The Wives (Tarryn Fisher)

Imaginethatyourhusbandhastwootherwives.
You’venevermettheotherwives.Noneofyouknoweachother,andbecauseofthisunconventionalarrangement,youcanseeyourhusbandonlyonedayaweek.Butyoulovehimsomuchyoudon’tcare.Oratleastthat’swhatyou’vetoldyourself.
Butoneday,whileyou’redoinglaundry,youfindascrapofpaperinhispocket—anappointmentreminderforawomannamedHannah,andyoujustknowit’sanotherofthewives.
Youthoughtyouwerefinewithyourarrangement,butyoucan’thelpyourself:youtrackherdown,and,underfalsepretenses,youstrikeupafriendship.Hannahhasnoideawhoyoureallyare.ThenHannahstartsshowinguptoyourcoffeedateswithtelltalebruises,andyourealizeshe’sbeingabusedbyherhusband.Who,ofcourse,isalsoyourhusband.Butyou’veneverknownhimtobeviolent,ever.
Whoexactlyisyourhusband,andhowfarwouldyougotofindthetruth?Wouldyouriskyourownlife?
Andwhoishismysteriousthirdwife?
“Icouldn’tputitdown…Nail-biting,heart-clenchinglygoodfromthestart,withcharactersthatyoubothrootandcringefor.Ilovedeveryword.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorAlessandraTorre
“You’llhavewhiplashuntiltheveryend.TheWiveswillleavethemostsure-footedreaderuneasyuntilthelastwordisread.”
—NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorColleenHoover
THEWIVES
TarrynFisher
ForColleen
TarrynFisheristheNewYorkTimesandUSATODAYbestsellingauthorofninenovels.Bornasunhater,shecurrentlymakesherhomeinSeattle,Washington,withherchildren,husbandandpsychotichusky.ShelovesconnectingwithherreadersonInstagram.
Contents
CHAPTERONECHAPTERTWOCHAPTERTHREECHAPTERFOURCHAPTERFIVECHAPTERSIXCHAPTERSEVENCHAPTEREIGHTCHAPTERNINECHAPTERTENCHAPTERELEVENCHAPTERTWELVECHAPTERTHIRTEENCHAPTERFOURTEENCHAPTERFIFTEENCHAPTERSIXTEENCHAPTERSEVENTEENCHAPTEREIGHTEENCHAPTERNINETEENCHAPTERTWENTYCHAPTERTWENTY-ONECHAPTERTWENTY-TWOCHAPTERTWENTY-THREECHAPTERTWENTY-FOURCHAPTERTWENTY-FIVECHAPTERTWENTY-SIXCHAPTERTWENTY-SEVENCHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHTCHAPTERTWENTY-NINECHAPTERTHIRTYCHAPTERTHIRTY-ONECHAPTERTHIRTY-TWOCHAPTERTHIRTY-THREECHAPTERTHIRTY-FOURCHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVECHAPTERTHIRTY-SIXACKNOWLEDGMENTSREADER’SGUIDEDISCUSSIONQUESTIONSAQ&AWITHTARRYNFISHERONE
HecomesoveronThursdayeveryweek.That’smyday,I’mThursday.It’sahopefulday,lostinthemiddleofthemoreimportantdays;notthebeginningortheend,butastop.Anappetizertotheweekend.SometimesIwonderabouttheotherdaysandiftheywonderaboutme.That’showwomenare,right?Alwayswonderingabouteachother—curiosityandspitecurdlingtogetherinlittleemotionalpuddles.Littlegoodthatdoes;ifyouwondertoohard,you’llgeteverythingwrong.
Isetthetablefortwo.I’malittlebuzzedasIlayoutthesilverware,pausingtoconsidertheetiquetteofwhatgoeswhere.Irunmytonguealongmyteethandshakemyhead.I’mbeingsilly;it’sjustmeandSethtonight—anat-homedate.Notthatthere’sanythingelse—wedon’tdoregulardatesveryoftenattheriskofbeingseen.Imaginethat…notwantingtobeseenwithyourhusband.Oryourhusbandnotwantingtobeseenwithyou.ThevodkaIsippedearlierhaswarmedme,mademylimbslooseandcareless.IalmostknockoverthevaseofflowersasIplaceaforknexttoaplate:abouquetofthepalestpinkroses.Ichosethemfortheirsexualinnuendobecausewhenyou’reinapositionlikemine,beingontopofyoursexualgameisoftheutmostimportance.Lookatthesedelicate,pinkpetals.Dotheymakeyouthinkofmyclit?Good!
Totherightofthevaginalflowerssittwowhitecandlesinsilvercandlestickholders.Mymotheroncetoldmethatundertheflickeringlightofacandleflame,awomancanalmostlooktenyearsyounger.Mymothercaredaboutthosethings.Everysixweeksadoctorslidaneedleintoherforehead,pumpingthirtycc’sofBotoxintoherdermis.Shehadasubscriptiontoeveryglossyfashionmagazineyoucouldnameandcollectedbooksonhowtokeepyourhusband.Noonetriesthathardtokeeptheirhusbandunlessthey’vealreadylosthim.Iusedtothinkhershallow,backwhenmyidealswereuntaintedbyreality.Ihadbigplanstobeanythingbutmymother:tobeloved,tobesuccessful,tomakebeautifulchildren.Butthetruthisthattheheart’sdesireisamerecurrentagainstthetideofnurtureandnature.Youcanspendyourwholelifeswimmingagainstitandeventuallyyou’llgettiredandthecurrentofgenesandupbringingwillpullyouunder.Ibecamealotlikeherandalittlebitlikeme.
Irollthewheelofthelighterwithmythumbandholdtheflameabovethewick.ThelighterisaZippo,thewornremnantsofaUnionJackflagonthecasing.Theflickeringtongueremindsmeofmybriefstintwithsmoking.Tolookcool,mostly—Ineverinhaled,butIlivedtoseethatglowingcherryatmyfingertips.MyparentsboughtthecandleholdersformeasahousewarminggiftafterIsawtheminaTiffany’scatalog.Ifoundthemtobepredictablyclassy.Whenyou’renewlymarried,youseeapairofcandlestickholdersandimaginealifetimeofroastdinnersthatwillgoalongwiththem.Dinnersmuchliketheonewe’rehavingtonight.Mylifeisalmostperfect.
IglanceoutthebaywindowasIfoldthenapkins,theviewoftheparkspreadoutbeneathme.It’sgrayoutside,typicalofSeattle.TheviewoftheparkiswhyIchosethisparticularunitinsteadofthemuchlarger,nicerunitoverlookingElliottBay.Whilemostpeoplewouldhavechosentheviewofthewater,Ipreferaviewofpeople’slives.Asilver-hairedcouplesitsonabench,staringoutatthepathwaywherecyclistsandjoggerspasseveryfewminutes.They’renottouching,thoughtheirheadsmoveinunisonwheneversomeonegoesby.IwonderifthatwillbeSethandmeoneday,andthenmycheekswarmasIthinkoftheothers.Imaginingwhatthefutureholdsprovesdifficultwhenfactoringintwootherwomenwhoshareyourhusband.
IsetoutthebottleofpinotgrigiothatIchosefromthemarketearliertoday.Thelabelisboring,notsomethingthatcatchestheeye,buttheaustere-lookingmanwhosoldittomehaddescribeditstasteingreatdetail,rubbinghisfingerstogetherashespoke.Ican’trecallwhathe’dsaid,eventhoughitwasonlyafewhoursago.I’dbeendistracted,focusedonthetaskofcollectingingredients.Cooking,mymothertaughtme,istheonlygoodwaytobeawife.
Standingback,Iexaminemywork.Overall,it’sanimpressivetable,butIamqueenofpresentation,afterall.Everythingisjustright,thewayhelikesit,andthus,thewayIlikeit.It’snotthatIdon’thaveapersonality;it’sjustthateverythingIamisreservedforhim.Asitshouldbe.
