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He returned to the bed and pulled his phone from his pocket. He tried Trey’s mobile number. The call went directly to voice mail. He hung up. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. Absurdly, he felt embarrassed, as though it were actually he, Connor, who’d been caught out.
No. No. No.You’rethe victim here.
This was a reminder he’d find himself repeating over and over again in the coming days and hours. He flung down the phone on the bed and then lay down beside it.
Confusion reigned.
He wasn’t sure what to do, how he should react, or even what he should be feeling. All sorts of options coursed through him—rage, bewilderment, betrayal, paranoia, self-blame, and even a hint of disappointed sadness. This was, after all, the man he’d just married.
And now it was over.
Who was the failure here?
None of this seemed real. He almost expected to hear the door open and Trey to return. Somehow, everything had to be a huge joke. Or, more likely, a misunderstanding.
He rolled over on his side and stared out the window for a long time, refusing to think, pushing away his feelings. The world in his view continued apace. The houseboats, he was sure, were full of happy people in their romantic homes. Businesses and homes across the water, in the Eastlake neighborhood, went on about their lives without a care—what to have for dinner? What movie should we see this weekend? Can I skip the gym today? Even the stalwart Cascade Mountains in the distance appeared serene and at peace, their craggy gray tops capped with snow.
He pulled the phone over and tried Miranda.
She picked up on the first ring. “We left the folder out. He didn’t come home yet, did he?” These were her words in lieu of a simple hello.
He didn’t know what to say.
“Daddy? Daddy? Are you there? Is everything okay?”
He didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t even know, really, what he wanted from her.
“Hello?” She sounded as shaky as he felt.
He hung up the phone and pressed the button on its side to shut it down completely. And then he curled more deeply into a fetal position. For the first time in years, he stuck his thumb in his mouth.
Part Two
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE APARTMENT WASN’Tbad, not really. It was just that Steve Marsden was used to so much more—views, space, the luxury of knowing he lived in a home worth around a million dollars. He knew he didn’t need the space or the prestige. It was simply hard to settle for ground chuck when one got used to filet mignon.
Now, for the first time in twenty years, he was on his own. His job selling women’s shoes at Nordstrom paid more than most people thought, but in a bustling metropolis like Seattle, heavy with high-tech money, he’d discovered the hard way just how much he could afford.
Gone were the dreams of living in a place like the gayborhood of Capitol Hill, with its bar– and restaurant-lined streets, its views of Lake Union, downtown, and the Space Needle. He could remember when the neighborhood was more affordable, when it was possible for someone like him to live there. That is, if he didn’t reach for the stately homes on the quiet streets around the busy and trendy areas. Fremont, dubbed the Center of the Universe, used to be kind of funky, a home to artists and hipsters, but was now all overpriced condos only those in top positions at Amazon and Microsoft could afford. Ballard? Once a home to fishermen and working-class folks? Forget it.
Steve counted himself lucky to inhabit his little studio way up north, near the Northgate mall. His apartment was in a small development on Meridian Avenue, a bit farther up, and a bit more downtrodden, than the home he’d shared with Rory in Maple Leaf. The condo he’d once inhabited with Connor was way out of reach. They’d bought it for around $250,000 back in more reasonable times. Now, the fourteen-hundred-square-foot place was worth over a million.
Ridiculous.
But Steve loved Seattle, had lived in the area all his life—he grew up in Tacoma—and had no intention of ever setting his sights on elsewhere, no matter how tempting lower-priced real estate might be.
And now, on a quiet Saturday morning in August, he was content as he surveyed his domain. It was really just one room, not even all that big, with a utilitarian bathroom off the main living area. A kitchenette, hidden behind a screen, took up one wall. His couch folded out into a surprisingly comfortable bed, just like Mary Richards’s had back in her heyday in Minneapolis. Across from it, pushed against the wall, was a glass-topped desk on which sat his big Mac desktop computer that he relied on for almost everything outside the apartment. He used it as his TV, streaming Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, and BritBox. He used it to shop for clothes on the Nordstrom website (it just wasn’t feasible to go elsewhere with his employee discount, especially when sales happened). Groceries he had delivered from Whole Foods, which was linked into Amazon.com. The iMac was also his portal to men, although with all that had happened over the past ten months, he’d had trouble getting up the courage to brave the treacherous waters of dating once more. Mr. Hand and his four sons were constantly in demand, and Steve had just about settled for the knowing pleasures they could reliably produce.
In his relatively new place, he even had a view of sorts, although nothing like what he’d had when he was with Connor. His picture window looked out on Meridian, a fairly busy two-lane street that ended on the south end at Green Lake. There was a community college, office buildings, other apartment complexes, a few houses who’d managed to make it through redevelopment. One such office building was across the street, but big pine trees mostly hid it. The pines gave shade and, if he squinted in just the right way, he could imagine he was in a cabin in Mount Baker National Forest.
Most Saturdays, he worked. But he had this particular one off and, now, back from a run down to Green Lake and back, he found himself bored…and lonely.
After the nightmare break-in and warning at the house he’d shared with Rory, he’d followed his intruder’s advice and stayed away from Connor.
He occasionally spoke to Miranda, but the conversations were so guarded, so careful to avoid her father, that their calls and meetups were becoming few and far between. The young woman he’d once thought of as his daughter seemed to be disappearing before his eyes, fading into a mist of memories.
Everything changed.
