then he called me about fifteen minutes later…to tell me he was leaving the house. On his way.”
“Do you remember that call?”
“Of course I do,” he says. “It was the last time I ever heard his voice. It was the last time anyone ever heard his voice….”
“How long did you talk that time?” I ask, sure that he knows the answer.
“Fourteen seconds. Fourteen fucking seconds. You know why it was only fourteen seconds?”
“Because he was driving?” I ask, thinking of how responsible Daniel always was about driving. About everything.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Because I was in a hurry to go….That girl I was talking to was on her way outside…and I didn’t want her to leave without me….”
“Was she gone?” I ask.
“Almost,” he says. “But I caught her on the way out the door….I went back to her apartment…and I had sex with her….And now?”
I squeeze his hand, giving him the strength to continue. “Now I can’t even remember her goddamn name….”
chapter twenty-four
MEREDITH
On Sunday morning, I awaken to the sound of distant church chimes and a sharp chill in Ellen’s simple whitewashed bedroom. Shivering, I pull the goose-down comforter up to my chin, rolling over to face the window. The curtains are drawn, but sheer enough for me to make out the silhouette of a ginkgo tree, its twisted, bare branches bending toward the windowpanes.
I wonder what time it is, but can’t tell by the flat northern light. It could be as early as seven, as late as nine. I decide it doesn’t matter, a realization that is more disorienting than liberating. So I reach for my phone, shocked to see that it is a few minutes past ten, about the latest I have slept since Harper was born, at least when neither of us is ill. The mere thought of her sets off a fresh quake of homesickness. No matter how surly she is in the morning, I am always happy to see her face first thing, her cheeks flushed, her hair a tangled mop. I close my eyes and can almost smell the odd maple-syrupy scent of her skin after a long sleep.
Suddenly desperate to hear her voice, I call Nolan. He doesn’t answer, just as he didn’t answer last night or yesterday afternoon, my only update coming from Josie when she texted me a photo of Harper embracing Rabby, along with the caption Reunited and it feels so good! My heart flooded with relief as I texted her back immediately, virtually begging for the details, adding extra exclamation points and question marks. But three hours passed before she wrote back a glib reply: Found at Legoland. All’s well that ends well. Enjoy your vacation.
I call Nolan again, listening to the futile sound of ringing, followed by his chipper outgoing message. This time I leave a message. I calmly ask him to please call me back as soon as he can, doing my best to keep agitation out of my voice. I know I have little standing to be angry, yet I am anyway. Yes, I am the one on a boondoggle in Manhattan, but it all unfolded at his prodding. His virtual insistence. And now he is punishing me. Cutting me off. Making a point. This is what your life will be like without me, without us. I tell myself to get up, seize the day, and embrace my soul-searching sabbatical.