Atsixo’clocksharp,Ihearthekeyturninthelockandthenthewhistleofthedooropening.Iheartheclickasitcloses,andhiskeyshittingthetableintheentryway.Sethisneverlate,andwhenyoulivealifeascomplicatedashis,orderisimportant.IsmoothdownthehairIsopainstakinglycurledandstepfromthekitchenintothehallwaytogreethim.He’slookingdownatthemailinhishand,raindropsclingingtothetipsofhishair.
“Yougotthemail!Thankyou.”I’membarrassedbytheenthusiasminmyvoice.It’sjustthemail,forGod’ssake.
Hesetsthepiledownonthelittlemarbletableintheentryway,nexttohiskeys,andsmiles.Thereisatiltinmybelly,heatandaflurryofexcitement.Istepintothebreadthofhim,inhalinghisscent,andburyingmyfaceinhisneck.It’saniceneck,tanandwide.Itholdsupaverygoodheadofhairandafacethatistraditionallyhandsomewiththetiniestbitofroguishscruff.Inestleintohim.Fivedaysisalongtimetogowithoutthemanyoulove.Inmyyouth,Iconsideredloveaburden.Howcouldyougetanythingdonewhenyouhadtoconsidersomeoneelseeverysecondoftheday?WhenImetSeth,thatallwentoutthewindow.Ibecamemymother:doting,yielding,spread-eagleemotionallyandsexually.Itboththrilledandrevoltedme.
“Imissedyou,”Itellhim.
Ikisstheundersideofhischin,thenthetenderspotbeneathhisear,andthenstandonmytiptoestoreachhismouth.Iamthirstyforhisattentionandmykissisaggressiveanddeep.Hemoansfromthebackofhisthroat,andhisbriefcasedropstothefloorwithathud.Hewrapshisarmsaroundme.
“Thatwasanicehello,”hesays.Twoofhisfingersplaytheknobsofmyspinelikeasaxophone.HemassagesthemgentlyuntilIsquirmcloser.
“I’dgiveyouabetterone,butdinnerisready.”
Hiseyesbecomesmoky,andIsilentlythrill.Iturnedhimoninundertwominutes.Iwanttosay,Beatthat,buttowhom?Somethinguncoilsinmystomach,aribbonunrolling,unrolling.Itrytocatchitbeforeitgoestoofar.WhydoIalwayshavetothinkofthem?Thekeytomakingthisworkisnotthinkingofthem.
“Whatdidyoumake?”Heunravelsthescarffromhisneckandloopsitaroundmine,pullingmecloseandkissingmeoncemore.Hisvoiceiswarmagainstmycoldtrance,andIpushmyfeelingsaside,determinednottoruinournighttogether.
“Smellsgood.”
Ismileandsashayintothediningroom—alittlehiptogowithhisdinner.Ipauseinthedoorwaytonotehisreactiontothetable.
“Youmakeeverythingbeautiful.”Hereachesforme,hisstrong,tannedhandstrackedwithveins,butIdanceaway,teasing.Behindhim,thewindowisrinsedwithrain.Iglanceoverhisshoulder—thecoupleonthebencharegone.Whatdidtheygohometo?Chinesetakeout…cannedsoup…?
Imoveontothekitchen,makingsureSeth’seyesareonme.Experiencehastaughtmethatyoucandragaman’seyesifyoumovetherightway.
“Arackoflamb,”Icallovermyshoulder.“Couscous…”
Heplucksthebottleofwinefromthetable,holdingitbytheneckandtiltingitdowntostudythelabel.“Thisisagoodwine.”Sethisnotsupposedtodrinkwine;hedoesn’twiththeothers.Religiousreasons.HemakesanexceptionformeandIchalkituptoanotheroneofmysmallvictories.Ihaveluredhimintodeepred,merlotsandcrispchardonnays.We’vekissed,andlaughed,andfuckeddrunk.Onlywithme;hehasn’tdonethatwiththem.
Silly,Iknow.Ichosethislifeandit’snotaboutcompeting,it’saboutproviding,butonecan’thelpbutkeepatallywhenotherwomenareinvolved.
WhenIreturnfromthekitchenwithdinnerclutchedbetweentwodishtowels,hehaspouredthewineandisstaringoutthewindowwhilehesips.Beneaththetwelfth-floorwindow,thecityhumshernightlyrhythm.Abusystreetcutsapathinfrontofthepark.TotherightoftheparkandjustoutofviewistheSound,dottedwithsailboatsandferriesinthesummer,andmaskedwithfoginthewinter.Fromourbedroomwindow,youcanseeit—awideexpanseofstandingandfallingwater.TheperfectSeattleview.
“Idon’tcareaboutdinner,”hesays.“Iwantyounow.”Hisvoiceiscommanding;Sethleaveslittleroomforquestions.It’satraitthathasservedhimwellinallareasofhislife.
Isettheplattersonthetable,myappetiteforonethinggoneandreplacedbyanother.Iwatchasheblowsoutthecandles,nevertakinghiseyesfromme,andthenIwalktothebedroom,reachingaroundandunzippingmydressasIgo.Idoitslowlysohecanwatch,peelingoffthelayerofsilk.Ifeelhimbehindme:thelargepresence,thewarmth,theanticipationofwhat’stocome.Myperfectdinnercoolsonthetable,thefatofthelambcongealingaroundtheedgesoftheservingdishinorangesandcreamsasIslipoutofthedressandbendatthewaist,lettingmyhandssinkintothebed.I’mwrist-deepinthedowncomforterwhenhisfingersgrazemyhipsandhookintheelasticwaistofmypanties.Hepullsthemdown,andwhentheyflutteraroundmyankles,Ikickfreeofthem.
Thetinkofmetalandthenthezzzweeepofhisbelt.Hedoesn’tundress—there’sjustthemutedsoundofhispantsfallingtohisankles.
After,Iwarmourdinnerinthemicrowave,wrappedinmyrobe.Thereisathrobbingbetweenmylegs,atrickleofsemenonmythigh;Iamsoreinthebestpossibleway.Icarryhisplatetowhereheislyingshirtlessonthecouch,onearmthrownoverhishead—animageofexhaustion.Icannotremovethegrinfrommylips,thoughItry.It’sabreakinmyusualfacade,thisgrinninglikeaschoolgirl.
“You’rebeautiful,”hesayswhenheseesme.Hisvoiceisgrufflikeitalwaysispostsex.“Youfeltsogood.”Hereachesuptorubmythighashetakeshisplate.“Doyourememberthatvacationwetalkedabouttaking?Wheredoyouwanttogo?”ThisistheessenceofpostcoitalconversationwithSeth:helikestotalkaboutthefutureafterhecomes.
DoIremember?OfcourseIremember.Irearrangemyfacesothatitlookssurprised.
He’sbeenpromisingavacationforayear.Justthetwoofus.
Myheartbeatsfaster.I’vebeenwaitingforthis.Ididn’twanttopushitsincehe’sbeensobusy,buthereitis—myyear.I’veimaginedalltheplaceswecango.I’venarroweditdowntoabeach.Whitesandsandlapislazuliwater,longwalksalongthewater’sedgeholdinghandsinpublic.Inpublic.
“Iwasthinkingsomewherewarm,”Isay.Idon’tmakeeyecontact—Idon’twanthimtoseehoweagerIamtohavehimtomyself.Iamneedy,andjealous,andpetty.IletmyrobefallopenasIbendtosethiswineonthecoffeetable.HereachesinsideandcupsmybreastlikeIknewhewould.Heispredictableinsomeways.
“TurksandCaicos?”hesuggests.“Trinidad?”
Yesandyes!
Loweringmyselfintothearmchairthatfacesthesofa,Icrossmylegssothatmyrobeslipsopenandrevealsmythigh.
“Youchoose,”Isay.“You’vebeenmoreplacesthanIhave.”Iknowhelikesthat,tomakethedecisions.AndwhatdoIcarewherewego?SolongasIgethimforaweek,uninterrupted,unshared.Forthatweek,hewillbeonlymine.Afantasy.NowcomesthetimeIbothdreadandlivefor.
“Seth,tellmeaboutyourweek.”
Hesetshisplatedownandrubsthetipsofhisfingerstogether.Theyareglisteningfromthegreaseofthemeat.Iwanttogooverandputhisfingersinmymouth,suckthemclean.
