Question of Trust. Laura Caldwell

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СКАЧАТЬ made my way up the three flights of stairs—the only downside to my condo. When I’d reached the third floor, the door to the apartment was blocked with boxes. I’d managed to stick my head in the door when I heard Theo speak in a strained voice, a voice I’d never heard before. “I don’t understand,” he said.

      A pause, as Theo listened to whomever he was talking to. “But why?” He sounded distressed. “Why would it be that low?” he continued. “I told you last night, I’ve never bought property before. All I’ve had are two credit cards.” Another pause. “Yeah, well, I guess that could be it but …”

      As his voice died away, some kind of trepidation said hello to my psyche.

      “The business has some kind of trust account,” he said. “Could we use that to get credit or cash?” A pause. “No, it’s a foreign trust. I don’t know much about it, but I could …” An exhale. Another moment of silence. “Oh, okay, so then …” Quiet. “Really?” I heard him say. He sounded now not so much distressed, but like a young man surprised at terrible news.

      I hated to hear it. I nudged the door to shove aside the boxes and stepped inside.

      Theo stood at the bar of my European-style kitchen, his hair pulled back away from his face, wearing an army-green T-shirt and jeans. He turned as I came in. He threw me a polite smile, as if to say, One minute. Or maybe, Everything is fine here. Yet I could tell it wasn’t.

      “All right,” he said. “Yeah, talk to you then.”

      I picked my way through boxes, across the room and gave him a hug. “Who was that?”

      He held me longer than usual. His back muscles felt taut.

      I looked up at him. “Everything okay?”

      His brow furrowed. “That was Barb. The real-estate agent. She did a pre-application for my mortgage, and it was …” More furrowing. “It was denied.”

      “You’re kidding?” Theo had money. A lot of it, as far as I knew. He and his partner, Eric, started their company—HeadFirst—while in college. HeadFirst’s software allowed people to create their own artistically beautiful websites. The company had performed—overperformed—beyond anything anyone expected, according to the frequent press about the company. Theo and Eric had left college and never looked back, walking into a dream life of travel, private planes and a constantly growing business.

      Theo shook his head, still distracted, which was so very unlike his usual life state.

      I kept my arms around his back, but I leaned away so I could see him better. “I heard you saying you really hadn’t owned anything yet. Maybe your credit isn’t extensive enough. Especially for the prices you’re looking at.” None of the houses that Theo had viewed had been less than a million dollars, and the one he’d decided upon was almost three times that. “Maybe you need to take out credit cards and then pay them off, that kind of thing?”

      He shook his head. “She said there should be a high enough credit score, given my income. Also, I’ve had two credit cards, and I always pay them on time. I’ve never been delinquent on any bills.”

      “Well then, what is it? What did she say was bringing your score down?”

      “She couldn’t tell from the report. She’s going to have her contact at a credit bureau look into it.” The muscles in his back loosened a little, and he let me go, yet his expression remained stiff. “Right now, she said there’s no way I’ll be able to get a mortgage.”

      Who is this guy? The thought boomed in my brain without introduction, without warning. And I could feel the question in my body, too—a wariness that took up residence somewhere deep inside and crossed its arms.

      We both looked around my apartment at his stacks of books, piles of boxes, laundry baskets overflowing with jeans and shoes. We both knew that, as we stood there, a new tenant was moving into Theo’s old apartment.

      I realized then Theo was staying with me a little longer than I’d thought.

      Tick, tick, tick went the silence. It was, I realized, an old clock my mother had given me years ago in college. I’d never noticed the sound before.

      “You want to go out for a drink?” I said.

      He nodded fast.

      Within fifteen minutes, we were seated at the bar at Topo Gigio, an Italian place on Wells. Thirty minutes after that, we were in high spirits, the owner having sent a bottle of champagne after hearing that we’d just moved in together. Soon, we were making plans for Theo’s condo, drawing game-room and bedroom designs on napkins and searching our phones for photos of furniture he could buy.

      “Whenever you move to your new place,” I said, “it doesn’t matter.”

      “We are what matters, right?” Theo said, leaning toward me, moving his bar stool over.

      “Exactly.” I stared into those eyes, nearly breathless in his presence, the whole of him. Any irrational slices of fear were no longer cutting me.

      An excited look took over Theo’s face. “I just remembered,” he said. “I have a folder of pictures from magazines that I’ve been ripping out. You know, from home magazines?”

      “You’ve been reading home magazines?” I adored him even more, suddenly.

      “Yeah, well, my mom bought me a bunch of them. And I just remembered. I’ve got pictures of beds, and oh, these kick-ass chairs for a TV room.” He looked so excited then. “Let me run back and get them.”

      “No, let’s just go,” I said, but right then, the bartender delivered the three plates of appetizers we’d ordered.

      “It’s a few blocks,” Theo said. He pointed at the appetizers. “You start on these, and I’ll be right back.”

      I watched him walk from the room, watched everyone else stare at him as they always did. As always, he didn’t notice.

      “I love you,” I whispered. I was sure about it then, sure that he would return the sentiment. “I love you,” I said, trying the words again. And it was then I decided I would tell him as soon as he came back.

      But a few minutes later, he was calling my phone.

      “Hey,” I said softly, without having to say another word. Because I felt like every word I would say to Theo now would carry those three words in it.

      “We had a break-in,” he said.

      My mouth opened and closed. In front of me, the bartender told an apparently hilarious story, because the two people listening threw their heads back, their mouths open. But I couldn’t hear anything.

      “Back the truck up,” I said into the phone, still trying to meet the anti-swearing campaign goals I’d set last year, despite the situation. “What did you say?”

      “You need to come home,” Theo said. “Someone broke into your place.”

      7

      When I got home, the downstairs СКАЧАТЬ