The Last Thing He Told Me by Laura Dave (bill gates books to read .txt) 📗

But maybe he hasn’t been judging Carl for other reasons. Maybe Owen doesn’t judge him because Carl returns the favor, by not judging a secret Owen felt safe confiding in Carl.

Even if that theory is wrong, I still need to talk to him.

Because Carl’s also the only lawyer I know in town.

I knock on the front door, but no one answers. Not Carl, not Patty.

It’s odd because Carl works from home. He likes to be around for his kids—his two young kids—who usually nap at this time. Carl and Patty are sticklers for their children’s schedule. Patty lectured me about it during our first night out together. Patty had just celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday, which made the lecture all the more enjoyable. If I was still able to have children—that was how she said it—I was going to have to be careful not to let them rule the roost. I’d have to show them who was in charge. That meant a schedule. That meant, in her case, a 12:30 P.M. nap every day.

It’s 12:45. If Carl isn’t home, why isn’t Patty?

Except that through the living room blinds, I see that Carl is home. I see him standing there, hiding behind those blinds, waiting for me to go.

I knock on the door again, pressing hard on the doorbell. I’m going to ring the doorbell for the rest of the afternoon until he lets me in. Kids’ naps be damned.

Carl swings the door open. He is holding a beer; his hair is neatly combed. Those are the first indicators that something strange is going on. His hair is usually uncombed, which he thinks makes him look sexy. And there is something in his eyes—a strange mix of agitation and fear and something else I can’t name, probably because I’m so shocked that he hid from me.

“What the hell, Carl?” I say.

“Hannah, you need to go,” Carl says.

He’s angry. Why is he angry?

“I just need a minute,” I say.

“Not now, I can’t talk right now,” he says.

He moves to close the door, but I hold it open. My force surprises both of us, the door escaping his grasp, opening wider.

Which is when I see Patty. She stands in the living room doorway, holding her daughter Sarah in her arms, the two of them dressed in matching paisley dresses—their dark hair pulled back into soft braids. The identical attire and haircut only further highlight what Patty wants people to see when they look at Sarah: an equally presentable but smaller version of herself.

Behind them—filling up the living room—a dozen parents and toddlers watch a clown make balloon animals. A HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH banner hangs above their heads.

It’s their daughter’s second birthday party. I had totally forgotten about it. Owen and I were supposed to be here celebrating. Now Carl isn’t even opening the door.

Patty offers a confused wave. “Hey there…” she says.

I wave back. “Hi.”

Carl turns back toward me, his voice controlled but firm. “We’ll talk later,” he says.

“I forgot, Carl. I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I didn’t mean to show up during her party.”

“Forget it. Just go.”

“I will but… would you just please step outside and talk to me for a couple of minutes? I wouldn’t ask but it’s urgent. I think I need a lawyer. Something’s happened at The Shop.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he says.

“So why won’t you talk to me then?”

Before he can answer, Patty walks toward us and hands Sarah to Carl. Then she gives her husband a kiss on the cheek. A big show. For him. For me. For the party.

“Hi,” she says, kissing me on the cheek too. “Glad you could make it.”

I keep my voice down. “Patty, I’m sorry for walking in on the party, but something’s happened to Owen.”

“Carl,” Patty says, “let’s get everyone out back, okay? It’s time for ice cream sundaes.”

She looks to the group and flashes her smile at them.

“Everyone head out back with Carl. You too, Mr. Silly,” she says to the clown. “It’s ice cream time!”

Then—and only then—she turns back toward me. “Let’s talk out front, yeah?” she says.

I start to tell her that Carl is really who I need to speak with, Carl who is walking away with Sarah on his hip, but Patty is pushing me onto the front porch. She closes the thick red door and I am on the wrong side of it again.

This is when, on the privacy of her porch, Patty turns back to me, eyes blazing. Smile gone.

“How dare you show up here,” she says.

“I forgot about the party.”

“Screw the party,” she says. “Owen broke Carl’s heart.”

“Broke his heart… how?” I say.

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with him stealing all our fucking money?”

“What are you talking about?” I say.

“Owen didn’t tell you that he convinced us to go in on The Shop’s IPO? He sold Carl on the software’s potential, sold him on the enormous returns. Failed to mention that the software was dysfunctional.”

“Patty, look…”

“So all of our money is now tied up in The Shop’s stock. Actually, I should say, what’s left of our money is tied up in stock, which on my last check was down to thirteen cents.”

“Our money was there too. If Owen had known, why would he do that?”

“Maybe he didn’t think they’d get caught. Or maybe he’s a freaking moron, I can’t tell you that,” she says. “But I can promise you that if you don’t leave my house, right now, I’m calling the cops. I’m not kidding. You’re not welcome here.”

“I understand why you’re upset with Owen. I do. But Carl may be able to help me find him and that is the fastest way to get this sorted out.”

“Unless you’re here to pay for our kids’ college, we have nothing to say to you.”

I’m not sure what to say to her, but I know I have to say something before she walks back inside. After seeing him in person, after seeing the look in his eyes, I