Tony tossed the house keys to Eddie Sullivan. “She never locks the place, but just in case.”
Sullivan pocketed the keys. “Okay, Tony.”
“If the car’s not in the driveway, give me a ring. But if it is, go to the door, see if she’s inside. If there’s some other car there, take down the license number and bring it back to me. But don’t do anything else.”
Sullivan nodded heavily. “Everything’s okay, Tony.” His smile was sympathetic. “Sara wouldn’t never… you know.”
“Yeah, well, she’s seemed a little, I don’t know, a little tense the last few days,” Tony said. He walked Eddie out to the rusty old heap he’d been driving for as long as he could remember. “You ever gonna trade this fucking thing in?” he asked.
Sullivan shrugged. “It still runs okay. It’s like an old girlfriend now.” He grinned sheepishly, a thirty-five-year-old man still so shy and boyish, even the faintest allusion to women brought a blush to his face. “You know, I’m used to her.”
Tony surveyed the sloping bumper and rusty undercarriage. It looked pitiful, and it made whoever drove it look pitiful. “I’m gonna give you a raise, Eddie. So you can put something down on a new car.”
Sullivan’s smile widened. “Thanks.” He placed his beefy hand on Tony’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay. Sara, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Tony said, then watched as Sullivan hauled himself into his car and drove away. He knew Eddie wasn’t the brightest star in the heavens, but he was honest and reliable, and he could keep his mouth shut. A man with woman trouble could trust a guy like Eddie, a guy who lived alone, had never had a girlfriend, and might still be a virgin. Eddie took communion every Sunday at Our Lady of Fatima, and Tony guessed that he’d probably still be an altar boy if they let men his age do that sort of thing. Just the guy to check on a wife who’d been acting strange lately, Tony thought, a wife who hadn’t answered the phone for hours. A piercing dread hit him, the terrible possibility that Sara had left him. He saw the red Explorer drift out of the driveway, Sara at the wheel, with that cold look in her eye.
His cousin Joey stepped out of the warehouse.
“What are you looking at?” Tony blurted vehemently.
“Nothing,” Joey said, then retreated back into the warehouse.
Tony glanced out over the marina, a hundred boats precariously afloat. They seemed frail and unsteady, easily torn apart by high waves and raging winds, and for a moment he felt curiously like them, small and insubstantial before a dark, approaching storm.