CHAPTER 22
M orris missed Sheila the most in the evenings.
On a night like tonight, with the television tuned to CNN, it was hard not to see her sitting in her usual spot near the fireplace, her small feet curled under her, marking papers or skimming a magazine while keeping her ears pricked toward the TV.
Morris sat in his leather Barcalounger, his tired feet stuck in the wool house slippers he’d had for ten years. His whiskey-not the blended Johnnie Walker Red but a more expensive single-malt Macallan-sat beside him on the side table. Remnants of cold pizza were hardening on the plate next to the bottle.
He’d fallen off the wagon all the way. Back to drinking, back to junk food. So much for all the weight he’d lost last year. Not that it made much of a difference. Losing forty pounds on a body his size was like brushing a long- haired cat-some fur might come out, but there was still a whole lot more where that came from.
The phone rang, disrupting his gloom. At first he thought it was the television; it took him a second to realize it was his home phone line. Hardly anybody ever called him at home anymore save for telemarketers and a couple of golf acquaintances.
He checked the number on the call display. Private name, Seattle number. Likely a telemarketer. Should he even bother? Then again, it might be Sheila.
He picked up on the fifth ring. “Hello.”
“May I speak with Sheila Tao, please.” The woman’s voice was crisp and unfamiliar.
Morris muted the TV. “Who’s calling?”
“It’s Dr. Chang, her therapist. Am I speaking with Morris?”
“Yes.” He was totally caught off guard, and it took him a second to find his voice again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know Sheila had a therapist.”
There was a pause on the other line. “She listed you as her emergency contact. I normally wouldn’t phone, but she missed her last appointment and hasn’t returned my calls. Would you put her on the phone, please?”
“She’s not here.” Morris rubbed his head, trying to process that his psychologist fiancee had been in therapy. Another thing she hadn’t mentioned.
“Would you tell her to call me?” The woman’s tone was careful. “I need to know she’s all right.”
“I…” Morris was confused. “Can’t you call her? She went to the treatment facility.”
“I’m sorry?”
Maybe he’d had too much whiskey. He rubbed his head again. “What did you say your name was?”
“Marianne Chang.”
He finally placed her name. “You were invited to our wedding. I didn’t realize you two were-”
“Yes.” The woman paused. “I received the note about the cancellation your assistant sent.”
“If you’re her therapist, you must know what happened. She called off the wedding. Over voice mail. I haven’t heard from her since Sunday.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Finally Dr. Chang spoke. “What else can you tell me?”
Morris shrugged even though he was alone in the room. “Well, she’s taken leave from her job. She said she was going to some treatment center for two months, and she might not come back to Seattle.” He stopped. “But shouldn’t you know this already?”
Dr. Chang didn’t respond.
“Listen, I think…” His voice finally cracked. “I think I’m the reason she left. She finally told me about her sex addiction. I reacted badly.”
“I see.” Dr. Chang’s voice was carefully neutral.
He stood up and started pacing. “I’m probably not supposed to ask, but did she give you any indication she was planning to do this?” He sounded desperate and hated it, but he couldn’t help himself.
“I can’t speak about what Sheila and I discussed, Morris. I’m sorry.”
“Can you at least tell me what rehab facility she went to?”
Dr. Chang’s voice remained professional. “Again, I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”
“Please. Just tell me where she went. I need to tell her…” He took a breath. “She needs to know I love her.”
The therapist was quiet. Finally she sighed. “Morris, listen. We both know Sheila’s a smart woman. We have to trust she’s made the best decision for herself. Please don’t worry. I’m sure she’s fine.”
It was a twenty-five-minute drive to the Harvard-Belmont district in the historical Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle.
Morris drove slowly down Sheila’s street, parking his fat Cadillac in her skinny driveway. He looked up at the three-story home for the third time that week, breathing in the chilly night air. A few lights were on inside, but they were the same lights that had been on all week. A thick wad of mail was sticking out of her mailbox.
“Can I help you?” a voice behind him said.
Morris was startled. A spritely woman in her early seventies was standing behind him, holding a leash attached to a small, hairy dog. The dog eyed him suspiciously under a mop of rusty bangs.
“Hi,” he said, feeling foolish. “I’m Morris Gardener. I-”
“Oh, you’re Sheila’s fiance.” Recognition lit the woman’s wrinkled face. “We met once, last summer, at Sheila’s barbecue. Julia Shelby.”
“Hello again.”
The woman was only vaguely familiar, but Sheila had spoken of her often.
“Sheila with you?” Mrs. Shelby said, peering into the Cadillac’s tinted windows. “I haven’t seen her around for a few days.”
“Neither have I.”
The woman blinked.
Morris softened his tone. “Sorry, I guess you haven’t heard. The wedding was canceled and Sheila’s… left town.” He was beginning to sound like a broken record. If he had to explain what happened one more time, his head might explode.
“Yes, I got the note. I was sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to seeing you two get married.” Mrs. Shelby frowned and the dog at her heels barked. She bent down to pick it up, scratching its auburn hair thoughtfully. “So she’s away? Where’d she go?”
“I’m not sure.” He couldn’t meet Mrs. Shelby’s eyes. “She didn’t tell me.”
“I thought maybe the two of you decided to elope at the last minute. I was wondering if I should bring in her mail.” She spoke openly, no trace of awkwardness. “Guess not, huh?”
He held up his left hand and wiggled his bare ring finger. “No such luck. Still single.”
“Well, I’m very sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Shelby said again, her kind eyes filled with concern. “I didn’t realize you two were having problems.”
Morris stuffed his hands into his pockets. “We were working on it.”
“When will she be back?”
“Seven weeks.” Morris hesitated. “Maybe longer.”
“So I suppose you’re coming by to feed the fish and water the plants.” Mrs. Shelby put her dog back down on the lawn. It barked and nipped at his pants. “She should have asked me-it must have been terribly inconvenient for you to drive all this way. You live on the East Side, don’t you?”
Morris stared at her. Jesus Christ, he hadn’t even thought of that. “She didn’t ask me, actually. I-I lost my key.”
“That’s odd.” Mrs. Shelby’s gray hair was blowing in the chilly night wind. “If she didn’t ask you and she didn’t ask me…” Her voice trailed off and she looked toward Sheila’s house. “You want to go in and look around?”
It took a minute of jiggling before Morris got the door open. The alarm was beeping and he stepped inside quickly to enter the code the neighbor had given him, 0-6-1-5 for Sheila’s birthday. The beeping stopped, and he
