Liar's Market. Taylor Smith

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      CHAPTER SIX

      Washington, D.C.

      August 12, 2002

      The buzzing of the cicadas was relentless, maddening, like an electric drill to the brain. Sweltering air hung thick and hazy, even at this early hour, a reminder that the nation’s capital was a Southern city, albeit one over-laid with a more northern ethic of naked ambition. Summer heat and the drone of the insects in the treetops only amplified the sense of urgency that coursed through Washington like a permanent adrenaline feed.

      Every cop on the beat knew that in D.C.’s rougher eastern neighborhoods, there would be blood on the pavement before the day was out. It was the same every summer. People couldn’t live day after day, week after week in such close quarters and suffocating humidity without snapping.

      But it wasn’t just a problem of the concrete inner city. Even in green, leafy suburbs of neighboring Virginia, tension was rising.

      McLean, Virginia

      7:32 a.m.

      Knowing Drum’s impatience with anything or anyone in his way in the morning, Carrie had gotten in the habit of either waiting to get up until after he’d left for work, or showering and dressing in the front guest room so he could have the master bedroom and bath to himself. On that morning in particular, she was anxious to avoid him. She’d been awake since a little after five and had slipped out of bed as soon as she’d felt him stirring for fear her brittle nerves would betray her.

      The previous night, as happened more often than not, she’d been in bed when he got in. But going to bed wasn’t the same as going to sleep, not with her body thrumming in anticipation of what the dawn would bring. Her head, too, had spun with doubts, wondering whether she was doing the right thing. And even if she was, she wondered if she shouldn’t just screw up her courage and tell him about her appointment the next morning—assuming he didn’t already know.

      Despite the fact that he was so rarely around, Drum had an unnerving ability to pick up information by osmosis—or maybe it was his mother who served as his inside source here on the home front. Althea’s formidable determination to stay on top of everything that went on under her roof was only one of the drawbacks of living in that house, as far as Carrie was concerned. As far as Drum was concerned, though, the notion of a place of their own had been a non-starter.

      “I haven’t got time to look for a house we don’t need, Carrie. MacNeils have been living on Elcott Road for generations, and the house really belongs to me now, anyway. My God, do you have any idea what it’s worth these days? Over an acre of land in an area of million-dollar-plus homes? Surrounded by parkland, and fronting on the Potomac, no less?”

      “But I always feel like we’re crowding your mother.”

      “That’s ridiculous. The place is way too big for her alone. Anyway, she’d be the first to insist it’s where Jonah belongs. Not to mention how close it is to Langley. Christ! Haven’t I got enough on my plate without adding a long commute every day?”

      End of discussion. But if Carrie had been wavering for months about whether or not to take back her life, this one-sided debate had pretty much tipped the scales. When the dust had settled on the move and Jonah was safely enrolled in summer camp, she’d quietly made—then canceled—several appointments with the partner of her former college roommate, who now had a legal practice in Alexandria specializing in family law.

      After the third time Carrie had chickened out, Tracy Overturf had met her for lunch, where, to her own horror, Carrie had broken down in tears over her Cobb salad.

      “Oh, God, Carrie, this can’t go on,” Tracy said. “Look how unhappy he’s made you.”

      “I can’t just blame it on Drum. I let myself go down this road.”

      “You met him at a vulnerable time. You’d lost your whole family. If ever someone was looking for a port in a storm, that was you back then. And no wonder.”

      “Still, I didn’t have to abdicate my life. Look at you. You’ve had a solid relationship with Alan for years, but that didn’t keep you from starting your own legal practice.”

      “I wouldn’t read too much into that. The only reason Heather and I formed Childers and Overturf after we passed the bar is because there were no jobs to be had. And you haven’t seen our offices yet—bankruptcy auction furnishings in three small rooms in a renovated cotton mill. It’s not fancy. I’m warning you. Look, Carrie, I care about you too much to keep it on a professional level where Drum’s concerned, but Heather doesn’t know you like I do, and she’s really good—a pit bull in divorce cases. If you decide you need her, she’ll do a great job for you and make sure you get a fair deal.”

      “I don’t need that much. I’m not even sure divorce is the right answer. If it were just me, but there’s Jonah to think about. This could really mess up his life.”

      “What about your life? How happily can he grow up with a mother who’s so frustrated? Look, just talk to Heather, all right? Explore your options. Then, whatever you decide to do, at least you’ll be making an informed decision.”

      So Carrie had thought about it for a few days, then called and rebooked with Tracy’s partner—just to explore her options, she told herself. Now, she worried Drum would get wind of her plans before she had a chance to figure out what she wanted to do.

      She and Jonah had been out at the Pentagon City Mall the previous afternoon, buying new running shoes to replace yet another pair he’d outgrown before he could even wear down the treads. When they got home, Carrie had seen the message light flashing on the answering machine next to the telephone in the kitchen. Her heart had begun to pound when she’d played it back and realized it was Heather Childers’s secretary calling to confirm her appointment for the next morning.

      Althea said nothing about having heard the message, but to Carrie’s worried mind, she seemed cool that evening. Her mother-in-law had exchanged only the most cursory of greetings, then taken her dinner up in her room, pleading fatigue. But much later, a light had been burning under her door well past her usual nine-thirty bedtime.

      Carrie knew she should wait up and talk to Drum herself, heading her mother-in-law off at the pass. But ever since their return from London, days could pass without their paths crossing between 7:00 a.m. and midnight or without exchanging more than a few words face-to-face.

      In the end, Drum had returned home in the wee hours of the morning, long after everyone was asleep. Not even the dreaded Althea had that kind of staying power.

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