Page 12 of The Vow

I should be training. I should be sparring. Cable is going to kill me, but not before I kill Nick. Nick’s youngest daughter, Julie, is seven years old. The eldest, his son Bart, is eleven, and Trixie is nine. Every morning, he drops them off at school, opens the bar, and every day at exactly two-thirty in the afternoon, his wife picks them up. It’s a Brady Bunch scenario, except that Mr. Brady didn’t sport tattoos like Nick does.

I dialed her number using my cell phone. “Brenda. Anything?”

“Not a fucking thing. I’m going crazy, Pip.”

“Me too. Listen. Have you called the school? To see if the kids are there?”

“Yeah. I did. And they are, thank God.”

Brenda and Nick met under unusual circumstances. Back in the day, he liked to busk on the corner of Fifth and Main, not because he needed someone’s spare change, but because he enjoyed sharing his music. I had to admit that he was pretty good at strumming that old guitar. On a sultry day in July, the downpour came out of nowhere. While others ran for cover, Nick stood there playing and singing a tune by The Hollies. Later that night, he told me that he thought he was going nuts because he had heard an angel singing the chorus. It was Brenda who stood behind him, drenched, mascara running down her cheeks, and smiling through the melody. “Nobody warns you that love can strike as quickly as lightning,” he had said. It was the one and only poetic line I’ve ever heard him speak. They were married a mere six months later.

“Good. I’ll free up your line. Call me if you hear anything.”

“I will. Thanks, Pip. My Neanderthal of a husband could learn a thing or two from you.”

I continued pacing to take inventory of my humble abode and see if there’s anything I should hide from the enchanting Alex. I tossed the Nokia in a drawer, picked up my socks from the bedroom floor, and then chastised myself because there’s no logical reason why she should enter my bedroom.

“Ma che cazzo!?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Alex froze, one slim leg hanging over my windowsill. The white button-down shirt she was wearing looked exactly like the one in my closet.

“Exactly!”

“It means ‘exactly?’”

“No. It means ‘what the fuck.’ What the fuck are you doing climbing through the window?” I asked, stuffing my socks in my jeans pocket.

“I like to be different,” she said.

“Different.”

“Yeah. Would you prefer boring? Nice room,” she added, before I could answer her.

“Let me help you,” I said, extending my hand. “Have you ever been arrested for breaking and entering?”

“Don’t be silly. It’s not breaking and entering if you’re expecting me. Any news?”

Alex is unlike a strike of lightning and more like a cyclone, uprooting everything in her path.

“No. Hi, by the way.”

“Hi. Lead the way,” she said, closing the window.

“I talked to his wife. Their kids are safe at school.”

“How many kids?”

“Three.”

“Has he ever pulled a stunt like this before?” She was walking around the living room like someone who browses an antique store. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and she was fresh-faced except for a hint of lip gloss.

“Not that I know of. Brenda’s a pretty tough lady, so the fact that she’s worried tells me it must be serious.”

“That’s his wife, I assume.”

“Yeah.”

“I like it.”