That night as I lay alone in bed thinking about how nice the evening had been, a terrible thought crossed my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t have signed the contract after all. Sometimes it’s just better not to know what you’re missing.

Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER

Twenty

Something is wrong with Nicholas. I wish I knew what to do.

Elise Dutton’s Diary

For the first time since I’d started working at ICE, I found myself looking forward to Monday. More specifically, seeing Nicholas. And I loved anticipating his gifts. I don’t know how he kept up with them. Though I suspected his secretary helped with them, I was sure that he picked them out himself. Monday I got a candle scented like Christmas sugar cookies, on Tuesday a DVD of A Christmas Carol (the George  C. Scott version of course), and on Wednesday a CD of a Kenny G Christmas album.

On Thursday the sixth, something changed. There was no gift. And Nicholas was different. He was tense and withdrawn. He wasn’t just acting different, he looked different. At lunch he barely ate. He barely spoke. He barely even looked at me. I wondered if I’d done something to upset him.

Finally, I asked, “Is something wrong at work?”

“No,” he said darkly. “Same old tricks. People suing each other, divorcing each other, contesting wills, brother against brother, sister against sister, everyone looking out for themselves.” He shook his head with disgust. “As if there weren’t already enough pain in this godforsaken world.”

The tone of his voice frightened me. After a moment I asked, “Are you okay?”

He pushed his salad around a little, then looked up. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not yourself today.”

“It’s nothing,” he said.

We sat quietly for a moment until I said, “If I did something . . .”

“It’s nothing,” he repeated sharply.

Emotion rose in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I said. I stood. “I better go.”

He likewise stood, reaching for my arm. “No, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m just under a lot of pressure. I’m really sorry I snapped. Please . . . forgive me.”

I looked into his anxious eyes. It was more than stress. There was pain in them. “Okay.” We both sat back down. After a moment I said, “It’s not your fault. I kept pushing you. I was afraid that maybe I’d done something wrong.”

He looked at me for a moment, then said, “It’s not you.”

“If I can do anything to make you feel better . . .”

He reached across the table and took my hand. “If there were something anyone could do, you would be the one I’d go to. I’ll be okay. I promise. I go through this every year around this time. It will pass.”