Brain Damage, page 13
part #2 of Prescription: Murder Series
“Yeah, I know.” Clark smiles sheepishly. “But I thought I’d stick around here another week. I changed my return flight home.”
He did what?
I am completely stunned. Stunned. I don’t know what upsets me more, that he did this without telling me, or that he intends to spend an extra week alone on our honeymoon. That’s a weird thing to do, right? It’s not just me, right?
“What about your job?” I ask him.
“Oh yeah,” Clark says. He glances over at Pierre, who is still standing there, overhearing every word of our exchange. “I quit my job.”
“You what?”
Suddenly, I can hardly breathe. I feel Clark’s hand on the small of my back. “Charlotte, can’t we discuss this later?”
I look up at Pierre. Admittedly, I don’t want to have this conversation in front of Pierre any more than he does. “Fine.”
The bellboy helps us upstairs with our luggage. I know I should be in total bliss right now. I mean, I’m on a honeymoon in the Bahamas with my handsome husband. It’s every woman’s dream. Instead, I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I just can’t believe he lied to me like that.
When we get up to our hotel room, the bellboy lingers at the door, and I realize he’s waiting for a tip. Clark is already in the bathroom, so I suppose it’s up to me. I have no idea what to tip a bellboy. I reached into my purse and pull out five dollars, and hand it over.
“Thank you, Miss,” he says. He hesitates for a moment then says to me, “Miss, I have to tell you, you have the most unusual and beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Are they violet?”
I lower my eyes, embarrassed. “Just blue,” I mumble.
“Exquisite,” the bellboy says.
I suspect he’s complementing me to squeeze more money out of me for his tip. That’s sort of a rotten trick.
Fine, I’ll give him an extra dollar.
After the bellboy leaves, Clark stays in the bathroom just about forever. If this is some sort of scheme on his part to make me forget how furious I am with them, it’s definitely not going to work. I sit on our queen-size bed, staring at the wall, thinking of everything I want to say to him. I don’t even turn on the TV. I don’t want any sort of distraction from my anger.
Eventually, Clark comes out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a Speedo. The lean muscles on his chest that first attracted me to him bulge enough to almost make me forget my anger. Almost.
“So,” Clark says with a crooked grin, “do you want to hit the beach?”
“No,” I say. “I want to talk about the fact that you quit your job without telling me.”
Clark rolls his eyes. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“It is a big deal,” I insist. “I’m your wife and you’re supposed to discuss these decisions with me.”
In all honesty, even though I’m still really angry, it gives me a bit of a thrill to refer to myself as his wife.
“Well, you weren’t my wife when I quit,” he points out.
“When did you quit?”
“A month ago.”
I almost choke. He’s been keeping this from me for an entire month? What the hell? This just keeps getting worse and worse.
“I’m starting my own law practice, Charlotte,” Clark says. “You know that’s always been my dream. I’ve always wanted to be my own boss. I hate having to wear a tie and always groveling to some asshole.”
“So you’re not even going to try to join another practice?” I say.
“What did I just tell you, Charlotte?” Clark’s voice has taken on an inpatient edge. Like I’m stupid for even asking. “I hated that job. Quitting was the best thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.”
“So what’s your plan exactly?”
“Well,” Clark says thoughtfully. “I was going to rent myself a little office, and then start advertising online for clients. There are plenty of lawyers who work independently. I don’t need a big firm to be successful—if anything, they were holding me back.”
I’ve heard him mumble about not loving his job, but this is all news to me. Then again, we’ve only been together for eight months. Which suddenly doesn’t feel like nearly long enough.
“Did you rent an office yet?” I ask.
“Not yet.” He raises his hands defensively. “Look, I needed a break. I’ve got a list of places I’m checking out.”
“And do you have any clients?”
Clark frowns. “I can’t get clients if I don’t have an office yet.”
Yes, exactly.
“You should have told me,” I say, attempting to keep my anger in check.
“It didn’t concern you though,” Clark says. “I would’ve done it whether or not I was with you.”
“You would have?” I shoot back. “You really would’ve quit if you didn’t have my income and savings to support us? What money would you have used to rent the office?”
Clark winces. I hate myself for saying that, but I can’t help but feel it’s true. I make a lot of money working full-time as a dermatologist, and I’ve got savings and investments on top of that. It’s enough to support both of us very comfortably. And I happen to have noticed that Clark loves my spacious Central Park-adjacent apartment and definitely appreciates the finer things in life.
Also, even though he’s secretive about his finances, I get the feeling he doesn’t have much in the way of savings. He’s not exactly financially savvy. I really don’t believe he would’ve quit if he didn’t have me. I don’t know if he could have quit if he didn’t have me.
That said, maybe it wasn’t the best choice of words. I feel like a huge bitch right now.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I want you to be happy. I really do. I just feel like you should consult me before you make any big decisions.”
Clark nods. “You’re absolutely right. I’m really sorry. Next time I have a big decision to make, we’ll make it together. Okay?”
Clark leans forward and I feel his strong arms encircle my body, and then his lips against mine. I’ve always thought that Clark and I had amazing kisses. I used to believe it was some sort of amazing chemistry the two of us had together.