“Mondayissick,thebaby…”
“Oh,no,”Isay.“She’sstillinherfirsttrimester,soitwillbethatwayforafewmoreweeks.”
Henods,asmallsmileplayingonhislips.“She’sveryexcited,despitethesickness.Iboughtheroneofthosebabynamebooks.ShehighlightsthenamesshelikesandthenwelookthroughthemwhenIseeher.”
Ifeelaspikeofjealousyandpushitasideimmediately.Thisisthehighlightofmyweek,hearingabouttheothers.Idon’twanttoruinitwithpettyfeelings.
“That’ssoexciting,”Isay.“Doesshewantaboyoragirl?”
Helaughsashewalksovertothekitchentosethisplateinthesink.Ihearthewaterrunningandthenthelidofthetrashcanashethrowshispapertowelaway.
“Shewantsaboy.Withdarkhair,likemine.ButIthinkwhateverwehavewillhaveblondhair,likehers.”
IpictureMondayinmymind—long,pin-straightblondhair,asurfer’stan.She’sleanandmuscularwithperfectwhiteteeth.Shelaughsalot—mostlyatthethingshesays—andisyouthfullyinlove.Hetoldmeoncethatsheistwenty-fivebutlookslikeacollegegirl.Normally,I’djudgeamanforthat,theclichéwaymenwantyoungerwomen,butitisn’ttrueofhim.Sethlikestheconnection.
“You’llletmeknowassoonasyouknowwhatyou’rehaving?”
“It’sawaysoff,butyes.”Hesmiles,thecornerofhismouthmovingup.“Wehaveadoctor’sappointmentnextweek.I’llhavetoheadstraightoveronMondaymorning.”HewinksatmeandIamnotskilledenoughtohidemyflush.Mylegsarecrossedandmyfootbouncesupanddownaswarmthfillsmybelly.Hehasthesameeffectonmenowashehadonthefirstdaywemet.
“CanImakeyouadrink?”Iask,standingup.
IwalkovertothebarandhitPlayonthestereo.Ofcoursehewantsadrink,healwayswantsadrinkontheeveningswhenwe’retogether.Hetoldmethathesecretlykeepsabottleofscotchattheofficenow,andImentallygloatatmybadinfluence.TomWaitsbeginstosingandIreachforthedecanterofvodka.
IusedtoaskaboutTuesday,butSethismorehesitanttotalkabouther.I’vealwayschalkedituptoherbeinginapositionofauthorityasfirstwife.Thefirstwife,thefirstwomanheloved.It’sdauntinginawaytoknowI’monlyhissecondchoice.I’veconsoledmyselfwiththatfactthatIamSeth’slegalwife,thateventhoughthey’restilltogether,hehadtodivorcehertomarryme.Idon’tlikeTuesday.She’sselfish;hercareertakesthemostdominantroleinherlife—thespaceIreserveforSeth.AndwhileIdisapprove,Ican’tentirelyblameher,either.He’sgonefivedaysoftheweek.Wehaveonerotatingdaythatwetaketurnswith,butit’sourjobtofilltheweekwiththingsthataren’thim:stupidthingsforme—potterymaking,romancenovelsandNetflix;butforTuesday,it’shercareer.Irootaroundinthepocketofmyrobe,searchingformyChapStick.Wehaveentirelivesoutsideofourmarriage.It’stheonlywaytostaysane.
Pizzafordinneragain?Iusedtoask.He’dadmittedtomeoncethatTuesdaywasatakeout-orderinggirlratherthanacookinggirl.
Alwayssojudgmentalaboutotherpeople’scookingskills,he’dtease.
Isetuptwoglassesandfillthemwithice.IcanhearSethmovingbehindme,gettingupfromthecouch.ThesodabottlehissesasItwistoffthecapandtopofftheglasses.BeforeI’mfinishedmakingourdrinks,he’sbehindme,kissingmyneck.Idipmyheadtothesidetogivehimbetteraccess.HetakeshisdrinkfrommeandwalksovertothewindowwhileIsit.
Ilookoverfrommyspotonthecouch,myglasssweatyagainstmypalm.
Sethlowershimselfnexttomeonthecouch,settinghisdrinkonthecoffeetable.Hereachestorubmyneckwhilehelaughs.
Hiseyesaredancing,flirtatious.Ifellinlovewiththoseeyesandthewaytheyalwaysseemedtobelaughing.Iliftonecornerofmymouthinasmileandleanbackintohim,enjoyingthesolidfeelofhisbodyagainstmyback.Hisfingerstrailupanddownmyarm.
What’slefttodiscuss?IwanttomakesureI’mfamiliarwithallareasofhislife.“Thebusiness…?”
“Alex…”Hepauses.Iwatchasherunsthepadofhisthumbacrosshisbottomlip,ahabitI’mendearedto.
Whathashedonenow?
“Icaughthiminanotherlie,”hesays.
AlexisSeth’sbusinesspartner;theystartedthecompanytogether.ForaslongasIcanremember,Alexhasbeenthefaceofthebusiness:meetingwithclientsandsecuringthejobs,whileSethistheonewhomanagestheactualbuildingofthehomes,dealingwiththingslikethecontractorsandinspections.Sethhastoldmethattheveryfirsttimetheybuttedheadswasoverthenameofthecompany:Alexwantedhislastnametobeincorporatedintothenameofthebusiness,whileSethwantedittoincludethePacificNorthwest.They’dfoughtitoutandsettledonEmeraldCityDevelopment.Overthelastyearstheirattentiontodetailandsheerbeautyofthehomestheybuildhassecuredthemseveralhigh-profileclients.IhavenevermetAlex;hedoesn’tknowIexist.HethinksSeth’swifeisTuesday.WhenSethandTuesdaywerefirstmarried,they’dgoonvacationswithAlexandhiswife—oncetoHawaiiandanothertimeonaskiholidaytoBanff.I’veseenAlexinphotos.He’saninchshorterthanhiswife,Barbara,whoisaformerMissUtah.Squatandbalding,hehasaclose-lippedsmugnessabouthim.
TherearesomanypeopleIhaven’tmet.Seth’sparents,forexample,andhischildhoodfriends.Assecondwife,Imayneverhavethechance.
“Oh?”Isay.“What’sup?”
Myexistenceisexhausting,allofthegamesIplay.Thisisawoman’scurse.Bedirect,butnottoodirect.Bestrong,butnottoostrong.Askquestions,butnottoomany.Itakeasipofmydrinkandsitonthecouchnexttohim.
“Doyouenjoythis?”heasks.“It’ssortofstrange,youaskingabout—”
“Ienjoyyou.”Ismile.“Knowingyourworld,whatyoufeelandexperiencewhenyouaren’twithme.”It’strue,isn’tit?Ilovemyhusband,butI’mnottheonlyone.Thereareothers.Myonlypowerismyknowledge.Icanthwart,one-up,fuckhisbrainsoutandfeignanaloofdetachedinterest,allwithafewwell-timedquestions.
Sethsighs,rubbinghiseyeswiththeheelsofhishands.
“Let’sgotobed,”hesays.
Istudyhisface.Fortonight,he’sdonetalkingaboutthem.HeholdsoutahandtohelpmeupandItakeit,lettinghimpullmetomyfeet.
Wemakelovethistime,kissingdeeplyasIwrapmylegsaroundhim.Ishouldn’twonder,butIdo.Howdoesamanlovesomanywomen?Adifferentwomanalmosteveryotherday.AndwheredoIfallinthecategoryoffavor?
Hefallsasleepquickly,butIdonot.ThursdayisthedayIdon’tsleep.
TWO
OnFridaymorning,SethleavesbeforeIwakeup.Itossedandturneduntilfourandthenmusthavefallenintoadeepsleep,becauseIdidn’thearhimwhenheleft.SometimesIfeellikeagirlwhowakesupaloneinbedafteraone-nightstand,himsneakingoutbeforeshecanaskhisname.IalwayslieinbedlongeronFridaysandstareatthedentinhispillowuntilthesunshinesrightthroughthewindowandintomyeyes.Butthesunhasyettocurlherfingersoverthehorizon,andIstareatthatdentlikeit’sgivingmelife.
