Chapter 22

22

I wrapped a blanket around myself, opened the front door, and made my way down to the street. Nico turned toward me, and I waved, giving him the all clear to open the front gate.

I reached the end of the driveway, looked at the man sitting inside the car, and hollered, "Seth, what are you doing here?"

He left the motor running, exited the vehicle, and walked over to me. He didn't say anything at first, so I stood there, giving him a chance to speak before I did. Behind me, I heard footsteps, and I turned to see Giovanni making his way toward us. He stopped to chat with Nico, but I knew he was there to keep an eye on Seth.

Seth still hadn't said a word, and since awkward silences weren't my cup of tea, I broke the silence for him. "Seth, is there something you want to talk to me about?"

"I'm … there is, yeah. I know it's late. I thought about waiting until morning, but I knew I wouldn't get any sleep tonight if I didn't come over and talk to you. So here I am, okay? I mean, I hope it's okay. Is it okay?"

I wasn't sure what to make of everything he'd just said, so I kept it simple. "It's all right. I know what it's like when something is on your mind. If you're like me, it's better to deal with it sooner than later."

He shoved his hands inside his pockets, kicking a few loose pieces of asphalt and nodding. "I came over to say … you know … to say I'm sorry about what happened earlier today. I'm sorry for the way I treated you."

"Please don't take this as me making assumptions, but did Kayla send you to talk to me tonight?"

"In a way. We had a long conversation, and she suggested I make things right. It was my decision to drive over."

The coastal air sent a chill through me, and I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders. "Do you want to talk inside?"

He glanced up at the house. "I'd rather not. Can we just talk here?"

"We can … it's just a bit cold out tonight."

"I understand. I won't keep you long."

He went quiet again.

Maybe he'd said everything he'd come to say, but I suspected there was more, or he wouldn't have still been standing there.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about?" I asked.

"I … yeah. Cordelia was my friend, and I don't have many friends—not good ones."

You don't say.

"Did you spend much time with her?" I asked.

"Oh, I stopped in here and there after Marlon died, to see if she was doing all right and if she needed anything."

"How did she seem when you saw her?"

"Sad, depressed, quiet. She made a comment once about not having anything left to live for, and it worried me. It's the reason I started visiting more often."

"Did you worry she might take her own life?"

"Nah. She was too savvy of a woman to do anything extreme like that, but some days I got the impression she was checked out, not listening to me when I was talking. I'm not suggesting she was rude. I think she had a lot on her mind."

"Are you saying she had more on her mind than the loss of her husband?"

He considered the question. "I guess I am. She mentioned her sister to me once. She said she wrote her a letter, and her sister didn't write back. With Marlon gone, it was even more important for her to mend their relationship. She didn't believe her sister would have any interest in patching things up, though, and as far as I'm concerned, she was right."

As unfeeling as Claudette seemed when we met, I wondered if she would have had a change of heart if there had been more time to consider it—time she'd never get back now.

"When you spoke to Kayla, did she tell you about the conversation we had earlier today?" I asked.

"She did, and now that she's explained it to me and I have all the details, I want you to know that I have never laid a hand on my wife."

And there it was, the main reason he'd driven over. To convince me of his innocence.

"I'm not sure what to think about the notes Cordelia took," I said.

"Well, those people she was talking about … they weren't us. I can't imagine she'd spy on a friend. I don't believe she would have done that to me."

No one wanted to believe it, and yet, I didn't get the impression that any of Cordelia's neighbors knew the real Cordelia—perhaps not even my mother.

"Kayla told me you two are going through a divorce," I said.

"We are. Wish things could be different between us. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Can't imagine life without her." Seth shook his head and sighed. "Sorry. I've said too much."

"It's fine to speak your mind. Kayla had a lot of nice things to say about you when we talked. I can tell she still cares for you. I'll ask you the same thing I asked her. Do you think there's any way you could work things out instead of getting a divorce?"

His eyes darted around—to me, to Giovanni, to Nico—then back to me. "She's given me so many chances, more than I deserve. I want to step up, to be the man she needs. Every time I try to be that person, I fail. I can't imagine her moving on and being with anyone else, but I think she'd be a lot happier."

"Are you saying you're okay to let go of what you have together because you think someone else could make her happier than you do?"

"When you say it like that, it doesn't sound good, does it?"

"No, it doesn't."

"I don't know. I don't think I'm capable of ever being the man she needs."

"I know we've just met, but Kayla seems like a wonderful woman, and a reasonable one," I said.

"Oh, yes. She is the best person I know."

"Then why not at least consider fighting for her and for your marriage?"

He hung his head, muttering, "This isn't what I came here to talk about. I'm uncomfortable talking about it."

"I understand, but maybe it's something you should be talking about with someone. Sometimes it's good to be uncomfortable. Discomfort has a way of bringing change at times, helping us see things within ourselves we wouldn't have seen any other way."

"Huh, I suppose you have a point."

"On the exterior, Kayla seems happy and outgoing. But I sensed something else while I was talking to her, something beneath it all."

"Like what?"

"There's a sadness within her, and I think it has to do with the divorce. I'm not convinced she wants it. I think she's confused."

"Yeah, maybe."

It looked like he was overwhelmed, so I left it there. "Anyway, I've said my peace. I hope you at least think about things."

He offered me a weak smile and then turned, heading for his car. When he reached it, he opened the door and glanced back at me. "There's one more thing."

"What is it?"

"I know something."

"You know something?"

"What I mean to say is, Cordelia shared something with me."

"What's that?"

"One afternoon after I got home from work, I stopped in to return a book she'd loaned me. She gave me another, and we had a brief chat. Before I left, she said she wanted to ask me a question."

"What was the question?"

"She said it was hypothetical, but I'll admit, I've given it a lot of thought in the last two weeks."

I leaned in a little closer, waiting for the juicy nugget I hoped was to come.

"She asked me what I would do if someone I knew was in trouble," he said.

"What did you say?"

"I said it would depend on what kind of trouble they were in, and if it was any of my business to interfere. People are always getting involved in other people's business, giving unsolicited opinions, that kind of thing. I want no part of it."

I wondered if a smidgen of what he'd just said was a dig toward me for inserting my opinions about his marriage into our conversation.

If it was, it was well played.

"Did Cordelia tell you what kind of trouble the person was in?" I asked.

"She didn't. I asked, and she seemed nervous, and she didn't want to keep talking. As I was leaving her house, I tried once more to get her to open up. It didn't work. She said she shouldn't have brought it up in the first place. It was her own burden to bear. She didn't want to get anyone else involved."

"Any chance you remember when the conversation took place?"

He nodded. "It was a few weeks before she died."