Riley pulled into the parking garage at the state government office complex, jogged across Capitol Street, and took the elevator to the sixth floor. He walked right into Carrie's suite of offices inside the Department of Health amp; Human Resources.
Hey, Alice. Nice to see you.
Carrie's assistant was an older woman with a sweet, round face. She stared at him for a second, obviously drawing a blank. Then she put a hand to her mouth. Dr. Bohland? Oh my gosh! I haven't seen you in years!
How /are/ you? She hopped to her feet.
Is Carrie in?
Yes, but Thanks. He turned and headed down the carpeted hallway to the double doors of her office.
Wait. Please! Alice scurried up behind him. I hate to be rude, she whispered, but I just wanted to warn you that Dr. Mathis has been very distracted lately and she hasn't been herself. The strangest things have been going on…
You got that right, Riley said.
Alice frowned in concern. Is Carrie in some kind of trouble? Is it the stress of the wedding?
Just then two uniformed deputies arrived. Riley greeted them, and asked that they give him about five minutes before they served the order.
Alice was beside herself. What's going on? Someone tell me!
Riley touched her shoulder. There is no wedding. The deputies are going to serve Carrie with a restraining order.
Alice looked lost. There's no wedding?
Never was one. Excuse me. Riley headed toward Carrie's door.
But… Alice's voice faded into a whisper. Your everyday china pattern was so lovely.
Carrie's eyes shot up from her computer when he opened her door. She let out a startled gasp, but the surprise on her face quickly mellowed to comprehension. She rose from her chair and smoothed her skirt. Hello, Riley, she said.
He made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs near her desk. Hate to tell you this, but The Greenbrier is a little stuffy for my tastes.
Her eyes darted around the room.
I'd like a few minutes of your time to go over the wedding plans, if you don't mind.
Carrie may have been a slight woman, but the size of her vanity could fill an empty airplane hangar, so Riley was fascinated to watch as she curled in on herself at his words, like she wanted to disappear. Riley figured he was witnessing her ego beginning to deflate. She sat down without a peep.
Game over, Carrie.
She stared at him for a long moment. Eventually, she nodded. She made no attempt to argue or put any kind of spin on any of it. She just sat there, the woman he'd once thought he loved, dark-haired, perfectly groomed, and fiercely intelligentwith no fight left in her.
I'm so sorry, she said in a flat voice. I guess I got carried away.
Riley nearly laughed at the inadequacy of that statement but then noticed something near pitiful in Carrie's expression. His anger began to cool. Carrie was manipulative and self-centered, but Riley guessed that at her core she was just another person too scared to face reality.
He leaned forward. Do you have somebody you can go see? Somebody to talk to?
Carrie didn't seem the least bit offended by his question and calmly folded her hands in front of her on the desktop. I've already made an appointment with Mark Gulledgeremember him from med school? He's got a private practice in town. I've heard a lot of good things about him.
Riley nodded. He's a smart guy. I'm sure he can help you figure this out.
It's pretty simple, really, she said with a shrug. Erotomania, delusional disorder, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, maybe even borderline stalker typology.
Riley pursed his lips and nodded, thinking that was one scary-sounding laundry list of /DSM-IV/ diagnostic criteria she'd just spat out, but it was probably spot-on. Carrie was always good with diagnoses. When's your appointment?
Friday.
You need to cancel everything related to the wedding. Immediately. How many people have you told?
Carrie stiffened. Just Alice and Madeline. Even my mother doesn't know about it. It was going to be an intimate affair, only about seventy-five guests. I was going to tell everyone it was a last-minute thing. But I've already canceled it all.
Riley couldn't help but think of the news stories about women who faked their pregnancy and, to keep their ruse intact, went out and stole a newborn when their alleged due date arrived. He shuddered to think what would have happened if, come Christmas Eve, the wedding had been a go, but there was no groom to be had.
It's time you move on with your life.
She sucked in a trembling breath. I am trying.
And you won't interfere with my life or Kat's life ever again.
All right, Carrie whispered.
Sheriff's deputies are outside your door right now with a restraining order.
Her eyes flashed in alarm. Please! That won't be necessary.
You gave me no choice.
She stared at him, worried and embarrassed.
Riley didn't know what else to say. He hadn't expected her to be so malleable. She sat quietly, continuing to look at him.
Did you put yourself on meds?
Of course not. She waved her hand to dismiss the accusation.
Riley wasn't convinced. He frowned at her.
OK, maybe just a little Paxil to take the edge off, but that's it, she said. I've been tossing around the idea of quitting my job, did I tell you? I'd like to give myself a chance to rethink things, see what I really want out of life. I don't even know anymore, because all I thought I wanted was you.
Riley stood up from his chair. It was time to go. This is the end for you and meyou understand that, right?
I do. After a few seconds, Carrie smiled, then laughed. Hey! I got to say those two little words after all!
Riley studied her, thinking that inside this very normal-looking woman lurked a churning chaos no one would suspect. It was sad, but he supposed that made her no different from everyone else.
So why the sudden change of heart, Carrie? Riley hadn't meant to ask that aloud, but his brain was practically screaming the question. What made you decide to stop this bullshit now, after all this time?
Carrie walked him toward the door, obviously weighing her response. I was becoming such a self-righteous she-devil that I'd started to scare myself.
She opened the door. The deputies were waiting.
THIRTEEN
Since when do you own a waffle iron? Nola stood on a chair in front of the tall bank of kitchen cabinets, staring at the appliance in wide-eyed wonder.
I've had it forever. I make waffles for Aidan nearly every Sunday. Kat straightened up, removing her head from inside the large packing carton, and corrected herself. OK, I /used/ to make him waffles, back when he could actually stand to have a meal with me.
He'll snap out of it. Nola placed the gadget toward the back of the top shelf, next to the mixing bowls. You're his mother. He loves you.
Kat let out a giant sigh. She'd been telling herself the same thing now for about a month, every time she called Aidan and got his voice mail, but the truth was, she was no longer her son's only parent. Aidan had Riley now, too, and from everything she'd heard, their relationship was growing more solid every day. Maybe Aidan didn't need her now that he had a father.
Reassuring herself that such thinking was total crap, Kat unwrapped the wooden salad tongs, placing them on the mound of utensils she'd have to run through the dishwasher before she organized the kitchen drawers.
This was only the second time in her life she'd moved, if she didn't count running away, which she didn't. Her first move was from the row house to the apartment, which took two trips in Phyllis' little red hatchback to get Kat settled. This move was mind-numbing in comparison, and she'd had the movers pack up only her kitchen things, a few favorite framed posters and photos, clothes, books, CDs, linens, her TV, sound system, and computer. She left most of her furniture at the apartment and she'd shoved her beloved houseplants into the back of the Jag.