Morningsarehard.Inanormalmarriage,youwakeupbesideaperson,validateyourlifewiththeirsleep-soakedbody.Thereareroutinesandschedules,andtheygetboring,buttheyareacomfort,aswell.Idonothavethecomfortofnormalcy:asnoringhusbandwhomIkickduringthenight,ortoothpastegluedtothesinkthatIscrubawayinfrustration.Sethcan’tbefeltinthefibersofthishome,andmostdaysthatmakesmyheartheavy.He’sbarelyhereandthenhe’sgone,offtoanotherwoman’sbedwhileminegrowscold.
Iglanceatmyphone,apprehensionmakingcurlicuesinmybelly.Idon’tliketotexthim.Iimagineheisfloodedwithtextseverydayfromtheothers,butthismorningIhavetheurgetoreachformyphoneandtexthim:Imissyou.Heknows,surelyheknows.Whenyoudon’tseeyourhusbandforfivedaysoutoftheweekhemustknowthatyoumisshim.ButIdon’treachformyphone,andIdon’ttexthim.Resolutely,Ithrowmylegsoverthesideofthebedandslidemyfeetintomyslippersinstead,mytoescurlingintothesoftfleeceinside.Theslippersarepartofmyroutine,myreachfornormalcy.Iwalktothekitchen,glancingoutofthewindowatthecitybelow.Thereisasnakeofredbrakelightsdown99ascommuterswaittheirturnatthelight.Wipersswishbackandforth,clearingwindshieldsofthemist-likerain.IwonderifSethisamongthem,butno,hetakes5awayfromhere.Awayfromme.
IopenthefridgeandpulloutaglassbottleofCoke,settingitonthecounter.Idigaroundthesilverwaredrawerforthebottleopener,cursingwhenatoothpickslidesunderneathmyfingernail.IstickthefingerinmymouthasIloosenthecapoffthebottlewithmyfreehand.IonlykeeponebottleofCokeinthefridge,andIhidetherestunderneaththesinkbehindthewateringcan.EachtimeIdrinkthebottle,Ireplaceit.Thatway,itlookslikethesamebottleofCokehasbeensittingthereforever.Thereisnoonetofoolbutmyself.AndperhapsIdon’twantSethtoknowthatIdrinkCokeforbreakfast.HewouldteasemeandIdon’tmindhisteasing,butsodaforbreakfastisnotsomethingyouwantpeopletoknow.WhenIwasalittlegirl,IwastheonlyoneofmyfriendswholikedtoplaywithBarbie.Atten,they’dalreadymovedontomakeupkitsandMTV,askingtheirparentsforclothesforChristmasinsteadofthenewBarbiecampervan.IwasterriblyashamedofmyloveofBarbiedolls—especiallyaftertheymadesuchabigdealoutofit,callingmeababy.Inoneofthesaddestmomentsofmyyounglife,IpackedawaymyBarbiedolls,retiringthemtoaboxinmycloset.Icriedmyselftosleepthatnight,notwantingtopartwithsomethingIlovedsomuchbutknowingtheteasingI’dtakeforitifIdidn’t.Whenmymotherfoundtheboxafewweekslaterwhilepackinglaundryaway,she’dquestionedmeaboutit.Itearfullytoldherthetruth.IwastoooldforBarbieanditwastimetomoveon.
Youcanplaywiththeminsecret.Noonehastoknow.Youdon’thavetogiveupsomethingyoulovejustbecauseotherpeopledisapprove,shesaid.
Secrets:I’mgoodathavingthemandkeepingthem.
Iseethathemadehimselftoastbeforeheleft.Theremnantsofbreadcrumbslitterthecounter,andaknifeliesinthesink,slickwithbutter.Ichastisemyselffornotgettingupearlytomakehimsomething.Nextweek,Itellmyself.NextweekI’llbebetter,I’llfeedmyhusbandbreakfast.I’llbeoneofthosewiveswhodeliverssexandsustenancethreetimesaday.AnxietygripsmystomachandIwonderifMondayandTuesdaygetuptomakehimbreakfast.HaveIbeenslackingallthistime?DoeshethinkofmeasneglectfulbecauseIstayedinbed?Icleanupthecrumbs,swipingthemintomyhandandthenangrilyshakingthemintothesink,andthenIcarrymyCoketothelivingroom.ThebottleiscoldinmypalmandIsip,thinkingofallthewaysIcouldbebetter.
WhenIwakeup,sometimehasgoneby,thelighthaschanged.IsitupandseethebottleofCoketurnedonitsside,abrownstainseepingintothecarpetaroundit.
“Shit,”Isayaloud,standingup.Imusthavedozedoffholdingthebottle.That’swhatIgetforlyingawakeallnight,staringattheceiling.Irushtograbaragandstainsolutiontocleanthecarpetanddroptomyknees,scrubbingfuriously.TheCokehasdriedintotheknottedbeigerug,astickycaramel.Iamangryaboutsomething,Irealizeastearsrolldownmyface.ThedripsjointhestainonthecarpetandIscrubharder.Whenthecarpetisclean,Ifallbackonmyhaunchesandclosemyeyes.Whathashappenedtome?HowhaveIbecomethisdocileperson,livingforThursdaysandtheloveofamanwhodivideshimselfsothinlyamongthreewomen?Ifyou’dtoldnineteen-year-oldmethatthiswouldbemylife,she’dhavelaughedinyourface.
Thedayhefoundmewasfiveyearsago,nextweek.Iwasstudyinginacoffeeshop,myfinalnursingexamloomingaheadofme,awallIdidn’tfeelreadytoclimb.I’dnotsleptintwodays,andIwasatthepointwhereIwasdrinkingcoffeelikeitwaswaterjusttostayawake.Half-delirious,IswayedinmyarmchairasSethsatdownnexttome.Irememberbeingirritatedbyhispresence.Therewerefiveopenarmchairstochoosefrom;whytaketheonerightnexttome?Hewashandsome:glossyblackhairandturquoiseeyes,well-slept,well-groomedandwell-spoken.He’daskedifIwasstudyingtobeanurseandI’dsnappedmyanswer,onlytoapologizeamomentlaterformyrudeness.He’dwavedawaymyapologyandaskedifhecouldquizme.
AlaughburstfrombetweenmylipsuntilIrealizedhewasserious.“YouwanttospendyourFridaynightquizzingahalf-deadnursingstudent?”I’daskedhim
“Sure,”he’dsaid,eyesglowingwithhumor.“IfigureifIgetinyourgoodgraces,youwon’tsaynowhenIaskyoutohavedinnerwithme.”
Irememberfrowningathim,wonderingifitwasajoke.Likehisbuddieshadsenthimovertohumiliatethesadgirlinthecorner.Hewastoohandsome.Histypeneverbotheredwithgirlslikeme.WhileIcertainlywasn’tugly,Iwasontheplainside.MymotheralwayssaidIgotthebrainsandmysister,Torrence,gotthebeauty.
“Areyoubeingserious?”I’dasked.Isuddenlyfeltself-consciousaboutmylimpponytailandlackofmascara.
“OnlyifyoulikeMexican,”he’dsaid.“Ican’tfallforagirlwhodoesn’tlikeMexican.”
“Idon’tlikeMexican,”Itoldhim,andhe’dgrabbedathisheartlikehewasinpain.I’dlaughedatthesightofhim—atoo-handsomemanpretendingtohaveaheartattackinacoffeeshop.
“Justkidding.Whatsortofmessed-uphumandoesn’tlikeMexican?”
Againstmybetterjudgmentanddespitemyinsanelybusyschedule,I’dagreedtomeethimfordinnerthefollowingweek.Agirlhadtoeat,afterall.WhenIpulleduptotherestaurantinmybeat-uplittleFord,I’dhalfexpectedhimnottobethere.ButassoonasIsteppedoutofthecar,Ispottedhimwaitingbytheentrance,justoutofreachoftherain,dropletsspottingtheshouldersofhistrenchcoat.
