Valentine's Day

Sex went off the table. That was when he knew it was over, he said.

“I think that was the last time we spoke.” He ran a hand through his dark locks, exposing the scars on his arm from all the garden work he had been up to. She caught him at a bad time. Since the breakup, he mentioned that he had taken up gardening, a welcome distraction. It helped him put a lot of life into perspective.

“Live it backward,” he said. “Growing things do that to you. They teach you that if something is going to last, you have to pour into it. Nurture it. Care for it.”

He paused. “It was a week before Valentines day. I will never forget it. Her knives were her words. Even when she did not mean to cut deep, she often did.” His jaw tightened. “It was evidence she had been thinking for a long time. A lot. And for someone who always spoke her mind, you would think she would run out of things to think about. But she was constantly unhappy. It got to a point where I had no chance.”

He scratched his beard, leaving a smear of dirt across his cheek. She noticed. She almost warned him, then stopped. She did not want to interrupt the flow. This was good. This was what she was here for. She wanted to know about this woman. She was being paid to get the truth.

 

“What is your name again?” he asked, unconsumed by the interest he received from the fairer sex. He was blessed physically. A slender muscular build, cherubic hazel eyes. It made it difficult for anyone to find him undesirable.

“Helen?” he probed.

“Helena Randall.” She straightened in her chair, smoothing the creases of her white shirt as she scribbled in her notebook. She was acutely aware that if she was eyeing him for size, he could be doing the same with her. A quiet contest of attraction.

She cleared her throat and pulled herself back into professionalism. “Like I said, Mr Wolfe, this is a private investigation. You are welcome to contact my superiors. The details are on that card.”

Her eyes flicked to the silver slip he shoved into his jean pocket. She blushed at what appeared to be a weapon between his legs. Either the memory of his ex had riled him up, or her presence had. She ruled out the latter, humbling herself immediately. He stared into the distance and continued, as if trapped in time.

 

“She called me a handbag. A purse.” His voice cracked. “She could be so cruel.” He shook his head.

“It was always a figure of speech with her. But she knew how to explain it. Sharpening the dagger in your own shadow. She never felt safe with me. With anyone, I reckon. And because of that, you could never feel safe with her. She made sure of it. Always widening the distance.”

Helena wrote furiously, paraphrasing where she could, but trying to capture the essence of this woman. At first glance, she sounded deeply unsettled. A monster, if one believed only the testimony.

“Why did she call you a purse?”

His jaw clenched. His fingers curled into a fist.

“She said I was not an action man. That I could be plucked from a drawer and carried by whoever wanted me, whenever they wanted. Always along for the ride.”

His voice softened with remembrance.

“That is when sex went off the table. She was not amused by purses.”

He burst out laughing. Whether it was pain or comfort, laughter was easier than sitting with it.

Helena waited for the sound to fade.

She felt sorry for him. No one deserved to hear that. No, she ruled in her notes: this woman was a menace.

“Did you love her?”

He exhaled slowly. The question haunted him in hindsight. He had to be honest.

“No.” He then corrected. “If I ever said I did, she told me I was lying to myself.”

“Why didn’t she believe you?”

He shrugged. “She would never believe anyone.”  Then he went further. “She could not love me back. She could not love anyone. She could not fall in love.”

Helena leaned forward. This was the part her superiors wanted. The core wound.

“To fall in love, you have to be vulnerable,” he continued. “She never was. She could never be. She did not trust me with her heart. And for that same reason, I decided I should not trust her with mine. She would destroy me.”

“Is she dangerous?” Helena’s next question came in fast. “Did you cheat?”

He shook his head. The dirt on his fingers was impossible to miss. And that was when Helena saw it.

A ring. She must have missed it earlier. When she ran his name, there was no marriage certificate. She was thorough. She wondered what his wife would think about her being here. Not that Helena had intentions. But a man like him would not stay unattached for long.

 

“We were a switch. On and off.” he said. “I entertained a few women. I may have lied. Omission.” He shrugged. “There were three. She never cared about me saying I loved someone else. Or sleeping with them. Pregnancy would not have bothered her either.” His voice hardened. “She only cared about transparency. As long as I was honest, it was fine. I could rob a bank. Bury a body. As long as I was honest, it was fine. She only cared about the truth.”

He hesitated. The words caught in his throat. “And I knew,” he said quietly, “she could never love me.” He swallowed. “She only knew how to move on. Always forward.” The rest he kept to himself. A survival skill he learned from her. “She could never love anyone.” His voice went grave.

Helena underlined several lines. Crossed her legs. She needed more. Something damning. Her superiors wanted certainty. If there was a coffin, they wanted this woman in it.

“Do you think she is capable of anything?”

“Anything except love,” he scoffed. “Yes.”

“Is she dangerous?” Helena asked again.

“To the heart,” he said. “Yes.”

Helena pressed carefully. “Does she have a criminal record? Anyone who can corroborate this?”

Mr Wolfe bit his lip and studied her. Helena felt her pulse spike, mapping an escape in her mind.

“She is loved by many,” he said slowly. “Desired by those who want to get close. If she would let them. But we either run out of chances, or we run out of time.” He stood. “I ran out of both.”

He turned to her. “What is this really about?”

“I am investigating Cher Mirren,” Helena said evenly. “Routine clearance. My superiors are thorough.”

“Then find someone else, another ghost from her past,” he replied. “I have said enough. I have not heard from her in five years. I moved on.”

If Helena was offering sympathy, he did not want it.

 

“She was wrong about me,” he said as she stood at the door. “I fell in love. I have a family now.”

Married, Helena noted.

“Good for you,” she sighed. She knew you would, Helena kept that to herself.  Instead she slipped into her coat. Then she smiled. A heavy smile. She produced a gold coated envelope and handed it to him.

“What is this?”

“From my superiors. The family wants you present.”

“The family?”

“Like you, they want to be sure their son does not make the biggest mistake of his life. Jeopardising their fortune. Their legacy.”

She turned away as he opened the envelope.

*

Dear Aaron Wolfe,

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Prince Train Ceasar and Lady Delphine Gardner.
Date: 14 February, Valentines day.

 

*

When Helena reached her car, she rolled down the window.

“You are wrong about her too,” she said softly. “She said yes.” She drove away knowing the truth. Cher Mirren could give her heart to someone. She was just waiting for something real.