The Good Liar. Laura Caldwell
where he was moving to permanently open his restaurant. The weekend after that when he returned to Chicago, I walked into Michael’s room at the Peninsula to find it wasn’t a room, it was a suite, and it was filled with peonies, my favorite flower. A table was set up under the window, laden with a meal made of my favorite Chicago dishes—a cheese flight from Avec, endive salad from Bistrot Margot, sea bass from Spring and chocolate truffles from Vosges called Black Pearls.
“If you were to leave Chicago,” Michael said, “I know you’d miss the city. But I promise to try and bring Chicago to you whenever I can. My home is wherever we’re together.”
In that instant, I saw where this was going and I started to tremble.
“Kate.” He cupped one cheek with his big hand and kissed my eyes, my forehead, then, slowly, my mouth. “I want to do that every day. Will you marry me?”
I didn’t hesitate a second before I said yes.
I put my house on the market within a week. I won’t say that I didn’t sob—great, gulping sobs—when I left. But once I was in my mother’s car, on the way to the airport and away from Chicago for good, I felt like I was lifting off.
And now I was in St. Marabel, about to be married again.
“Liza,” I said. “Remember, it was you who set us up.”
“I know, I know.” She tucked a tendril of auburn hair behind her ears and peered into my eyes. “I just didn’t think…”
“You just didn’t think what?”
“That you’d get married. He was supposed to be a transition guy.”
“Well, he turned out to be my guy.”
She breathed out hard.
“What?” I said. “What is it?”
“It’s just so soon.”
“Liza, you like Michael, right?”
“Of course.”
“Why do you like him?”
She shrugged. “Because he’s an honorable guy. He’s a great man.”
“Right. And you know that just from meeting him at work. You should see his personal side. You should see him at home with me. He’s amazing.”
I watched Liza’s face as I said this. It had occurred to me early on that maybe Liza and Michael had had a fling. Sometimes the way they spoke of each other made them seem more familiar than just two old colleagues. But Liza had flatly denied this when I asked her, and Michael had laughed.
“I’m in love with him,” I said. “Can’t you be happy for me?”
Liza stood straighter. She kissed me softly on the cheek. “Of course. I am happy for you.”
Behind us, my mother cleared her throat. I turned to her. “You okay, Mom?”
My mother, Geri Greenwood, was a worrier at heart. My brothers, seven and eight years older than me, had created enough trouble that she worried her weight away, leaving her a diminutive sixty-six-year-old, whose designer clothes were a size zero. She had on a beige chiffon dress today, and although I knew she was happy for me, the lines at the corners of her mouth looked deeper than usual.
She smiled, then went about fluffing the hem of my dress. “I just want what’s best for you.”
“ This is what’s best for me!” My voice rose, despite myself. “C’mon, you guys! It’s my wedding day, and I’d like a little support, and—”
My mother’s hand reached out and touched my arm, stopping my words. She looked at me. The lines of her face softened. “I know you’re in love. And I’m thrilled for you.”
“Me, too,” Liza said. “So let’s do it, ladies.”
Liza turned and threw open the door of the anteroom. I could see the small cobblestone foyer of the church and, beyond that, the open, arched doors leading to the aisle.
I took a few steps and peeked my head forward, peering down that ivory-covered aisle, and I caught a glimpse of Michael—tall and beautiful, hands clasped, rocking back and forth on his heels. Michael smiled at Roger Leiland, his best man, whom he’d met while married to his first wife. Michael’s marriage had split up years ago, but he said he’d never split from Roger, even though Roger had changed a lot. Apparently, the love of Roger’s life died many years ago, and he’d become hardened and callous in many ways. But Michael said he’d never give up on a friend, and I loved his unabashed loyalty. Roger was shorter than Michael, more powerfully built, and probably five or six years younger, but they had a camaraderie that could always be felt when they were together.
I took in the rest of the tiny church, mostly empty, although Tomaso, the restaurateur from Chicago, was there with his wife. My brothers and their wives were in attendance, too. They were all grinning big, no doubt relieved that their little sister wasn’t the depressed creature she’d been for a year now. And there was my dad, nervously twisting around in his seat. I’d told him that I wanted to walk down the aisle by myself this time. It felt more adult somehow, more honest and real, that I and only I would walk toward my new husband.
I felt a rising of something through me—a vision of a new husband, a new town, new friends, a new life.
“Ready?” Liza said, bumping her hip into mine.
I threw back my shoulders. “Absolutely.”
Michael and Roger stood at the bar of Jameson Place, a small, charming pub in St. Marabel where the reception was being held. There were only twenty people, but the mood was as ebullient as if hundreds were in attendance.
St. Marabel was the place where Trust members from around the world had been meeting for years, and so Michael had spent a lot of time there. But now, newly married to Kate, it felt like home for the first time.
Michael ordered a glass of Lagavulin scotch from the bartender. Roger asked for red wine.
“No, no,” Michael said, “he’ll have a Beychevelle Bordeaux.” He turned to Roger. “I’ve told you, my friend, you can’t just ask for red wine or they’ll give you some Cabernet swill.”
Roger accepted his glass from the bartender and sipped. “Delicious. You became such a wine snob when you ran that winery. That was the best cover the Trust has ever given someone.”
Michael laughed. “Now what will I become? A restaurant snob?”
“No, from the way you’re staring at Kate, I’d say you’re about to become one of those insufferable people who believes everyone can find true love. If they just look in the right place.”
Michael dragged his eyes away from Kate’s incandescent face and met the gaze of his best friend. “Guilty as charged.”
Roger turned to face the bar. Michael’s scotch was delivered, and they sipped in silence.
“So,” Roger said, “I haven’t had a chance to tell you personally—good work in Moscow.”
Michael’s body tensed ever so slightly. No one would have noticed, but he knew Roger did. They were friends, after all, but they were also trained to look for such physical clues in everyone.
“That has to be the last job,” Michael said. “Now that I’m here running the Twilight Club for the Trust.”
“Now that you’ve got Kate.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Are you going to give me hell for wanting to be a good husband? A normal husband?”
Roger held his hands up in mock self-defense. “Jesus, Michael, Moscow was just something you had to finish.”
Michael sighed. “I don’t want that anymore. I want to give Kate a great life. I want to make her happy.”