He’dbeencharmingthroughthefirstcourse,askingmequestionsaboutschool,myfamilyandwhatIplannedtodoafter.I’ddippedchipsinsalsa,tryingtorememberthelasttimeapersonhadtakenthismuchinterestinme.Whollytakenwithhim,I’dansweredeverysingleoneofhisquestionswithenthusiasm,andbythetimedinnerwasfinished,IrealizedIknewnothingabouthim.
“We’llsavethatfordinnernextweek,”he’dsaidwhenIbroughtitup.
“Howdoyouknowtherewillbeanextweek?”Iaskedhim.
Hejustsmiledatme,andIknewrightthenthatIwasintrouble.
Ishoweranddressfortheday,onlypausingtocheckmyphoneasI’monmywayoutthedoor.SinceSethisgoneforfivedaysoftheweek,Ivolunteertotakethelateshiftsthatnooneelsewants.It’sunbearabletobesittinghomeallnightalone,thinkingabouthimbeingwiththeothers.Iprefertokeepmymindbusyatalltimes,keepmyfocus.Fridays,Igotothegymandthenthemarket.SometimesIgrablunchwithagirlfriend,butlatelyeveryoneseemstobetoobusytomeetup.Mostofmyfriendsareeithernewlymarriedornewlymothered,ourlivesallhavingforkedoffintojobsandfamilies.
MyphonesaysthatSethhastextedme.Missyoualready.Can’twaitfornextweek.
IsmilestifflyasIhitthebuttonfortheelevator.It’ssoeasyforhimtoexpressthemissingwhenhealwayshassomeonebyhisside.Ishouldn’tthinklikethat.Iknowheloveseachofus,misseseachofuswhenhe’saway.
ShouldwehavepizzafordinnerwhenIseeyounext?Myattemptatajoke.
Hetextsbackimmediately,sendingthelaugh/cryemoji.Whatdidpeopledobeforeemojis?Itseemsliketheonlyreasonablewaytolightenaloadedsentence.
ItuckmyphonebackintomypurseasIstepintotheelevator,asmallsmileonmylips.Evenonmyhardestdays,alittletextfromSethmakeseverythingallright.Andthereareplentyofharddays,dayswhereIfeelinadequateorinsecureaboutmyroleinhislife.
Iloveyoualldifferentlybutequally.
Iwantedtoknowwhatthatmeant,thespecifics.Wasitsexual?Emotional?Andifhehadtochoose,ifhehadaguntohishead,wouldhepickme?
WhenSethfirsttoldmeabouthiswife,wewereatanItalianrestaurantcalledLaSpigaonCapitolHill.Itwasourfourthdate.Theawkwardnessoftwopeoplegettingtoknoweachotherhadrolledaway,andamorecomfortablephasehadtakenitsplace.Wewereholdinghandsbythen…kissing.He’dsaidhehadsomethingtotalktomeaboutandI’dplannedforperhapsaconversationaboutwhereourrelationshipwasgoing.Assoonasthewordwifewasoutofhismouth,I’dsetmyforkdown,wipedanypastasaucefrommylips,pickedupmypurseandleft.He’dchasedmedownthestreetjustasIwashailingataxi,andthenourserverhadchasedhimdown,demandingtobepaidforourpartiallyeatenmeal.We’dallstoodonthesidewalkawkwardlyuntilSethpleadedwithmetocomebackinside.I’ddonesohesitantly,butpartofmewantedtohearwhathehadtosay.Andhowwasthereanythingtosay?Howcouldamanjustifysomethinglikethat?
“Iknowhowitsounds,trustme.”He’dtakenanextralongswigofwinebeforecontinuing.“It’snotaboutsex.Idon’thaveanaddiction,ifthat’swhatyou’rethinking.”
ItwasexactlywhatIwasthinkingactually.I’dfoldedmyarmsacrossmychestandwaited.Outofthecornerofmyeye,Isawourserverlingeringnearby.Iwonderedifhewaswaitingforustomakeanotherrunoutoftherestaurantandabandonthecheck.
“Myfather…”hestarted.Irolledmyeyes.Halftheknownworldcouldstartanexcusewith“myfather.”Nevertheless,Iwaitedforhimtocontinue.Iwasawomanofmyword.
Thewordsglidedoverme:“Myparents…polygamists…fourmothers.”
Istaredathiminshock.Itwaslikebeinghalfwaydownaguy’spantswhenhetoldyouhewasreallyawoman.AtfirstIthoughthewaslying,makingabadjoke,butI’dseensomethinginhiseyes.He’dgivenmeatenderspotofinformationandhewaswaitingtobejudged.Ididn’tknowwhattosay.Whatresponsewasappropriate?Yousawthatsortofthingontelevision,butinreallife…?
“IgrewupinUtah,”hecontinued.“IleftassoonasIturnedeighteen.IsworeIwasagainsteverythingtheybelievedin.”
“Idon’tunderstand,”Isaid.AndIdidn’t.Iwastense,myhandsclenchedunderthetable,nailsdiggingintomypalms.
He’drunahandacrosshisface,suddenlylookingtenyearsolder.
“Mywifedoesn’twantchildren,”hetoldme.“I’mnotthatguy,theonewhopressuresawomantobesomethingshe’snot.”
I’dseenhimwithadifferentsetofeyesthen—adadwithonekidonhisshouldersandanotherathisfeet.IcecreamsundaesandT-ballgames.HehadthesamedreamsthatIdid,thatmostofusdid.
“So,wheredoIcomein?You’relookingforabreederandIfityourtype?”Iwasbeingantagonistic,butitwasaneasystab.Whyhadhechosenme,andwhosaidIevenwantedchildren?
Helookedstungbymyaccusation,butIdidn’tfeelbadaboutsayingit.Menlikehimmademesick.ButIhadcomebacktothetabletohearhimout,andIwould.Atthetime,itwasthemostabsurdthingI’deverheard.Hehadawife,butwantedanewone.Tostartafamily.Whothehelldidhethinkhewas?ItwassickandItoldhimso.
“Iunderstand,”he’dsaid,downtrodden.“Icompletelyunderstand.”Afterthat,hepaidthebillandwewentourseparateways,megivinghimachillygoodbye.Hetoldmelaterthathe’dneverexpectedtohearfrommeagain,butI’dgonehomeandtossedandturnedinbedallnight,unabletosleep.
ButIlikedhim.Ireally,reallylikedhim.Therewassomethingabouthim—acharisma,maybe,oraperceptiveness.Eitherway,henevermademefeellesswhenIwaswithhim.NotliketheboysI’ddatedincollege,wholookedattheirownreflectioninyoureyes,andconsideredyoua“rightnow”relationship.WhenIwaswithSeth,Ifeltliketheonlyone.I’dshovedallofthosefeelingsasidetogrievetheendofwhatIhadthoughtwasthepromisingstartofanewrelationship.I’devengoneonafewdates,onewithafiremanfromBellevueandanotherwithasmall-businessownerinSeattle.Bothdatesendedmiserablyforme,asIonlycomparedthementoSeth.Andthen,aboutamonthlater,aftergrievingmoredeeplythanIshouldforamanIbarelyknew,Iworkedupthenervetocallhim.
“Imissyou,”Isaidassoonashepickedup.“Idon’twanttomissyoubutIdo.”
AndthenI’daskedifhiswifeknewifhewaslookingforsomeonenewtohavehisbabies.TherewasalongpauseonSeth’send,longerthanIwouldhaveliked.IwasabouttotellhimtoforgetIevenaskedwhenherepliedwithabreathy,“Yes.”
“Wait,”Isaid,pressingthephoneclosertomyear.“Didyousayyes?”
“Weagreedonthistogether,”hesaidwithmoreconfidence.“ThatIneededtobewithsomeonewhowantedthesamethingsasIdo.”
“Youtoldher?”Iaskedagain.
“Afterourfirstdate,IthoughtwehadsomethingandItoldherthat.Iknewitwasarisk,butwehadsomething.Aconnection.”
“Andshewasjustokaywithit?”
“No…Yes.Imean,it’shard.Shesaiditwastimetolookatouroptions.Thatshelovedmebutunderstood.”
Iwasquietonmyendofthephone,digestingeverythinghewassaying.
