am I not sleeping with him, before Saturday night I hadn’t even spoken to him in three years.”
There was no hint in his face that he was softening.
He said, “I don’t know if I believe that. And even if it’s true, he wants you back.”
I leaned forward across the table, trying to make him believe me when I said, “I don’t care what he wants.”
“You’re not going to go back to him?”
“Not tonight anyway.” I was too used to being sarcastic with Tammy and getting her to laugh. It didn’t work with Timothy at all.
He gave me a withering look, and it was all downhill from there.
I think the way he acted during our dinner was his version of my leaving the day before. The only difference is that he didn’t get up and walk away from the table. At least not in body. I tried asking him questions, but he gave me yes or no answers, or ignored the questions altogether. Eventually, I gave up, and we finished the meal in silence.
We were done faster than some of the families who had been there when we arrived. At the end of it, he paid. I tried to offer, but he just made a little brushing motion with his hand, like he was sweeping crumbs from the tablecloth. Then he drove me back to the store, walked me back to my car, opened the door for me, and said good night.
I didn’t ask him if I would see him again. He didn’t ask to see me either. There wasn’t even a kiss on the cheek.
I think it might have been the worst date I’ve ever had. Not that I’ve had that many, but it was still a doozy—even without many others to compare it with. So you’d think I would be relieved that I wouldn’t have to suffer through another date like that. But “relieved” is not the word I’d use to describe what I felt.
It was barely past ten when I got home, but the lights were all out in the house. Just to be safe, I pulled on my jeans, changed my shoes, and then put on my jacket and went inside.
I shut the door softly behind me and leaned against it for a second. Back here. Again.
Always back in this house.
It was just a house. Dark. Quiet. So why did I feel like I couldn’t breathe in it?
After a moment I turned on the lights—and discovered that my mother was sitting there on the couch. She had been sitting there in the dark, no TV, no music. Just sitting there.
“Mom, what are you doing? Are you okay?” I asked her.
It was as if I hadn’t spoken. I know she heard me because she shifted on the sofa, but she didn’t even turn her head to look at me.
“I’m going to bed,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
Still nothing.
“Do you want the light on or off?”
No answer. But I knew what she wanted all the same.
I turned the light off and left her sitting there in the dark.
THE INVESTIGATION
ASSUMPTIONS
In piecing together the story, the investigator needs to beware of assumptions. The same event can be seen from another perspective in a completely different way.
The FBI has a saying: “Any assumption is the death of a good investigation.”
Timothy
What Timothy Thought During the Date
I was stunned when she got out of her car.
Really.
I had no idea. She’d looked like an average pretty girl in her uniform in the coffee place. And she’d acted like an average pretty girl, and I mean that in a good way. Really beautiful women have a self-consciousness about them: they’re always aware of the effect they have on people. It’s not their fault—they really do have an effect on people. So it’s just something they learn to expect, to defend against, to use, to deflect. Sometimes they get savvy, and they try to cover the fact that they’re aware of your reaction to them, but I can always spot it. It takes one to know one, after all.
This girl had none of that about her. And yet when she stepped out of the car, she was something out of myth—a creature so beautiful, and yet somehow, amazingly, unaware of her beauty. The
There was no hint in his face that he was softening.
He said, “I don’t know if I believe that. And even if it’s true, he wants you back.”
I leaned forward across the table, trying to make him believe me when I said, “I don’t care what he wants.”
“You’re not going to go back to him?”
“Not tonight anyway.” I was too used to being sarcastic with Tammy and getting her to laugh. It didn’t work with Timothy at all.
He gave me a withering look, and it was all downhill from there.
I think the way he acted during our dinner was his version of my leaving the day before. The only difference is that he didn’t get up and walk away from the table. At least not in body. I tried asking him questions, but he gave me yes or no answers, or ignored the questions altogether. Eventually, I gave up, and we finished the meal in silence.
We were done faster than some of the families who had been there when we arrived. At the end of it, he paid. I tried to offer, but he just made a little brushing motion with his hand, like he was sweeping crumbs from the tablecloth. Then he drove me back to the store, walked me back to my car, opened the door for me, and said good night.
I didn’t ask him if I would see him again. He didn’t ask to see me either. There wasn’t even a kiss on the cheek.
I think it might have been the worst date I’ve ever had. Not that I’ve had that many, but it was still a doozy—even without many others to compare it with. So you’d think I would be relieved that I wouldn’t have to suffer through another date like that. But “relieved” is not the word I’d use to describe what I felt.
It was barely past ten when I got home, but the lights were all out in the house. Just to be safe, I pulled on my jeans, changed my shoes, and then put on my jacket and went inside.
I shut the door softly behind me and leaned against it for a second. Back here. Again.
Always back in this house.
It was just a house. Dark. Quiet. So why did I feel like I couldn’t breathe in it?
After a moment I turned on the lights—and discovered that my mother was sitting there on the couch. She had been sitting there in the dark, no TV, no music. Just sitting there.
“Mom, what are you doing? Are you okay?” I asked her.
It was as if I hadn’t spoken. I know she heard me because she shifted on the sofa, but she didn’t even turn her head to look at me.
“I’m going to bed,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
Still nothing.
“Do you want the light on or off?”
No answer. But I knew what she wanted all the same.
I turned the light off and left her sitting there in the dark.
THE INVESTIGATION
ASSUMPTIONS
In piecing together the story, the investigator needs to beware of assumptions. The same event can be seen from another perspective in a completely different way.
The FBI has a saying: “Any assumption is the death of a good investigation.”
Timothy
What Timothy Thought During the Date
I was stunned when she got out of her car.
Really.
I had no idea. She’d looked like an average pretty girl in her uniform in the coffee place. And she’d acted like an average pretty girl, and I mean that in a good way. Really beautiful women have a self-consciousness about them: they’re always aware of the effect they have on people. It’s not their fault—they really do have an effect on people. So it’s just something they learn to expect, to defend against, to use, to deflect. Sometimes they get savvy, and they try to cover the fact that they’re aware of your reaction to them, but I can always spot it. It takes one to know one, after all.
This girl had none of that about her. And yet when she stepped out of the car, she was something out of myth—a creature so beautiful, and yet somehow, amazingly, unaware of her beauty. The
Similar Books
