I do, but there’s no answer. Fifteen minutes later I call again, and he fails to pick up this time too.
Then I make the kind of snap decision that’s rare for me. After brushing my hair and swiping on blush and lipstick, I jump in the car and head to Sam’s cottage on the outskirts of Salisbury. The breakfast with his parents is surely long over by now, and he’s probably doing his best, like me, to process last night.
I’ve visited the cottage only twice in the past: the first time was last summer, when Jamie wanted to drop off a package for him. The second time, and the most excruciating one, was this past December. Sam had hosted a chili dinner for seven or eight people, including the violinist he was dating. By then my infatuation was ballooning at a terrifying rate, like the plant Audrey II inLittle Shop of Horrors, and my efforts to stop it met with no success. I did my best not to look at him directly that night.
I remember the location of the cottage easily, and after about twenty minutes, I take a left onto the long private driveway of his parents’ property. It’s a spectacular piece of real estate, about sixty acres of rolling lawns, meadows, and woods, passed down over several generations, according to Jamie. I soon spot the main house. It’s a large but tasteful clapboard structure with a beautiful stone terrace wrapping around the front. One day it will all be Sam’s, though Jamie always said his friend felt more at home in his own small place.
Halfway down the gravel drive, I veer onto the short dirt road leading to the stone cottage, nestled in a cluster of fir trees. My pulse races at the sight of it.
Sam must be home. His car is sitting in the area that’s been cleared for vehicles and his bike is leaning against the cottage.Will he be okay with me stopping by unannounced?I suddenly wonder, then remind myself that he shared my bed last night so he can hardly think it’s too brazen.
I park my car and climb out. The air smells piney, and it seems slightly cooler here than in town, probably because of all the trees. When I visited before, I didn’t dare let myself think how lovely it was, but itis.
As I approach the cottage, I notice classical music coming through one of the windows. Bach, I think. I’m about to knock on the door when I hear the scrape of a chair behind the house and realize he must be out back.
I drop my arm and proceed along the side of the cottage. Rounding the far corner, I finally see him, sitting in a wooden Adirondack chair on the small stone patio.
He’s not alone, though. A woman is sitting across from him, resting her bare feet in his lap.
29
FOR A COUPLE OF SECONDS, I FREEZE, UNSURE WHAT TO DO.Sam is facing away from me, so he doesn’t spot me, but the woman definitely does, and even from a distance, I can see her squint in curiosity. I’m pretty sure it’s not the violinist, though this woman is also a brunette. Maybe that’s Sam’s type.
Grabbing a breath, I spin around and retrace my steps, moving quickly but notfleeing. I have nothing to feel ashamed about, and there’s no way I’m going to race to the car like I’m being pursued by zombies.
I feel dumb, though—for so many reasons. For showing up here without warning, for harboring a tiny belief that something more than sex was blossoming between Sam and me. And maybe even for misjudging Sam. Is the reserved, erudite, somewhat mysterious, often disheveled professor actually the playboy of the Western world?
“Kiki?”
It’s Sam’s voice calling from behind me. I’m so disconcerted, I hadn’t even heard his footsteps. I stop and pivot until I’m facing him. He’s changed shirts since I saw him last, and the sandals have been traded for black sneakers.
“Sorry,” I say, and then regret the instinctive urge to apologize. “I didn’t realize I was barging in on anything.”
“Is there some new development?”
“No, but you asked me to give you a call, and when I couldn’t reach you by phone, I decided to drop by.”
He exhales a sigh. “I just called to see how you were—plus I wanted to find out if you’d given your statement to the cops yet.”
“Fine, I guess, and yes. What about you?” I’m pretty sure my tone suggests that at the moment, I don’t give a fuck what his answer is.
He narrows his dark brown eyes, perhaps surprised by the edge in my voice. But how could he not be aware of how this unexpected glimpse of another woman would make me feel?
“I’m okay,” he says. “And yeah, I gave my statement, too.”
“The guy I spoke to said they’re in touch with the detective on Jamie’s case. I’ll text you if I hear anything.”
I turn to close the distance to my car.
“Kiki, wait,” he says.
Reluctantly, I face him again.
“I had these plans for a while and—”
“Please,” I tell him, putting up my hand. “No need to explain.”
He tries to say something else, but I don’t give him a chance, just jump in my car and take off. As dumb as I feel for popping by, I’m now resigned to the facts. Yes, Sam was attracted to me, but it wasn’t more than lust, and just because he’d slept with me didn’t mean he was going to refrain from hooking up with someone else the next day. I need to get back to where I was in March—intent on bulldozing him from my thoughts once and for all.
