Unwelcome Visitors

Adrian returned on Saturday morning with a handyman to repair the doorstop and tighten the hinges.

I was coming downstairs in sweats when I heard him explain, "It's a heavy door. I want to make sure it won't fall."

The man inspected the wood.

"It won't fall."

"Good."

Adrian paid in advance, as though securing the survival of an entire building.

There were dark shadows beneath his eyes. When I approached, I caught a faint smell of antiseptic.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"No."

I touched his arm, then his chest, looking for a bandage. He stepped back with a small sound of pain.

My stomach dropped.

"What happened?"

"Nothing serious."

"Could you stop deciding what I need to know?"

He glanced toward the man at the door.

"We'll talk later."

My phone rang. The coordinator of a product launch I was helping organize had lost a supplier. Our team was at the office trying to sort it out before Monday.

I looked at Adrian.

He eased my hand away.

"Go. I'll handle things here."

In the car, I kept thinking about that sound of pain. At work, I stared at the same line of a spreadsheet for five minutes.

My desktop background was a wedding photograph.

I was laughing at something. Adrian was looking at me.

Not the camera.

Nora always said he hated photographs. Maybe he liked some of them.

My assistant, Owen, knocked just before noon.

"There's an Elliot Reed here for you. Says he's a family friend."

I should have said I was busy.

Instead, politeness made me let him in.

Elliot carried two invitations to his recital.

"I was nearby and thought I'd deliver these myself. You can bring your husband."

I put the envelopes on my desk.

"Thanks. I'll have to check my schedule."

He glanced at the photograph on my screen, then at me.

"You look tired. Did something happen?"

"Work."

"Your husband isn't here?"

"We don't work in the same office."

Elliot pulled out the chair and sat without being asked.

"We could go out next week instead. Some friends are going to a bar. You'd like them."

"I can't."

"The week after?"

I closed the spreadsheet.

"Elliot. I don't want to make plans."

His smile disappeared.

"Is it because of him?"

"It's because I don't want to."

He looked at the photograph again.

"You didn't even get along. Sophie told me. It's a marriage of convenience. He doesn't get to choose your friends."

I straightened.

"He hasn't chosen anything. I'm the one talking to you."

Elliot clasped his hands in his lap.

"I waited so long to see you again. I kept the keychain. I still remember you cleaning my knee on the school steps. I never had anyone like that."

My irritation eased enough for me to choose my words carefully.

"I'm glad it helped. But I was a kid too. Looking after you then wasn't a promise about what would happen when we grew up."

He got to his feet.

"You don't understand. I've had feelings for you for years."

"I don't feel the same way."

"You don't have to decide now."

"I've already decided."

Elliot moved closer to my desk. I stood too.

"I don't want you talking to me like this or turning up here without asking. My marriage isn't your business."

He gave a short laugh.

"You feel sorry for me. Why can't you feel a little more? I won't get in the way. Nobody has to know."

The office phone was in my hand before I realized I'd reached for it.

"Owen. I need you in here."

Elliot tried to catch my wrist.

I pulled my arm away.

"Don't touch me."

Owen arrived with Marcus from security. Marcus was a quiet man who tended plants during his lunch break. At that moment, he seemed like an excellent addition to any environment.

He escorted Elliot out while I stayed behind my desk, furious.

I called Sophie.

She listened without interrupting.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. "I'll talk to him. I won't give him any more information about you."

"I need him to understand I said no. I don't want a group conversation or an apology delivered in person."

"Understood. Leave it with me."

When I hung up, Owen brought me water.

"Mr. Hayes stopped by."

My head came up.

"When?"

"Just before you called me in. I told him you had a visitor. He came down the hall, but then he left."

I shut my eyes.

Then I sent a message.

"You were here? Why didn't you come in?"

His answer took forever.

"Didn't want to interrupt."

I tried calling. No answer.

I wrote that Elliot had been removed from my office and that I wanted to talk at home. Then I spent the rest of the day dealing with problems that at least had the decency to fit in a spreadsheet.

I got home at nine.

The living room was dark. By the streetlight, I could make out someone on the couch in a black jacket.

My heart kicked.

"Elliot?"

The figure stood.

I grabbed the baseball bat beside the hall closet and felt for the switch with my free hand.

The lights came on.

It was my husband.