Page 45 of Brain Damage

“Thank you,” I say, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes at the cliché.

“It’s so great that you got together,” he continues. “I mean, after everything Clark has been through, he really needed this.”

I don’t know what that means. But I’m afraid to ask because I don’t want it to seem like I’m ignorant about my husband’s life. I can just imagine the look Landers would give me.

“So how has married life been?” he asks.

“Great,” I tell him, glancing over to see if my food is ready. It isn’t. “I feel bad I never got to see the practice.”

Landers laughs. “Well, that’s okay. I don’t think they’d ever let Clark back in there after what he did when they let him go. God, it’s been over a year and people still talk about it all the time. Because of him, they never fire people at the start of the day anymore.”

What? What is he talking about?

“Excuse me?” I say, unable to stop myself.

Landers raises his eyebrows. “You mean Clark never told you about his epic last day at G & P? Oh man.”

“I’m afraid I missed that story,” I say weakly. “But… you said it’s been a year since he’s worked there?”

Landers frowns thoughtfully. “No, I’d say probably a little more than a year.”

My brain fills up with so many questions, it might explode. I might explode. When Clark and I met, he told me he was working for G & P. That was the job he apparently quit right before we got married. Except now it seems like he hasn’t worked there in over a year. And oh yeah, he got fired.

No wonder Clark never introduced me to anyone he knew from work.

I’m going to kill my husband. I will murder him. I will murder him so bad that they won’t be able to identify the body.

“Order for McKenna!” the guy behind the counter calls out, right in my ear. For God’s sake, I was standing right in front of him.

“Thank you,” I say through my teeth. I look in Kenneth Landers’s direction and force a smile. “It’s been so nice meeting you. I… I have to get going.”

“Nice meeting you too,” Landers says. “Hey, maybe we could get together sometime. My wife would love to have you and Clark over at the house. We’re out on the island.”

“Sounds great!” I say with forced enthusiasm. “Just send Clark an email about it.”

Yes, that will ensure I never see Kenneth Landers again for the rest of my life.

I walk home, clutching the pungent brown paper bag of Chinese food in my fist. I’ve completely lost my appetite. Honestly, I feel like I’m going to throw up. How much do I really know about Clark Douglas? It seems like half of what he told me about himself has been a lie.

And why hasn’t he let me meet his parents? What’s that all about? I initially accepted that it was simply a strained relationship, but now I wonder.

When I get upstairs, Kitty greets me at the door. She meows loudly to let me know she’s starving. Apparently, Clark never bothered to feed her while I was at work. Even after all this time, Kitty has never entirely warmed up to Clark, and vice versa. I should have listened to Kitty in the first place. Even my cat has better sense about men than I do.

As I dump a can of Kitty’s gourmet cat food into her bowl, I hear Clark turning off the water in the shower. Why is he showering in the middle of the evening? Is there something that he’s washing off of himself?

No, I can’t let myself think this way.

I’m standing rigidly in the middle of the living room, still clutching the Chinese food, when Clark emerges from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, whistling Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. I can see all the well-defined muscles in his chest and I have to admit, my anger fades slightly. He may not work hard, but he always at least makes time to work out. He runs a hand through his wet hair and grins at me.

“Perfect timing,” he comments.

I take a deep breath, my heart slamming in my chest. “When was the last time you worked at Gregory and Patterson?”

Clark stops mid-stride. I could tell from the look on his face what the answer to my question is. “A little while ago,” he says carefully. He’s obviously trying to figure out how much I know.

“Define ‘a little while,’” I say through my teeth.

Clark laughs unevenly. “What kind of question is that?”