Darker Than Night

38

Lisa Ide realized she’d forgotten her glasses. She’d need them to read the tiny ornate print of the menu at Petit Poisson, where she was due in half an hour to meet two old friends from college. Over lunch and pastries they would have a grand time talking about long-ago allies and enemies. Maybe there’d be photographs to examine, old and recent. Lisa was looking forward to this lunch; it held the promise of being a real bitchfest.

She stopped walking and moved back against a building to avoid the flow of pedestrians. She was less than halfway to her subway stop. There was still time for her to return to the apartment, get her glasses, then take a cab to the restaurant.

Her mind made up, she began striding hurriedly back the way she’d come, breaking into a graceful half walk and half run to make the blinking walk signal at the intersection.

In the hall outside her apartment door, she fumbled with her keys and dropped them. Reminding herself she had plenty of time, she bent over and picked them up, then keyed the lock and opened the door. Within seconds she should be leaving with glasses in hand.

Where are they?

She’d read herself to sleep last night, a Michael Connelly thriller, and probably placed the glasses on top of the book on the nightstand before switching off the light on her side of the bed and dozing off.

But she’d taken only a few steps toward the bedroom when she recalled wearing the glasses in the kitchen this morning to read the calorie count on the cereal box. And later when she’d looked up a phone number in her address book.

She went to the phone on its table near the door.

No glasses.

The kitchen, then. I probably carried them back into the kitchen an hour ago when I got bottled water from the refrigerator. Of course! I must have set the glasses down when I used both hands to loosen the cap on the plastic bottle.

As she was moving toward the kitchen, she heard a slight sound from the bedroom, perhaps something falling.

She stopped. Leon must have taken ill and come home.

No, that wasn’t like Leon.

But if it’s anyone, it must be Leon.

Maybe he’d returned from the shop for something he forgot. She was here because she was absentminded, so why not Leon?

“Leon?”

She waited for an answer in the heavy silence of the still apartment. There was none. She called louder: “Leon!”

Okay, he must not be home. The sound from the bedroom had simply been something falling over—a picture frame, maybe—or had been from the apartment upstairs. Or perhaps the faint noise had been only in her imagination. Lots of possibilities. She didn’t have time to worry about them now.

Lisa continued on her way to the kitchen. As she walked through the door, she immediately saw her glasses lying next to a folded dish towel on the sink counter.

Great! Nothing to do now but snatch up the glasses and be on my way again.

As her fingers closed on the thin steel frames, she glanced at the digital clock on the stove. Still plenty of time.

She was leaving the kitchen when she noticed the bouquet of yellow roses in the center of the table.

She stopped cold, then went over to look at them. There were half a dozen of the freshly bloomed, cut yellow roses in a plain glass vase with water in it, no card. Quite beautiful. She couldn’t resist leaning over the table and sniffing the nearest blossom, enjoying its fragrance.

Leon again? Another of his mystery gifts? Like the strange earrings I discovered in my jewelry box, the ones he’s pretending I had for years and forgot about?

If so, she wasn’t supposed to find the roses yet; they were a surprise for this evening. Did he think it was their anniversary or her birthday? Either was possible. He’d gotten the dates of important occasions wrong before. Lisa remembered when the shop had been forty-eight hours early for Valentine’s Day, which the sale sign Leon had placed in the window proclaimed as TOMORROW. Lisa had to smile.

She thought about calling her husband’s name again, or double-checking to make sure he wasn’t in the bedroom.

But if he was in the bedroom, it was because she’d surprised him by coming back to the apartment unexpectedly, and he didn’t want her to know he was home. He was hiding, hoping she wouldn’t discover him or the roses.

Lisa stood wondering what to do, then decided she should do nothing.

Let Leon have his fun. Maybe he knows what he’s doing. He might be leading up to something. Like a European vacation or a Caribbean cruise.

Lisa left the apartment, making sure the door was dead-bolted behind her. This evening she’d pretend the roses were a big surprise. Whatever was going on was weird, but there was nothing to do but roll with it.

Only when she was back on the crowded sidewalk, waiting for the traffic signal to change so she could cross a busy intersection, did she let the thought occur to her fully: What if somebody else put the roses in the kitchen and went into the bedroom when I returned home unexpectedly?

Somebody not Leon!

“Move it or lose it, lady!”

The light had changed to a walk signal. A florid-faced little man was trying to get around her, bumping her hip with his attaché case. Threads of sparse black hair were plastered across his otherwise bald scalp, and he was wearing a natty gray suit and what looked like a blue ascot.

“Move it or—”

“I never heard that one before,” Lisa said. “Is it copyrighted?”

The fussy little guy did what she should have done—ignored the remark.

She let him pass and stride out ahead of her as they crossed the street.

Beyond him Lisa could see Petit Poisson’s sign.

And was that woman in the blue dress Abby? The pudgy one hurrying into the restaurant?

If so, she’s put on weight. Lots of weight.

Lisa forgot all about the yellow roses as she quickened her pace. She didn’t want to be the last to arrive at the restaurant.

A person could get talked about.