“CanIseeyou?”he’dasked.“Justforadrinkoracoffee.Somethingsimple.”
Iwantedtosayno,tobethetypeofstrong,resolvedwomanwhodidn’tbudge.Butinstead,Ifoundmyselfmakingplanstomeethimatalocalcoffeeshopthefollowingweek.WhenIhungup,IhadtoremindmyselfthatI’dbeentheonetocallhimandhehadn’tmanipulatedmeintoanything.You’reincontrol,Itoldmyself.You’llbehislegalwife.Iwasso,sowrong.
THREE
IarrivehomeSaturdaymorningaftermyshiftandimmediatelyfallintobed.Ithadbeenalongnight,thekindthatstretchesyouintomentalandemotionalexhaustion.Therewasaten-carpileupon5thatbroughtadozenpeopleintotheemergencyroom,andthenadomesticdisturbancesentahusbandintotheERwiththreegunshotwoundsinhisabdomen.Hiswifehadrunintenminuteslaterwithatoddleronherhip,bloodsoakingthroughheryellowshirt.Shewasscreamingthatitwasallamistake.EverynightintheERwasahorrormovie:openwounds,crying,pain.Bytheendofthenight,thefloorswerestickywithblood,slickedoverwithvomit.Iwearblackscrubssothemessdoesn’tshow.
I’mjustdozingoffwhenIhearthefrontdooropenandclose,followedbythesoundofatrainwhistle.Thewhistlepartofoursecuritysystemnotifiesmeeverytimethefrontdooropens.Iboltuprightinbed,myeyeswide.DidIdreamthatordiditjusthappen?SethisinPortland;hetextedmelastnightandnevermentionedcominghome.Iwait,completelystill,earspricked—readytoshootoutofbedand—
MyheadswivelsleftandrightasIlookforaweapon,myheartpounding.Thegunmyfathergavemeformytwenty-firstbirthdayisstashedsomewhereinmycloset.ItrytorecallwherebutI’mtremblingfromfear.Anotherweapon,then…Mybedroomisacollectionofsoft,femininethings;therearenoweaponsonhand.Ithrowoffblankets,strugglingtomyfeet.I’mastupid,defenselessgirlwhohasagunanddoesn’tknowwhereitisorhowtouseit.DidIforgettolockthedoor?I’dbeenhalf-asleepwhenIgothome,stumblingaround,kickingoffshoes…AndthenIhearmymother’svoicefromthefoyer,callingmyname.Mypanicrecedes,butmyheartisstillpounding.Iholdahandoverit,closingmyeyes.Ajingle—whenmymothermoves,shejingles.Irelax,myshouldersslumpingintoanormal,relaxedposition.That’sright.Shewascomingovertodaytohavelunch.HowhadIforgotten?You’retired,youneedtosleep,Itellmyself.Istraightenmyhairinthedressermirrorandscrubthesleepfrommyeyesbeforesteppingoutofthebedroomandintothehall.Iarrangemyfaceintosomethingcheerful.
“Mom,hi,”Isay,steppingforwardtogiveheraquickhug.“Ijustgothome.Sorry,Ihaven’thadtimetoshower.”
Mymotherstepsoutofmyembracetolookmeover;herperfectlycoiffedhaircatchesthelightfromthewindowandIseeshehasfreshhighlights.
“Youlookfantastic,”Isay.It’swhatI’msupposedtosay,butshereallydoes.
“Youlooktired,”shetsks“Whydon’tyoushowerandI’llmakelunchforushereinsteadofgoingout.”Justlikethat,I’mdismissedinmyownhome.It’suncannyhowshecanstillmakemefeellikeateenager.
Inod,feelingarushofgratitude,despitehertone.AfterthenightIhad,thethoughtofgettingdressedtogooutisunbearable.
Itakeaquickshower,andwhenIcomeoutwrappedinmyrobe,mymotherhaswhippedupchickensaladonacroissant.Atallmimosasitsnexttomyplate.Islideintomychair,grateful.Myfreshlystockedfridgehadn’tdisappointedher.Ilearnedtocookbywatchingher,andiftherewasonethingsheemphasized,itwastoalwayskeepyourfridgestockedforthatsurprisemealyou’llhavetocook.
“How’sSeth?”isherfirstquestionasshetakesherseatacrossfromme.Mymother:alwaystothepoint,alwaysontime,alwaysorganized.Sheistheperfecthomemakerandwife.
“HewastiredonThursdaywhenhewashere.Wedidn’thaveachancetotalkverymuch.”Thetruth.I’mafraidmyvoicehasbetrayedmore,butwhenIglanceupatherface,she’spreoccupiedwithherfood.
“Thatpoorman,”shesays,cuttingintohercroissantwithdetermination.Theundersidesofherarmsflapasshesawsattheroll,hermouthpinchedindisapproval.“Allofthatcommutingbackandforth.Iknowitwastherightdecisionforbothofyou,butit’sstillveryhard.”Theonlyreasonshe’ssayingitwastherightdecisionistonotupsetme.She’dtoldmeinnouncertaintermsthatmydutywastobewithSeth,andthatIshouldgiveupmyjobtobewhereverhewas.Sheusedtonagaboutmarryinghim,andnowshe’stransitionedcomfortablyintothetopicofababy.
Inod.Ihavenodesiretohavethisdiscussionwithmymother.ShealwaysfindsawaytomakemefeellikeafailureatbeingSeth’swife.Mostly,it’saboutgivinghimachild.She’sconvincedhe’llstoplovingmeifmyuterusdoesn’twoman-up.Icouldsilenceherbytellingherthathealreadyhasanotherwife,twoactually,whofillthespaceswhereIfail.Thatoneofthemisgrowinghisbabyaswespeak.
“YoucouldalwaysrentthisplaceoutandjoinhiminOregon,”sheoffers.“It’snotsobad.Welivedthereforayearwhenyouweretwo,inGrandma’shouse.You’vealwayslovedthathousesomuch.”ShesaysthislikeIdon’tknow,asifIhaven’theardthestoriesbefore.
“Can’t,”Itellherthroughamouthful.“HehastobeintheSeattleofficetwodaysaweek.We’dhavetohaveaplacehere,anyway.Andbesides,Idon’twanttoleave.Mylifeishere,myfriendsarehereandIlovemyjob.”True,true,nottrue.I’veneverlikedPortland;Ithoughtofitasthepoorman’sSeattle:samescenery,similarweather,grubbiercity.Mygrandparentslivedanddiedthere,neveronceleavingthestate.Asidefromtheirmainhouse,theyhadavacationhomeinthesouth,nearCalifornia.ThethoughtofPortlandmakesmefeelclaustrophobic.
Mymotherlooksatmedisapprovingly,afleckofmayonnaisesmearedacrossapearlypinkfingernail.She’sold-schoolthatway.Inhermind,youwentwhereveryourmanwentorhebecamesusceptibletocheating.Ifonlysheknew.
“Thiswastheagreementwemadeanditmakesthemostsense,”Isayfirmly.AndthenIadd,“Fornow,”toappeaseher.Anditistrue.Sethisabuilder.HerecentlyopenedupanofficeinPortland,andwhilehisbusinesspartner,Alex,overseestheSeattlebranch,SethhastospendmostofhisweekinthePortlandofficeoverseeinghisprojectsthere.
MondayandTuesdayarethere,livinginthecity.Theygettoseethemostofhimanditmakesmesickwithjealousy.Heoftenhaslunchwithoneofthemduringtheday,aluxuryIdon’thave,sincehespendsmostofThursdaytravelingbacktoSeattletoseeme.OnFridays,hespendsthedayintheSeattleoffice,andthensometimesmeetsmefordinnerbeforeheadingbacktoPortlandonSaturday.Therotatingdaythewivesshareisspentontravelforthetimebeing,butwithtwoofhiswiveslivinginOregon,I’vebeguntothinkitwillbepermanent.It’shardbeingpartofsomethingsounusualandnothavinganyonetotalktoaboutit.Noneofmyfriendsknow,thoughI’vealmostblurtedthetruthtomybestfriend,Anna,halfadozentimes.
