Lou looked at the clock; she still had a half hour before people would start to arrive. The mountain of papers, bags, and random objects on her desk threatened to topple. Now seemed a good time to at least remove the top level. Lou moved a stack of old menus and tossed them in the garbage can. Underneath she found her favorite red purse. She’d been looking for it at the apartment but must have forgotten she had left it here months ago.
She sat in the desk chair to go through the contents, hoping to find a forgotten twenty. Old receipts and State Fair ticket stubs went straight into the garbage. Lou pulled out another handful to discover a wadded piece of newspaper. She flattened it on her desk to see A. W. Wodyski’s review of The Good Land. Now she remembered—Al had given this to her last summer at the State Fair. She’d been so angry she’d crammed it in the bottom of her bag and forgotten it.
Her stomach twitched, signaling something important was about to happen. Before she could second-guess herself, Lou read the article. At first, reading Wodyski’s article calmed her worries and she enjoyed the well-written description of a delicious meal. The same delicious meal she and Al had shared, down to the special items Chef Tom had sent out. Lou paused her eyes on the page. Those dishes wouldn’t have been served to a normal customer; he had created them for her.
Lou’s body knew the truth before her mind did. It thrummed with numbing energy, making her limbs move sluggishly. The article trembled in her hands. She lifted and dumped the garbage can. Menus fluttered around her, covering the ground in white; the red dictionary lay amidst them—a fresh cut on new snow. Moving as if she were in taffy, she bent to pick it up; it felt as if the hand closing around the book were someone else’s. She drew out the note card, written in Devlin’s hand:
A = Al
W = Waters
Look up Waters in dictionary.
Shaking, Lou paged through the English side to “water.” It read “woda, plural = wody.”
Wody. Waters. Wodyski. A. W. Wodyski.
Lou’s legs wobbled, then folded, and the dictionary thumped to the floor. Devlin hadn’t lied, but it was she who had the real proof—the article. Everything else was ash on the already burnt fish. A. W. Wodyski and Al Waters were the same person. Wodyski never died; instead, he made love to her every night. Her heart burst into flame.
Al knew the entire time. Lou shivered, holding her knees close, grappling with the trickery. She recalled meeting him that day with the coconut cake, the day her engagement ended, the day he reviewed her. The day that review appeared, he seemed jubilant at the bar. He had just crushed her restaurant. And the days at Northpoint Custard, the art museum, Irish Fest. All those days he watched her restaurant fail and did nothing; no retraction, no remorse, no feelings.
Her hand still clutched the wrinkled article. Why would he give it to her? Did he intend to show her how clever he was? That didn’t ring true. It would be easier if it did. Then she could be angry and anger could protect a broken heart while it mended.
This time she couldn’t climb out of the pit to get to the anger. The hurt was too much, the deception too clear. Tears finally loosed themselves, washing away her minimal makeup, leaving mascara tracks. She remembered his words on Thanksgiving: I’ll help you do anything. Don’t give up on your dream. It’s not fair that I get mine and you don’t. Was that guilt or guile?
He had promised to be honest.
The fire in her chest fizzled into cold ash. Lou crumpled onto her side, letting the pit swallow her whole. When Sue opened the door, she found Lou curled on the floor, surrounded by white papers.
“Oh my God, Lou. Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Lou held up the article for Sue and tried to sit up.
“I don’t understand. Almost everyone’s here.” She took the article from Lou. “Are you sick?”
Sue’s presence reminded Lou she did have people who cared about her, believed in her. It bolstered her enough to sit up and shake her head that she wasn’t sick.
“Is Al here?” Lou whispered.
Sue looked baffled.
“No, he’s the only one not here yet.”
Lou looked up at Sue, her destroyed heart visible on her tear-soaked face.
“Al is A. W. Wodyski.” Lou’s voice cracked as she said it, as if she didn’t want to say it out loud because that would make it real. Sue laughed.
“Don’t be absurd. How could he be? He just got the job at the paper. His reviews are nothing like Wodyski’s.”
“Read that.”
Sue quickly read the review, then looked up, more confused.
“It sounds like he really enjoyed the meal.”
“That is the meal Al and I shared at The Good Land. Chef Tom sent out some special dishes for me. You know how he likes to spoil other chefs. A normal customer would never have gotten those.”
“I’m sure there’s a million explan—”
“Yes, I’ve already thought of them. The simplest explanation is often the right one. ‘Wodyski’ derives from the Polish word for ‘waters.’ It’s right there in the goddamn name.” Lou got up off the floor and handed Sue the dictionary and note card with a shaky hand. She breathed deeply. The anger trickled in her, burying the pain a little, helping her continue.
“Why do you have a Polish-English dictionary and this?” Sue asked, waving the card.
“I got it from Devlin.”
“Devlin gave you this? I think you have your answer right there. You know—”
“I’m not wrong about this. Al is A. W. Wodyski,” Lou shouted. “I’ve looked at it from every angle. It’s true. Regardless of Devlin’s intentions, he didn’t lie.” Lou could tell when Sue accepted the truth. If she had been a dog, her hackles would have risen. That was one of the things Lou loved most about Sue—she always protected with ferocity and determination. Al better hope Lou got to him before Sue did.
After she wiped the tears from her face, removing the worst of the raccoon eyes, Sue and Lou left the Lair to join the party. As they entered the kitchen, Harley’s voice boomed.
“We’re all here. We’re waiting for the guest of honor.”
Lou looked out the pickup window to see Harley standing next to Otto and Gertrude at their favorite table. Both looked happy, but shaky and pale from their adventure out in the blizzard. The large front window looked covered in Styrofoam from all the snow sticking to it. Al walked around the bar, snow clinging to his hair. He shook the snow off, set his coat over the back of a chair to dry, and dried his face with a napkin while chatting with Harley and Gertrude.
Lou’s face paled and her breath came fast and shallow.
“You can do this,” Sue said in her ear.
She blinked several times, as if she were trying to move a grain of sand out. With a deep breath and clenched jaw, Lou tightened her grip on the article and grabbed her favorite chef’s knife from the counter. Sue raised her eyebrow at her, but grasping the blade comforted her, brought things back into perspective. Sue carried the book and card, like a soldier carrying extra ammunition into battle.
When she emerged, Al sat with Otto and Gertrude. Though her attention focused more on Al, she registered that Gertrude looked even thinner and Otto had worry lines on his previously smooth forehead. When Al saw her, he paled and looked fidgety, but a bright smile crossed his face. Lou’s heart panged.
He looked so believable, and part of her still wanted to be with him, forget this awful mistake. Lou strode across the empty dining room, each step adding to her anger at him for making her feel betrayed, humiliated, hurt. It was his fault she had to close her restaurant, shutter her dream. Her nostrils flared. Al noticed and the smile melted off his face, like the snow on his hair: slowly at first, but faster as the heat of her anger became more palpable. Lou’s lips were thin and tight; red anger tinged her cheeks.