But now, for the first time, I start to wonder if maybe it’s not about us at all, and maybe he’s just a very good kisser.
Chapter 29
Thirteen Months Before
Clark may have a lot of good qualities, but now that we’re living together and married, I’m definitely becoming aware of some of his bad qualities. For example, his laundry never makes it into the laundry basket. He can drop his laundry on our bed, the bathroom, our sofa, or even in our kitchen, for God’s sake, but not once in the laundry basket. One time I found a dirty sock next to the laundry basket, nearly touching it, and I applauded him for getting it that close.
Another bad quality of his is that he’s lazy. God, is he lazy. Soon after we got back from our honeymoon, I asked Clark while he was sitting on the sofa, watching television, when he was going about renting some office space. He didn’t take it well.
“I just got back from a trip, Charlotte,” he said.
“You just got back from a vacation,” I pointed out. “In the Bahamas.”
Clark shut off the television and turned to me. “Look,” he said. “The thing is, I’m short on funds right now. So I don’t know if I’m going to be able to afford any office space. But, you know, I’ll make it work.”
“Without an office?” I shook my head. “Clark, you’re my husband. We can pay for an office. It’s not a big deal.”
Clark avoided my eyes. “I don’t know if I’d feel right about taking your money.”
“Don’t think about it that way,” I said. “This is an investment in our future.”
So I ended up going online and looking up office space listings. Everything in Manhattan was out of control expensive, but Brooklyn wasn’t too bad, so I printed out some of the more reasonable listings. And yesterday, Clark proudly informed me that he had found a space to rent out.
“Do you want to come see it?” he asked me.
“Of course!” I said.
The office is in Brooklyn Heights, in a slightly decrepit brown building that doesn’t look like anywhere I’d like to be late at night. We took a taxi to get there, and I plan to call a taxi to get home as well. But Clark is a man, and it’s not such a bad neighborhood that I’d worry about him here, at least during the daytime hours. And I definitely don’t see Clark burning the midnight oil.
The office itself is in a suite he shares with another attorney. He explained that the furniture all came with the office: the rusty file cabinet, the splintery wooden desk, and the creaky wooden chairs. I decide that for Clark’s birthday, I’m going to buy him a really nice, expensive desk for the office.
“What do you think?” Clark asks me.
“Looks great,” I say.
“It’s all because of you, you know,” he says as he envelopes me in his arms. “I never would have had the nerve to go off on my own if not for you, Charlotte. You’re, like, my inspiration.”
I’m also his bankroll. But no. I shouldn’t think that way. Like I told him, he’s my husband. This is an investment in our future. Together.
“So are you putting an ad in the paper?” I ask.
Clark groans. “Charlotte, I just got the office.”
Some investments are better than others.
_____
I know this is going to sound weird, but I feel like lately, I’ve been seeing Stan Leroy everywhere.
Ever since that day he confronted me at the diner, I feel like I’ve been seeing his face out of the corner of my eye. Then I’ll turn and he’s gone. It’s the strangest thing.
I went into our patient records and looked up his address, and he doesn’t live anywhere near me. Yet I did see him at that diner, so maybe he knows someone around here. Or maybe I’m not actually seeing him at all, and I’m just going insane.
While I’m picking up food from a Chinese restaurant to bring home for dinner, the guy behind me in line keeps staring at me in a really unnerving way. He’s definitely not Stan Leroy, and the man isn’t scary-looking or anything (although I’m trying not to look), but the whole thing is really bothering me. I keep stumbling over my order of chicken with broccoli for me and moo shu pork for Clark, and have to ask the cashier to keep repeating what he was saying.
“Okay, what’s the name on that order?” the cashier asks me.
“McKenna,” I say.
No, I haven’t changed my name since getting married. I’ve been Charlotte McKenna for thirty-six years. My medical license is under that name. Changing my name would be like changing my entire identity at this point. It’s just not worth it.
I step aside to wait for my order, when the guy who’s been staring at me finally says: “Charlotte, is it?”
I whirl around to study my would-be stalker. He’s maybe in his forties, dressed in a suit and tie like he just came from the office. To be honest, he doesn’t look all that frightening. My first guess is that he must be a patient. I can’t tell you how many times I run into patients in public, and they expect me to remember them. As if that mole check was so incredibly memorable. Usually I have to fake it.
When he notices the look on my face, the man puts out his hand for me to shake. “Kenneth Landers,” he says. “I used to work with Clark at Gregory and Patterson. You guys recently got married, didn’t you? I heard about it on Facebook.”
Oh my gosh, it’s one of Clark’s colleagues. That is so much better than a patient. I’ve hardly met any of Clark’s friends, and I’m not sure if I’ve met even one person he worked with before.
“That’s right,” I say, taking his outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Landers says. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended you didn’t invite me to the wedding.”
I blush. “It was a really small ceremony. Just the two of us in City Hall.”
“And you were okay with that?” Landers raises an eyebrow. “Wow, Clark really is a lucky man.”