SometimesIwishIcouldreachouttooneofthewives,haveasupportgroup.ButSethissetondoingthingsdifferentlythanwhathegrewuparound.We,thewives,havenocontactwitheachother,andI’verespectedhiswishesnottosnoop.Idon’tevenknowtheirnames.
“Whenwillyoutryforababy?”mymotherasks.
Again.Sheasksthiseverytimewe’retogetherandI’mquitesickofit.Shedoesn’tknowthetruthandIhaven’thadthehearttotellher.
“Ifyouhadababy,he’dbeforcedtobeheremorepermanently,”shesaysconspiratorially.
Istareather,mymouthopen.MysisterandIwerethesumofmymother’slife.Oursuccesseswerehersuccesses;ourfailures,herfailures.Isupposeitwasfineanddandytoliveforyourchildrenwhileyouraisedthem,butwhathappenedafter?Whentheywentofftolivetheirownlivesandyouwereleftwithnothing—nohobbies,nocareer,noidentity.
“Mother,areyousuggestingItrapSethwithababy?”Iask,settingmyforkdownandstaringatherinshock.
Mymotherisabitofalivewire,knowntomakeoffhandedcommentsaboutotherpeople’slives.Buttellingmetogetpregnanttoforcemyhusbandhomeistoofar,evenforher.
“Well,it’snotlikeit’sneverbeendonebefore…”She’schuffing,hereyesdartingaround.Sheknowsshe’sgonetoofar.Ifeelawashofguilt.Inevertoldmymotherabouttheemergencyhysterectomy.AtthetimeIhadn’twantedtotalkaboutit,andadmittingitnowwouldmakemeevenmoreofafailureinhereyes.
“That’snotwhoIam.That’snotwhoweareasacouple.Besides,whowouldtakeoverforSethatthePortlandoffice?”Isnap.“You’retalkingaboutourfinancesandourfuture.”Notjustmine,either.Sethhasaratherlargefamilytosupport.Idropmyfaceintomyhands,andmymotherstandsupandcomesaroundthetabletocomfortme.
“I’msorry,littlegirl,”shesays,usingherpetnameforme.“Ioverstepped.Youknowwhat’srightforyourrelationship.”
Inodappreciativelyandpickupastraypieceofchickensaladwithmyfinger,lickingitoffmythumb.Noneofthisisnormal,andifSethandIaregoingtomakeitwork,Ineedtohaveatalkwithhimaboutmyfeelings.I’vespentsomuchtimepretendingtobecoolwitheverythingthathehasnoclueaboutmystruggles.Thatisn’tfairtohimortome.
Mymotherleavesanhourlater,promisingtotakemetolunchonMondayinstead.“Restup,”shesays,givingmeahug.
Iclosethedoorbehindherandbreatheasighofrelief.
I’mdesperatelytired,butinsteadofheadingtobed,IwanderintoSeth’slittlecloset.Despitebeinggoneformostoftheweek,hekeepsastashofclotheshere.Irunmyhandsoverthesuitjacketsanddresspants,liftingashirttomynosetofindhissmell.Ilovehimsomuch,anddespitetheawfuluniquenessofoursituation,Ican’timaginebeingmarriedtoanyoneelse.Andthat’swhatloveisabout,isn’tit?Workingwithwhatyourpartnercamewith.Andminecamewithtwootherwomen.
I’mabouttoturnoffthelittleoverheadlightandleavewhensomethingcatchesmyeye.Pokingoutofadresspants’pocketisthecornerofapieceofpaper.Ipullitout,atfirstworriedthepantswillbewashedwiththepaperinthepocketandruintherestofthewash,butonceIhaveitinmyhands,I’mcurious.It’sfoldedintoaneatsquare.Ionlyholditinmypalmforamomentbeforeopeningittohavealook.Adoctor’sbill.Iscanthewords,wonderingifsomethingiswrongorifSethwentinforacheckup,buthisnameisn’tanywhereonthepaper.Infact,thebillismadeouttoaHannahOvark,heraddresslistedinthetopcorneras324GalatiaLane,Portland,Oregon.Seth’sdoctorisinSeattle.
“Hannah,”Isayoutloud.Thereceiptinmyhandsaysshewasinforacheckupandlabs.CouldHannahbe…Monday?
Iturnofftheclosetlightandcarrythepaperwithmetothelivingroom,unsureofwhattodo.ShouldIaskSethaboutit,orpretendIneversawit?MyMacBookissittingnexttomeonthesofa.IshiftitintomylapandopenFacebook.IhaveavaguesensethatI’mbreakingsomesortofrule.
ItypehernameintothesearchbarandtapmyfingeronmykneewhileIwaitfortheresults.Threeprofilescomeup:oneisanolderwoman,perhapsinherforties,wholivesinAtlanta;theotherisapink-hairedgirlwholookstobeinherearlyteens.Iclickonthethirdprofile.SethtoldmethatMondaywasblond,buthadnevergivenanyotherdetailsaboutherappearance.Myvisionofachill-lookingsurfergirlisshatteredasIstareatHannahOvark.Sheisn’tasurfer,andshedoesn’thavetheblondinnocenceIwashopingfor.Ishutmylaptopratherabruptlyandstalkofftothebathroomtofindmysleepingpills.Idesperatelyneedsleep.I’mfeelingloopyandit’sstartingtoaffectthewayIseethings.
Arowoforangebottlesstaresoutatmefromthemedicinecabinet.Littlesentinelswithpurposesrangingfromdrowsynumbnesstostayingalert.IreachfortheAmbienandlayapillonmytongue.IdrinkwaterstraightfromthetaptowashitdownandthenIcurluponthebedandwaittosinkintooblivion.
FOUR
Iwakeupdisorientedandgroggy.Thesunsitshighoutsideofthewindow,buthadn’titbeenearlyeveningwhenIfellasleep?IreachformyalarmclocktocheckthetimeandseethatI’vebeenasleepforthirteenhours.Ihopoutofbedtooquicklyandtheroomspinsaroundme.
“Shit,shit,shit.”IgrabontothewalltosteadymyselfandstaythereuntilIfeelsturdyonmyfeet.Myphonesitsfacedownonthedresser,thebatteryalmostdepleted.IhavesevenmissedcallsfromSeth,andthreevoicemessages.Icallhimbackwithoutlisteningtothemessages,asenseofdreadgrowingwitheachring.
“Areyouallright?”isthefirstthinghesaystomewhenhepicksup.HisvoiceisstrainedandIimmediatelyfeelguiltyformakinghimworry.
“Yes,I’mfine,”Itellhim.“Itookasleepingpillandmusthaveconkedoutforthenight.I’msorry,Ifeellikesuchajerk.”
“Iwasworried,”hesays,hisvoicesoundinglesstensethanitdidamomentago.“Ialmostcalledthehospitaltoseewhenyouleft.”
“I’mtrulysorry,”Isay.“Iseverythingallrightonthatside?”
It’snot.Icanalreadytellbythesoundofhisvoice.Hecouldn’tpossiblyknowthatI’dfoundHannah,couldhe?IwrapastrandofhairaroundandaroundmyfingerwhileIwaitforhimtospeak.
“Justsometroubleatwork,”hesays.“Unreliablecontractors.Ican’ttalkaboutitrightnow.Ijustwantedtohearyourvoice.”
Ithrillthatit’smyvoicehewantedtohear.Nottheothers’.Mine.
“IwishIcouldseeyou,”Isay.
“Youcouldtakeafewdaysoffofwork.DrivedownandspendacoupleofdaysinPortlandwithme…”
Ialmostdropthephoneinmyexcitement.“Really?Youwould…wantthat?”I’mstaringatmyselfinthedressermirrorasIspeak.MyhairislongerthanI’veevergrownit;itneedsprofessionalattention.ItouchalimpstrandandwonderifmystylistcanfitmeinbeforeIleave.Alittlegetawayseemslikeagoodreasonforsomegrooming.
“Ofcourse,”hesays.“Cometomorrow.Youhaveallofthatvacationtimeyouhaven’tused.”
