THE AUDITOR

Chapter 4

Dom

I bought the roses at six in the morning from a gas station.

They were red, wrapped in plastic, and slightly wilted at the edges. I told myself it was the thought that counted. Nora loved thoughts. She was the type of woman who kept a list of everything you ever said to her.

That should have scared me more than it did.

The laundromat was on a gray street on the South Side. Marcus stood across the road, smoking, pretending he wasn't watching the door. When I walked up, he gave me a nod.

"She's been up there all night, boss. Old lady won't let anyone in."

"She'll let me in."

"You sure?"

"She's my fiancée."

Marcus said nothing. He just flicked his cigarette into the gutter and looked at my roses like they were already dead.

I knocked. A little old woman in cat pajamas opened the door a crack and looked me up and down.

"Absolutely not," she said.

"Ma'am, I'm Dominic Calloway. I'm here to see Nora."

"I know who you are. You're the reason she's been eating cookies at two in the morning." She started to close the door.

"Mrs. Pruitt."

The voice came from the stairs. Calm. Clear. Nora stood at the top in a gray sweatshirt, barefoot, with her hair in a knot. She looked tired. She looked, God help me, beautiful.

"It's fine," Nora said. "Let him up."

"You sure, honey?"

"I'm sure."

Mrs. Pruitt gave me a look that could have stripped paint. Then she stepped aside.

I climbed the stairs with my roses and my best sorry face. Nora waited at the top. When I reached her, I held out the flowers.

She took them. She smelled them. She set them on a table next to a small silver phone that was lying face up.

I didn't think about the phone. I should have.

"Nora," I said. "Baby. I've been up all night."

"Me too."

"I know what I did was wrong."

"Do you?"

"Yes. Absolutely." I took a step toward her. "I was stupid. Vivian was just there, and you were always working, and I felt like I didn't matter. It's not an excuse. But it meant nothing."

"Nothing."

"Nothing. You're the one I love."

"Fourteen months of nothing."

I winced. "I didn't mean to say that so fast."

"I know." She almost smiled. It was strange, that smile. Not warm. Not cold. Like a doctor looking at an X-ray. "Sit down, Dom. Want some tea?"

My chest loosened. Tea. She was offering me tea. It was working.

I sat on the edge of her tiny bed, and she poured two mugs from a kettle with her back to me.

"Dad is furious," I said. "But he'll forgive you. He loves you. If you just come home and say you were upset about the ring, and we pretend this was a bad night, then—"

"You want me to apologize."

"Just a little. For show."

"For show."

"Everyone's talking, Nora. It's embarrassing. You left in the middle of our party."

"I did." She handed me a mug. "It was rude of me."

I nearly laughed with relief. "Thank you."

"Dom, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

She sat across from me and wrapped both hands around her tea. Outside, a truck rattled by. The room smelled like detergent and roses.

"Last night," she said softly. "After I left, something strange happened. Someone used my private phone to send a message to the FBI."

I froze for half a second. Then I put a look on my face, concern, surprise, the whole menu.

"What? That's insane."

"I know. It scared me."

"Baby, that's impossible. You were on the terrace with my dad at 9:04. You were smiling for the photographer. Nobody could think you sent anything."

She didn't blink.

She didn't move. For a second I thought the tea had gone cold in her hands.

"You're right," she said. "I was on the terrace."

"See? You're fine."

"I'm fine." She smiled again, and this time it reached her eyes. "Thank you, Dom. That's very reassuring."

I took a sip. The tea was strong and a little bitter. I felt good. Better than I had in days. She was soft again. She was mine again.

"So you'll come home?"

"I'll think about it."

"Take your time." I put the mug down and reached for her hand. "I'll wait. I'll wait as long as you need."

She let me hold it. Her fingers were cool and still. I should have noticed they weren't holding back.

Then I noticed something else.

The small silver phone on the table had a tiny red light blinking beside the screen.

It had been blinking the whole time.

"Nora," I said slowly, "what's that?"

"Hm?"

"That phone. The light."

She glanced at it. "Oh. It's recording."

The room tilted.

"Recording."

"I record everything, Dom. You know that." She lifted the phone, tapped the screen, and the little red light went dark. "I just don't usually get such good material."

"Nora." My mouth was dry. "What are you doing?"

"Listening." She stood and walked to the window. "I've been listening to you for six years. It turns out you're very easy to hear."

"I don't understand."

"I know." She looked back over her shoulder, calm, almost kind. "That's what makes it so sad."

I stood. I don't remember deciding to. "Give me that phone."

"No."

"I said give it to me."

"And I said no."

The door downstairs banged open.

Heels clicked on the wooden steps, quick and sharp. I knew that sound. I'd been hearing it for fourteen months, and I'd never once wanted to hear it less.

Vivian.

She appeared at the top of the stairs in a cream coat, with her blonde hair perfectly smooth and her lipstick fresh. She looked at the roses. She looked at the tea. She looked at me.

"Dom," she said gently. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Vivian, not now."

"Yes, now. It can't wait." She turned to Nora, and her smile was kind, tender, and utterly poisonous. "Nora. I'm so sorry to do this here. I wanted to tell you both together."

Nora tilted her head. "Tell us what?"

Vivian lifted one manicured hand and laid it flat against her stomach.

The room went very quiet.

"I'm pregnant," she said.

My ears began to ring.

I looked at her stomach. I looked at her face. I looked at Nora, who stood perfectly still by the window.

I had been careful. Every single time, I'd been careful.

I had not been told about this.

I opened my mouth to speak. And behind me, very softly, I heard the soft click of Nora's phone starting to record again.