“Thank you,” I say, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes at the cliché.
He grins. “We’ve all been dying to meet the beautiful woman who finally made an honest man out of Clark. I can’t say I blame him.”
This time I really do roll my eyes. “Thank you,” I say again.
“So how has married life been?” Landers asks me.
“Great,” I tell him, glancing over to see if my food is ready. It isn’t. “I feel bad I never got to see the practice.”
Landers laughs. “Well, that’s okay. I don’t think they’d ever let Clark back in there after what he did when they let him go. God, it’s been over a year and people still talk about it all the time. Because of him, they never fire people at the start of the day anymore.”
What? What is he talking about?
“Excuse me?” I say.
Landers raises his eyebrows. “You mean Clark never told you about his epic last day at G & P? Oh man.”
“I’m afraid I missed that story,” I say weakly. “But… you said it’s been a year since he’s worked there?”
Landers frowns thoughtfully. “No, I’d say probably a little more than a year.”
My brain fills up with so many questions, it might explode. I might explode. When Clark and I met, he told me he was working for G & P. That was the job he apparently quit right before we got married. Except now it seems like he hasn’t worked there in over a year. And oh yeah, he got fired.
No wonder Clark never introduced me to anyone he knew from work.
I’m going to kill my husband. I will murder him. I will murder him so bad that they won’t be able to identify the body.
“Order for McKenna!” the guy behind the counter calls out, right in my ear. For God’s sake, I was standing right in front of him.
“Thank you,” I say through my teeth. I look in Kenneth Landers’s direction and force a smile. “It’s been so nice meeting you. I… I have to get going.”
“Nice meeting you too,” Landers says. “Hey, maybe we could get together sometime. My wife would love to have you and Clark over at the house. We’re out on the island.”
“Sounds great!” I say with forced enthusiasm. “Just send Clark an email about it.”
Yes, that will ensure that I never see Kenneth Landers again for the rest of my life.
I walk home, clutching the pungent brown paper bag of Chinese food in my fist. I’ve completely lost my appetite. Honestly, I feel like I’m going to throw up. How much do I really know about Clark Douglas? It seems like half of what he told me about himself has been a lie.
And why hasn’t he let me meet his parents? What’s that all about? I initially accepted that it was simply a strained relationship, but now I wonder.
When I get upstairs, Kitty greets me at the door. She meows loudly to let me know she’s starving. Apparently, Clark never bothered to feed her while I was at work. Even after all this time, Kitty has never entirely warmed up to Clark, and vice versa. I should have listened to Kitty in the first place. Even my cat has better sense about men than I do.
As I dump a can of Kitty’s gourmet cat food into her bowl, I hear Clark turning off the water in the shower. Why is he showering in the middle of the evening? Is there something that he’s washing off of himself?
No, I can’t let myself think this way.
I’m standing rigidly in the middle of the living room, still clutching the Chinese food, when Clark emerges from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, whistling Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. I can see all the well-defined muscles in his chest and I have to admit, my anger fades slightly. He may not work hard, but he always at least makes time to work out. He runs a hand through his wet hair and grins at me.
“Perfect timing,” he comments.
I take a deep breath, my heart slamming in my chest. “When was the last time you worked at Gregory and Patterson?”
Clark stops mid-stride. I could tell from the look on his face what the answer to my question is. “A little while ago,” he says carefully. He’s obviously trying to figure out how much I know.
“Define ‘a little while,’” I say through my teeth.
Clark laughs unevenly. “What kind of question is that?”
I drop the paper sack of Chinese food on our coffee table so aggressively that I practically throw it. I fold my arms across my chest. “The kind of question you can’t answer, apparently.”
Clark doesn’t say anything for at least a minute. Finally, he sighs and runs his hand through his wet hair. “Who told you?”
“Kenneth Landers.”
Clark frowns.
“I ran into him at the Chinese restaurant,” I explain.
“Right,” Clark mumbles. He sinks down into the sofa, running a hand nervously through his hair again. He looks up at me with those blue, blue eyes. “Charlotte, I’m so sorry I lied.”
I don’t join him on the couch. “How about you tell me the truth?”
“Like, what part?”
“Like all of it!” I plant my hands on my hips. “Start with why you got fired.”
“I just couldn’t keep up, Charlotte,” he says weakly. “The pace they expected at G & P was ridiculous. I mean, they wanted us to bill for two hundred hours a week. I was always a week behind. They gave me a few warnings, but I just couldn’t perform at the level they wanted. So they fired me.”
“Okay…” I say.
“I thought it was really, really unfair,” Clark continues. “I was super pissed off about the whole thing and I wanted payback. Everyone knew that old man Patterson was fooling around with his receptionist every afternoon during their three o’clock ‘conference call.’ So I decided to schedule a little meeting with his wife at three-fifteen. Well, you can guess what happened.”
I wince. “Wow. That’s gutsy.”
“And dumb,” he says, shaking his head. “Patterson blackballed me so that no law firm in the whole city would touch me. I basically ruined my whole life for a little bit of revenge.”
“Christ,” I say. “So how have you been paying the bills?”
