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Anyway, as a result of Vivian’s nesting in her own apartment I’ve been without her in my bed for three days. I’m aware she needs a breather, and her brother moving a few states away wasn’t easy for her, so I’ve let her be. I fell into my old routine of working night and day, and honestly? I’ve been enjoying it.
Yesterday I found another site in Clear Ridge that would make an excellent spot for business professionals. Lawyers, massage therapists—one-man-or-woman shows in need of sophisticated, mature workspaces. The buildings are dated, and not in the sexy way the older buildings in Cincy are, so I’m probably looking at a raze and rebuild.
Flowers in hand—a spur-of-the-moment purchase from a guy at a red light on the way here—I cross the street toward CRBI to surprise Vivian under the guise of telling her about my idea and wooing her away from her desk to come take a look at the site with me. The last time I heard from her was yesterday afternoon. Just a quick text about how she and Amber just ate the best sushi in town. I’m glad she has a close friend at work. Her guard seems to drop a little more every day.
I convinced her to take the Grand Marin job, by the way. I don’t know if the sex put her over, or if her being in the office helped her envision her future, but I’m damn excited about it. Owen Construction’s home office is handling the particulars for the time being. She insisted on giving Daniel notice and I insisted on giving her time to get used to the new normal. Walt in Chicago. Her at Grand Marin. And soon, her in my house full-time.
I smile to myself. I have to be careful with her, but I’m okay with that. She comes around eventually, I’ve learned.
Stepping into the bureau, I nod as I walk past reception. Elizabeth knows me by now. The grandmotherly woman continues speaking into the phone while waving me through. I stroll past a copy machine and a few tall file cabinets and arrive at Vivian’s cube wall.
“Delivery for Ms. Vandemark,” I utter, thrusting the flowers through the opening while the rest of me stays hidden. When I don’t hear an answer, I step around to reveal myself and find her cubicle empty.
A squeak of a chair turns my head. Amber leans out of her own cubicle. “She didn’t come in today.”
My brow furrows. Amber matches my expression.
“She didn’t call you?” she asks.
“No. Did she call you?”
She shakes her head, and concern causes my stomach to do a barrel roll. My phone is to my ear a second later. While I listen for the ringer, I hand the bouquet to Amber. “For you.”
She probably thinks that’s weird, but I don’t wait around to find out. I’m walking at a fast clip past the copier and past Elizabeth and out the front door. No answer. The ringing gives way to a message and I leave a voicemail.
“Vivian, it’s Nate. Call me as soon as you can.”
I peck in a text message communicating the same and then cross the street to my Tesla and drive to her house.
The first of Vivian’s neighbor’s doors I bang on answers. An elderly woman in a pair of pale green polyester pants and a loudly patterned floral shirt listens as I calmly explain I haven’t heard from Vivian today and I want to make sure she’s all right. I already knocked on Viv’s door and rang the doorbell. I also tried the windows, which were locked tight. I stopped short of breaking and entering.
“That nice man who was living there gave me a key,” the woman tells me. “Her brother, I think it was,” she’s calling out as she rummages through a drawer in her kitchen. I’m nervous and worried. I check my texts. Nothing.
“I can’t give it to you, though,” Viv’s neighbor tells me with earnest concern. “I was entrusted with a key and I can’t let just anyone inside.”
I force a smile even though my patience has dwindled. “That’s fine.”
She toddles across the stoop to Vivian’s door and opens it. She turns around, probably to tell me she’ll go inside and check without me, but I’m already in the living room.
“Vivian!” I shout, calm but loud. The kitchen is clean, dishes in the rack. They’re dry. Not a drop of water on them. The oven is cool. The coffee pot empty and sparkling.
Back in the living room, I notice a basket of laundry in mid-fold I missed when I blew past it. Almost like she was interrupted. A stack of folded clothes sits on the coffee table. The TV is on, a big bold MUTE in the corner.
I jog down the hallway and quickly search the two bedrooms and the bathroom.
When I return, the neighbor lady is wringing her hands from the doorway. “Should I call the police?”
Fuck. Is that where we are? Mind spinning, I nearly leap out of my skin when the phone rings from my back pocket.
“Vivian,” I answer.
“Nate, hi. Sorry, I was asleep.”
A whoosh of air leaves my lungs and I put my hand to my chest to calm my racing heart. Seems ridiculous to spout out that she is to never do this to me again, young lady! but the urge is there all the same.
Instead I manage, “Are you okay?”
There’s a pause long enough to put my heart through its paces again, but then she says, “I’m in Chicago with Walt.”
