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That evening, after the last patients had unloaded their sorrows or shared their latest breakthroughs, Dr. Fein locked up his office and climbed into his silver Lexus.
The car was his pride and joy, and one of the few possessions he’d been able to salvage after the divorce. Sarah had done a thorough job of laying claim to most of their assets and gaining custody of the children, forcing him to pay the mortgage on what was now her house, along with three years of alimony, child support until the kids turned eighteen, and all the rest.
Dr. Fein fumed over the fact that this outcome had been driven by Sarah’s quitting her job as an office manager for a law firm to “spend more time with the kids” and “be a real mother to them.” So she’d said. Dr. Fein believed now that her ten-plus years outside the workforce had been part of a larger strategy. An exit strategy, in which she would end up with the house and kids and he would end up footing the bill.
Dr. Fein scowled as these thoughts revisited him, once again making him feel impotent and used. Why were men always paying for women’s petty schemes? Sarah could go and throw away a job, extra income, benefits—all for the kids. Everyone would “ooh” and “ahh” over her and admire her motherly instincts. But if he did that—well, people would think he was insane. What kind of a man quits his job to be a house-husband? No real man. Not even by today’s loose standards.
As he pulled into the lot of his favorite Chinese restaurant, Dr. Fein found himself mentally comparing Sarah to Lila. Now Lila (for all her irrational fears and impulses) was a woman he could respect to an extent. She wasn’t looking for a meal ticket; she was earning her own keep. Her desperation for money may have driven her to make a foolish decision, but it was her own decision and, he had to admit, required pluck and nerve on her part.
Sarah would never have done such a thing. Sarah was too conventional—in every possible way—to get mixed up in such business. No, Sarah chose a time-honored and conventional way to get her money—by extracting it from her ex-husband.
Dr. Fein seated himself and ordered his usual chicken lo mein. He dined at this restaurant about once a week since moving into his apartment. He’d never been there with Sarah—he avoided all restaurants they’d frequented, hoping not to see her or deal with her unless it was absolutely essential. Yet despite these evasive maneuvers, he could often feel her invisible presence—like a ghost—across the table from him.
He could even hear her voice. Her endless chatter, which had seemed to get more and more inconsequential the longer she’d been out of the workforce.
Even now Dr. Fein could feel Sarah’s presence in the empty chair opposite him, hear that voice—that voice!—and he concentrated hard on tuning it out. Concentrated on exorcising the ghost. Replacing her, perhaps, with Lila. He thought of Lila and wondered what it would be like to have her in that seat, instead.
When he finished his dinner, Dr. Fein decided to call Lila once more. He pulled out the patient list he kept in his briefcase in case of emergencies and dialed her number.
The phone rang endlessly. Maybe he should run by her house, he thought. Just to make sure she was okay. He noted the address, then made his way to Route 29 and took it north toward Columbia.
Lila lived in an older section of Columbia, a well-manicured planned community. Her small house had a cramped rectangle of yard, but tall, leafy trees lined the road. Dr. Fein parked across the street, several feet up from the house—a spot with a good view of the front, flanked by trees. He sat for a moment, watching the place.
Evening had fallen, and the house was still—the entire neighborhood was still, as if no one lived there—as if he were on a vacant set for a television series about
life in the suburbs.
As Dr. Fein pondered this, a light snapped on in Lila’s house, emanating from the front window like a beacon. Lila marched into view talking on a cell phone. She appeared upset—waving her free hand about, her expression drawn, her brow furrowed. She wore a robe, loosely tied at the waist. As she walked, Dr. Fein could see flashes of black pubic hair or dark underwear—he wasn’t sure which. One shoulder of the robe slipped off to reveal a black bra strap. Dr. Fein was still staring as Lila walked to the side of the window and drew the curtains shut.
Through the light-colored curtains, Dr. Fein could just make out Lila’s silhouette as she paced about the living room. The light went out.
A few minutes later, a black Escalade pulled up in front. Two men climbed out, walked to the door, and knocked. The living room light came back on. Lila answered, and a conversation ensued. One of the men—the taller, thinner one—seemed to be edging his way inside. Dr. Fein couldn’t read Lila’s expression from where he sat. Eventually she appeared to relent and let them in.
The living room light went out.
Several seconds later, light came from another window facing the street—possibly a bedroom. Dr. Fein slipped out of the car and approached the house. He thought of calling again but decided against it. If the men were threatening Lila, she wouldn’t be able to talk freely.
As he walked by the SUV, he checked the back window and saw a red decal with writing on it that he couldn’t make out. He didn’t stop to read it.
Dr. Fein crept toward the window where light filtered out from behind a blind. Suddenly the blind snapped up and one of the men stood in its place, looking out at the darkened yard. Dr. Fein pitched face forward to the ground. His middle-aged body landed with a dull thud.
He ventured a peek at the window, where the man, framed by shutters and light from the room, didn’t seem to notice him. Dr. Fein realized the man was squinting, not looking his way at all. The light indoors was probably obscuring his view. In fact the man might simply have been looking at his own reflection.
Finally the man walked away from the window, leaving the blind up. Dr. Fein grunted as he rolled over and brushed off his grass-stained khakis. Creeping on hands and knees, he made his way to the window and crouched near it. Then he rose slowly, hugging the brick façade. Cautiously he craned his neck to peek inside the room.
The three of them were in her bedroom. The tall man, who had his back to the window, must have been doing all the talking because Lila just stood, nodding, her lips parted and her chin quivering. The shorter, stouter man leaned against the wall by the door, a smile plastered on his face and one of those silly-looking phones clipped to his ear—the kind that make you look like a robot. The tall man gestured broadly as Lila kept nodding, her indigo-eyed gaze riveted to the man’s face.
The robe had slipped further off Lila’s shoulder, revealing one cup of a lacy, black bra. When Lila finally tried to speak, the tall man grabbed the robe and ripped it off her, flinging it aside. Lila stood, shaking, in her bra and matching bikini panties. The man with the ear phone laughed and applauded, as if his friend had performed a magic trick.
Dr. Fein’s mouth hung agape, allowing a gnat to fly in. He coughed and spit it out, then looked inside to see if anyone had noticed. Apparently no one had. Relief washed over him, but tension took its place as he thought that if anything more happened, he should call the police. Give an anonymous tip. But then they’d have his cell number. And how would he explain his lurking around outside a patient’s house? A female patient, no less. What a field day Sarah would have with that. It was already hard enough to enforce his visitation with the kids. He could picture her painting him as a Peeping Tom. Then there was the licensing board to think about. Jesus. Dr. Fein cursed Lila’s stupidity for getting involved with these men, even as he fretted over what they might do to her.
Fortunately the tall man merely said a few more things to Lila and abruptly turned and left, followed by his companion. Dr. Fein scuttled around the corner of the house until the two men appeared outside, crossed the yard, and sped away in the Escalade.
Dr. Fein ventured once again to the window. Lila, who’d apparently forgotten the blind was open, lay on the bed, face down, banging her fist against the mattress. Eventually she rolled onto her side and stretched out, facing the window. Her face was red and eyes puffy. She stared without apparent comprehension.
Dr. Fein was torn between wanting to comfort her, wanting to help, and wanting to steer clear of the whole business, for his own good. He stood arrested by the sight of her slim, young form in her underwear. Body so firm, skin so creamy. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, and he drank in the image, impressing it in his memory.
He remembered then that he could take photos on his cell phone—a function he rarely used. He cursed himself for not remembering this before the men had left.
