Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [44]
He began to worry about the key that was still stuck in the back door. If either client was vigilant about checking doors before leaving home, they would find their patio door unlocked and, if they inspected further, would discover his key. This might lead to a search of the house and his discovery.
This train of thought led him to consider what he might do if discovered. Oddly enough, it was the awkwardness of the potential situation that caused him the greatest concern. What does one say to a homeowner who finds a stranger hiding in their coat closet? He hoped that if they discovered him, Cindy and Alan Clayton would run, retreat to a bedroom or to the garage so he could avoid an explanation entirely. In that case, he would simply exit the house and run himself, hoping to outpace any police cruiser that might soon arrive in the neighborhood. But to have to face them, explain himself, and perhaps ask for mercy was a situation that Martin dreaded. He remembered how embarrassed and completely impotent he had felt that day in his parents’ driveway, facing his stepfather red-handed. He would do just about anything to avoid that same situation again.
Martin listened as Cindy Clayton descended the stairs, identifiable by the resumption of her soft humming. He listened to the clink of dishware in the kitchen (she was probably emptying the dishwasher, he thought) and had a momentary fit of panic as he heard the woman declare, “Hello? Are you there?” before realizing that she had placed a phone call, probably to someone on a cell phone with a poor connection. He listened intently to the conversation between his client and one of her friends, though not much was being said by Cindy Clayton. She was apparently an excellent listener, and her friend was obviously not.
Still on the phone, she called up to her husband, inquiring if he would be ready soon. He responded in the affirmative and she resumed her telephone conversation, a discussion on the merits of a local Indian restaurant. He heard the television switch off, heard the sound of running water (probably the kitchen sink), and continued to listen in as best he could to the telephone conversation. Cindy Clayton’s friend was named Jeannette. She was married to a man named Larry. He wasn’t sure what Larry did for a living, but it sounded as if he worked in some kind of medical facility. Jeannette appeared to be the type of person who turned small problems into big ones, and it sounded as if Cindy Clayton was adept at diffusing them for her friend.
Martin wasn’t surprised. Cindy Clayton seemed like the kind of woman with all the answers.
“I’ll be ready in two minutes,” Alan Clayton called from upstairs, probably from the bathroom this time. “The forecast says rain tonight, so you might want to bring a jacket.”
Martin didn’t initially connect Alan Clayton’s comment with his current location. He had become so absorbed in Cindy Clayton’s phone conversation that he had dropped his defenses. It was only when she responded with a “Thanks, honey,” her voice much closer to the closet now, that Martin realized that the jacket she was seeking was likely hanging somewhere above him.
“Did he really?” Cindy Clayton sighed as she opened the closet door, flooding the small space with light. Martin closed his eyes, pressed himself as far against the wall as possible, and held his breath. He could feel the garments around his body shift as Cindy Clayton moved jackets and coats aside, presumably looking for the right one. He dared to open one eye just enough to glimpse her bare toes, painted red, less than a foot from his shoulders. He felt his body begin to tremble but tightened his muscles in an effort to remain still.
The shifting of the coats suddenly stopped and Cindy Clayton sighed again, this time a sigh that caused Martin to momentarily forget his fright. It was a sigh that bespoke a longing and a need that Martin could have never imagined. It was a long, windy release of emotion, followed by an interminable pause that both saddened and stilled Martin completely.
“God, I wish Alan