Page 45 of Her Only Hero

In the back seat of the taxi, I examined the USB stick I’d found in one hand and held my mobile phone to my ear with the other. This was my third attempt at calling Patrick. Why wasn’t he answering? My stomach tensed, and I tried to tell myself not to fret. But I worried anyway. The driver slammed on the brakes at a red light, and I palmed the seat in front of me.

My phone vibrated, and I swiped to answer. “Hello.”

“June, how are you? Are you at my place yet?”

“I’m on my way now.”

“Great. I’m finishing up here.”

“Was work busy?” I asked.

“I wrote reports for most of the day.”

If he had been at a desk, why hadn’t he answered my calls? “Oh, really? Because I tried calling you a few of times, but they went to voicemail.”

I heard myself speaking and didn’t like how mistrusting and skeptical I sounded, even to my own ears.

“Sorry about that. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to fill you in on what happened in the lab today. But I can tell you about it tonight.” The taxi turned down his road. “I’m almost at your place.”

“You have my house key, right?”

“I do.”

“I won’t be too much longer, babe.”

“Can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too.”

I hung up, and in a short while, the cab pulled into Patrick’s driveway. I plucked bills from my wallet and paid the driver. Inside the house, I dropped my bags at the door, flipped on the lights, and proceeded into the kitchen. I opened cupboards andcame upon a package of pasta and a jar of sauce. In the fridge, I found ingredients to make prima vera.

I washed veggies in the sink and looked out the window at the expansive yard. The setting sun approached the barn and forest tree line. Rays reached like outstretched arms in a bright finale. I watched in awe. But then I noticed shadows forming. Soon, the darkness would offer easy refuge to anyone out there who sought it.

I yanked on a cord and shut the slatted blind.

The days were getting shorter, grayer, and gloomier. Patrick’s farm home, while warm and comfy, felt barren without him. I couldn’t describe my current mood, except that my emotions fluctuated between being scared, uncertain, and paranoid.

I chopped the peppers, zucchini, and an onion. The bulb’s fumes burned my eyes, and I retreated from the invisible vapors. I wiped tears with a tissue, retrieved my bag from the front hallway, and carried it up to the bedroom.

I placed my clothes in a drawer Patrick had emptied for me, and I hung a blouse and a pair of pants in the closet. My phone beeped with a text.

—On my way.—

I breathed easier, knowing he’d be here soon.

On the floor, my purse gaped open, and I reached for the flash drive. I sat on the bed and turned it over in my hand. What could be on it? Documents? Photos? Porno videos? I tried to figure out what I should do with it. Even though I was curious as to why this USB resided on a ceiling tile; I should have left it where I found it. I’d put it back into the basement and perhaps mention it to the landlord. But then I noticed Patrick’s laptop on the side table.

No.

The content of the drive wasn’t any of my business. I turned and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Hopefully Patrick had a hankering for Italian.

I continued preparing food. There was a large pot in the cupboard under the sink, and seasonings in a drawer. I moved the spice bottles until I found the oregano. And then I noticed an empty pill vial—narcotic pain medication prescribed for Patrick. The floor creaked beside me, and I dropped the bottle and slammed the drawer.

“Oh, hi,” I said to Patrick as my heart pitter-pattered.

From behind, he slipped his arms around my waist. “What’s cooking?”

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