“This sign.” She pointed to the notice. “It says you’ll be gone for twenty minutes but it doesn’t say when you left.” He shrugged again, so she didn’t make a federal case out of it. “Do me a favor.” She scribbled on a pad of paper sitting on the desk. “If Tommy comes back, please call me immediately.”
“Sure thing, ma’am.”
“I’m not a ma’am, I’m a miss.”
Tyler returned to the penthouse and unlocked the door. Stale smoke clung to the air, unmoving, so she opened the windows, but the sluggish breeze barely stirred it. Seeking relief, she stepped onto the balcony, inhaling deeply as she gazed over False Creek.
White boats—some were yachts like Sebastien’s—traveled through the water as the tiny False Creek ferries to Granville Island zipped between them, rippling the waves. A few kayakers bobbed up and down, using their paddles to steady themselves in the wake. People walked their dogs along the seawall, and others ate ice cream—although it wasn’t warm yet—without a care. She smiled at an older couple wearing matching outfits and holding hands like teenagers—she wanted that, without the coordinating clothing. Cyclists raced along the path, which was poorly marked out, and there were a few near misses with pedestrians—not a shocker.
Vancouver was beautiful, no doubt about it, and it wasn’t the city’s fault for Dave being a cheater and an asshole.
“Come here, buddy!” she called her dog.
Rory bolted onto the concrete deck, nails clicking against the surface as he pressed his nose to the glass barrier, tail wagging in excitement.
She took out her phone and snapped a picture. “Look at thisphotograph,” she said to Rory. Unlike Dylan, she was a fan of Nickelback.
The hockey game was about to start so she went inside with the miniature panda and sank into Cary’s comfy couch, stretching her legs until she was horizontal.
A little while later the washing machine buzzed and Rory jumped to his feet, waking him from a snooze. He followed her into the laundry room, presumably looking for cookies.
“This is some serious bullshit,” she said, transferring the wet sheets into the dryer.
To Rory’s disappointment there weren’t any cookies in the laundry room, and he gave her a look that said,This is total bullshit.
Her phone vibrated. It was Cary on FaceTime so she answered the call without video. “You’re never going to believe what happened,” she said, turning down the volume on the TV.
“You can tell me in a minute,” he said. “I’ve got some news myself.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m almost at your place.”
“What? I’m at your place.” She elaborated, “I was dropping off your suit, not moving in.”
He laughed. “Thanks, babe. I’ll see you in five.”
Sure enough, five minutes later Rory hopped down from the couch. The sound of keys scraping in the lock was enough to set him off.
“Rory! How’s my boy?” Cary kissed him and turned his head. “It smells like smoke in here.”
“I know,” she said, not standing to greet him. This was more “sitting” news. “It smells like a bingo hall, but that’s not the worst of it.”
“What’s wrong?” He dropped his bag on the floor. “Other than the obvious.”
She frowned and took a breath. “Does Tommy have keys to your place?”
“Fucking Tommy?” His eyes flashed open and he laughed. “Are you kidding? Why would you ask?”
“Please stay calm.”
“What’s going on?”
She paused for a moment, not sure how to break it. “I saw Tommy coming out of your elevator earlier today. Tommy and Lara, that is.”
“What?” He furrowed his brow. “What the hell?”
“I know,” she said. “When I came up here I smelled the smoke. There was a cigarette butt in your bedroom.”
