Page 15 of Nine Lives

“Okay, fine,” Jessica said. “I’ll come get you in five.”

After Aaron left, she tried to call Jay Coates, the one in California, one more time. He didn’t pick up, and she considered leaving a message, one a little more urgent than the one she’d left before, but decided against it. It probably wasn’t him, anyway, and why scare him if it wasn’t necessary.

6

Friday, September 16, 6:14 p.m.

Matthew Beaumont had forgotten that Nancy and he had dinner plans with the Robinsons, but walking into the kitchen and seeing his wife dressed in her favorite green dress made him remember.

“We’re going out?” he said.

“You forgot.”

“Only a little bit.”

“I talked with Michelle and we agreed to meet at the restaurant. The reservation’s for six-thirty, and Michaela’s going to be here any moment, and that gives us just a few minutes to go over the kids’ schedules with her, so please get dressed fast, and I don’t think you have time for a shower.”

In the bedroom Matthew found that Nancy had laid out an outfit for him, a pair of tan chinos and a button-down shirt that was supposed to be worn untucked. He stripped out of his suit, applied fresh deodorant, and got dressed, his mind going over the evening ahead, trying to figure out if he should tell the Robinsons about the letter he’d gotten the day before, and about the FBI agent who came and collected it from him at the office today. The agent had mentioned to him to keep the fact of the letter to himself, or more specifically, the other names on the letter, but had shrugged when Matthew told him that he’d already shown his wife. It was a good story, the letter, and if he was just having drinks with Pete Robinson, or with Michelle, for that matter, then he would definitely tell it. But he was mindful of Nancy’s reaction to the list the evening before, and how suspicious she’d been, and didn’t know how she’d be if he brought it up at dinner. And he definitely didn’t know how she’d react when he told her that an agent had called him at his office, then sent another agent to take the letter away as some kind of evidence. Actually, he did know how she’d react. For one, she’d become convinced that it was some sort of sexual blackmail list. And she’d also freak out that Matthew had taken the list with him to work, instead of simply throwing it out at home. It would prove his guilt, somehow. But the only reason he’d taken the list with him into work was so that Nancy wouldn’t happen upon it again and get upset.

When he came back downstairs, in his new outfit, he was assaulted by Alex racing through the foyer, wearing one sock and sliding on the floor, kicking off with his bare foot.

“Don’t get a splinter,” Matthew said, but Alex was already around the corner into the large living room.

He could hear Nancy speaking and entered the kitchen, where she was giving directions to Michaela, one of the teen girls from the neighborhood who’d been their primary babysitter for two years now. They loved Michaela because she could manage Alex, or at least she always reported at the end of the night that he’d been fine. His wife and the babysitter were on opposite sides of the granite island, and Matthew made sure to keep his gaze averted from any part of Michaela that wasn’t her forehead. She’d recently transformed from a stick insect into a young woman with curves, and wore, like all the girls her age, yoga pants that still looked like nothing more than underwear to Matthew, and a striped shirt that didn’t quite meet up with the top of the pants.

“Emma can do what she wants, of course. Don’t worry about her. And if Alex can’t settle down after dinner, then it’s okay if he watches one of his shows but only from his Netflix account, don’t let him log onto ours.”

“He doesn’t know the code,” Matthew said.

“He probably does,” Nancy said, while Michaela nodded, smiling. Didn’t she used to have braces? Matthew couldn’t remember, but if she did, she’d had them removed.

“Okay. He probably does.”

“He’s fine,” Michaela said. “Last time he taught me a video game he likes to play. Okay if we do that again?”

“Sure,” Matthew said, “but you might want to let him win if you don’t want to see a temper tantrum.”

“It’s not a winning game, exactly,” Michaela said. “More of a world-building game.”

As they drove to the restaurant, Nancy was quiet for thirty seconds, and Matthew was thinking of telling her about the FBI, when Nancy spoke first. “I don’t think Michaela should keep babysitting if you’re going to flirt with her the way you do. It’s perverse.”

Matthew sighed, as silently as he could, then said, calmly, “Nance, trust me, I was not flirting with Michaela. It’s impossible because I have no interest in Michaela. She’s a child.”

“I’m just telling you—”

“I know what you’re telling me, and I hear you, even though you’re wrong. We can talk more about this, but not right now, okay? Let’s try to have a decent night out with our friends.”

Two hours later, as dessert arrived at their table, Matthew marveled that dinner with the Robinsons had actually been nice. Nancy, despite her earlier mood, seemed to relax as the evening went on. Glasshouses was a farm-to-table bistro that had recently expanded to include an outdoor patio with heat lamps, and that was where their table was, underneath the night sky. The cool air was filled with the smells from the wood-fired grill. Matthew’s duck breast had been delicious, and he allowed himself one bite of the tarte tatin with salted caramel ice cream, telling himself he definitely would go on a run the next morning.

He was seated across from Michelle Robinson, and next to Pete, which allowed the men to talk Patriots while the women talked about their children. But after dessert they’d all agreed to one more drink each, and now Matthew was talking with Michelle and sipping port, while she told him about her trip down to New York to see Hamilton. No one would describe Michelle as beautiful. She had short legs and heavy hips, and her features were a little too large for her round face, but Matthew had always harbored a small crush on her. It had begun at a backyard barbecue the previous summer, one thrown by the Cartwrights, mutual friends of Matthew and his wife and the Robinsons. A late afternoon storm had marooned Matthew and Michelle inside the Cartwrights’ pool house with a group of shivering children who had all fled from the pool. Matthew and Michelle had been looking at a shelf filled with children’s toys, mostly neglected or broken or forgotten, and Michelle said, “I’ve entered the portion of my life where everything fills me with sadness.”

“Have you?” said Matthew, shocked by the sudden confession.

She’d laughed. “Sorry, did I say that out loud? I’m being dramatic, or that’s what Pete would say. I just feel like the exciting and mysterious parts of my life are over, and now everything fills me with nostalgia. Truthfully, I’m just being a baby about growing old.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Matthew said. “Being young was scary, but it was also interesting.”

She laughed again, and because they were standing so close, Matthew could smell the wine on her breath. “I think that’s what I miss,” she said. “Life being interesting.”

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