I wrote back, thanking her for the reminder.
I had actually forgotten and walked down to the basement kitchen, taking the loin chops out of the freezer and putting them under running water. The text from Miranda was strange, as was the overly sentimental good-bye. Was she up to something sinister? Or was it possible that she had broken it off with Brad and was suddenly contrite? Even so, that didn’t take away from what she had already done to me.
I went into the adjoining wine cellar and picked an Old World Syrah that would go nicely with the lamb. I opened the bottle and decanted it. The chops were starting to soften so I left them in their plastic wrap in a bowl of cold water, and went upstairs to the living room. I hadn’t seen the paper yet that day, so I sat in the leather recliner and read the day’s news while sipping a gin and tonic. After a while, I put the paper down and just thought about Miranda and Brad and Lily and everything that had happened, or that was about to happen, since meeting Lily on the plane from London. I kept involuntarily flashing back to the dream I had awoken from that morning. That awful feeling that once you’ve murdered someone you can never go back and unmurder them. You will never again awake from a dream and be able to lie there, telling yourself that your life may be a catalog of sin, but that you are not a murderer. And I suddenly realized that my plan to kill Miranda and Brad had become a means to an end, had become a way to get closer to Lily, and that I didn’t necessarily need to commit murder to get there. I could simply tell Miranda I wanted a divorce, then e-mail Lily and ask her if she were free for dinner. No one but us would ever know about the plans we had made. Miranda could have Brad, and I’d have Lily, and the world would keep on spinning. I had always been good at compartmentalizing, and I would put all my rage and shame over what had happened with Miranda into a box and close it. I would hand my marriage to the lawyers; half of all my money was more than enough. A feeling of relief swept through me. It was like waking from a bad dream and realizing that it was just a dream, that it hadn’t actually happened.
The doorbell chimed, and I jumped a little in my chair.
Walking to the door I instinctively looked at my watch. It was just past six. Who would be stopping by? I told myself it was probably a deliveryman, and tried to remember if I was waiting for a package.
I put the chain across the door and swung it open five inches. It was Brad Daggett, a slightly embarrassed smile on his face. It took me a moment to register that Brad, from Maine, was on my doorstep in Boston. It felt incongruous, like seeing a man in a tuxedo at a country fair.
“Ted,” he said, and he sounded a little breathless, “I’m glad you’re here. Can we talk?”
“Of course,” I said, undoing the chain and opening the door. “Come on in.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. There was no good reason for Brad to come all the way from Maine to see me. He was halfway into the house and I pushed slightly against the door, stopping his progress. “Brad, what are you doing here?”
“Just let me in, Ted. I’ll explain.” His voice quivered, and I could smell the booze on his breath. Our eyes met, and I was suddenly scared. I pushed a little harder against the door, but Brad wasn’t moving. He fumbled in his jacket pocket and I looked down at the gun he had removed. “Let me in, Ted,” he repeated, and I stepped back as Brad entered my house.
CHAPTER 14
LILY
“Addison, what’s the matter?” I asked.
“Fucking Nolan,” she said, and came through the door, following me down the stairs. She was brushing rain from her coat, spatters of it striking the back of my head.
“You two have a fight?” I asked as we entered our flat.
She looked at me, wiping tears off her cheeks with the palms of her hand. “He has a girlfriend back at TCU. A serious girlfriend.”