Myeyesroveoverthebedroomfurniture,thewhitewashedwoods,andrusticbaskets.MaybeachangeofsceneryisexactlywhatIneed.Ihaven’tfeltmyselflately.
“ButwherewillIstay?”
“Holdonasec…”HisvoiceismuffledasIhearsomeoneonhisendsaysomethingtohim,thenhecomesbackontheline.
“Ihavetogo.I’llbookaroomattheDossier.Seeyoutomorrow?”
IwanttoaskhimaboutMondayandTuesday,ifheplansonditchingthemforme,buthe’sinarush.
“I’msoexcited,”Isay.“Tomorrow.Loveyou.”
“Loveyou,too,baby.”Andthenhehangsup.
Icallworkstraightawayandarrangetohavethreeofmyshiftscovered,andthenIcallmystylist,whosaysshe’shadacancellationandcanseemeinanhour.Twohourslater,Iamhomewithafreshcolorandcut,andheadingtomyclosettopack.Idon’trememberthepaperIfoundorHannahOvarkuntilIgolookingformyMacBook,whichIplanontakingwithme.Islumpontothesofaandstareatthescreen,attheevidenceofmystalking.MymainscreenisstillopentoFacebook,hersmilingfacestaringupatme.Itfeelsdifferenttobedoingthisinthelightofday,moredeliberateandsneaky.Ihesitate,mymousehoveringoverherprofile.OnceIhaveinformationaboutherIcan’tgoback;itwillbethereimprintedinmymindforever.Iclickonherprofile,holdingmybreath,butwhenthescreenloads,Iseeshehaseverythingsettoprivate.Frowning,Iclosethebrowserandshutdownmycomputer.
Hannahismoreofasupermodelthanalaid-backsurfer.HerlipsarefullandperfectandshehasthetypeofcheekbonesyouonlyseeonScandinavianmodels.
ThenextmorningIwakeupstillthinkingaboutHannah.ItrytoclearmymindofherfaceasIcarrymyovernightbagdowntothecarport.Butatthelastmoment,Itaketheelevatorbackupstairsandretrievethepaperfrommynightstand,tuckingitintothedeepest,mosthiddenpocketofmywallet.JustincaseIneedheraddress.Butwhywouldyouneedit?IaskmyselfasIbucklemyseatbeltandpulloutofthecarport.
Justincase…JustincaseIwanttoseewhatshelookslikeinreallife.JustincaseIwanttohaveaconversationwithher.Thattypeofjustincase.Itismyright,isn’tit?ToknowwhoIamsharingmyhusbandwith?PerhapsIamtiredofwondering.
ThedrivetoPortlandisaroundtwohoursifthetrafficgodsarefeelinggenerous.Irollmywindowallthewaydownandturnupthemusic.Whenmyhairisatangledmess,Idecidetogivethemusicabreakandphonemybestfriend,Anna,instead.AnnamovedtoVeniceBeachafewmonthsagoforaguyshemetonline.
“That’sgreatthatyou’regoingtoseehim,”shesays.“Didyoubuysomenewlingerie?”
“Ididn’t!”Isay.“Butgoodthinking.Icanstopdowntownandpicksomethingup.ShouldIgowithsexytrashy,orsexybeautiful?”
“Definitelytrashy.Menliketothinkthey’refuckingaslut.”
Ilaughathowcrasssheis.
“Hey,”shesayswhenthere’salullintheconversation.“Howhaveyoubeensince—”
“Fine,”Isnap.Icutheroffbeforeshecansayanymore.Idon’twanttogotheretoday.TodaySethandIarehavingasexygetaway.“Listen,Ihavetogo.Justpullingintothehotelnow.Callyounextweek?”
“Sure,”sheresponds,butshedoesn’tsoundsosure.That’sAnna,alwaysworrying.Wewenttohighschooltogetherandwereroommatesincollege.WhenIfirstintroducedhertoSeth,shelovedhim,butthengraduallysomethingchangedbetweenthem,herattitudeturningdistinctlysour.Likeeveryoneelseinmylife,Ichosetokeepourtruelivesasecretfromher,soAnnahasnoideaabouttheothers.Ifiguredhelosthisglamouronceshegottoknowhim,andshechangedhermind.AnnaandIhaveverydifferenttastesinmen,andIhardlyeverlikeherboyfriends,sohowcouldIblameherfornotlikingmyhusband?
Iparkmycarmyself,avoidingthevaletsoIcanslipoutbeforeSetharrivesandgrabsomethingsexyfromoneofthedepartmentstores.Hannah’sphotoloomsinmymind.It’snowonderSethdidn’twantmetoknowanythingabouther.OnceI’vecheckedintothehotelroom,Istudymyfaceinthemirror,wonderingwhatitisthatSethseesinme.I’vealwaysthoughtmyselftobemildlyattractive,sortofinthegirl-next-doorkindofway.ButifyouhadawomanlikeHannah,whywouldyougoforawomanwithboringbrownhairandasmatteringoffrecklesacrosshernose?Ihaveanicefigure—mychesthasbeenafocalpointformensinceIwassixteen—butI’mnottall,orslender,orgracefulbyanymeans.Myhipsareroundandsoismyrear.Seth,aself-proclaimedassman,alwaysreachesaroundtogropemybacksidewhenwehug.Healwaysmakesmefeelsexyandbeautiful—untilIsawHannah,thatis.He’seitheramanofdiversetasteorhe’sjustgatheringwivesfortheheckofit.SeeingHannah’spicturemakesmecuriousaboutTuesday,butthere’snowaySethwouldtellmehername.He’dbeangryenoughknowingIsnoopedonhispregnantPortlandwife.
Glancingatmywatch,Iseethatit’slunchtime.IdecidetodriveovertotheNordstrominthecityandgrabsomelunchwhileI’mthere.Portlandismorelow-keythanSeattle,whichisacrisscrossofone-waystreetsandfast-limbedpedestrians.Ihavelittletroublenavigatingthetightlanesofthecityandparkinginagarageablockawayfromthedepartmentstore.Ifindablacklacebraandpantyduoandpickoutasheerrobetowearoverit,andcarrytheitemstotheregister.
“AnythingelseIcangetforyoutoday?”thesalesladyasks,walkingaroundtheregistertohandmemypurchase.
“Yes,”Ihearmyselfsay.“CanyoutellmehowfarGalatiaLaneis?I’mnotfromaroundhere.”
“Oh,”shesays.“It’sjustontheoutskirtsofthecity.Aboutfourmiles.Cutelittlestreet,hasthosebeautifulrestoredVictorianhouses.”
“Hmm,”Isay,pressingmylipstogetherinasmile.“Thankyou.”
Idrivetherestraightaway,thenpullover,thetiresgratingalongthecurb.Idipmyheadtoeyethehouses,myhandsstillgrippingthesteeringwheel.Itisn’ttoolatetoleave.ItisassimpleasshiftingthecarintoDriveandnotlookingback.ItapafingerasIdecide,myeyesdartingfromhousetohouse.I’malreadyhere—whatisthedamageinhavingalookaround?EvenifHannahOvarkisn’tMonday,thisneighborhoodisbeautiful.LeavingmyNordstrombaginthefrontseat,Istepoutofthecarandwalkalongtheshadedpavement,eyeingthehousesinwonder.Theylooklikegingerbreadhouses:broadturrets,windowboxes,whitepicketfencing,eachonepaintedthecolorofachildhoodfantasy.Asoftpink,aTiffanyblue—there’sevenahousethatisthecolorofmintchocolatechipicecream,theshuttersarichbrown.Irememberthefeelofthefrozenchipsofchocolatewedgedbetweenteeth,thewayyou’dsuckatatoothtoloosentheirhold.Aneighborhoodofnostalgia.HowperfectlyannoyingthatMondaywouldlivehere.Ithinkofmycondodowntown,stackedontopofadozenothers,peoplelivingverticallyinlittlespacesinthesky.Nomagic,nomintchocolatechippaint,justlongelevatorridesandcityviews.Iwonderwhatlifewouldbelikelivinginaplacelikethis.I’msolostinmythoughtsthatIwalkrightpastnumber324andhavetobacktrack.
Hannah’shouseiscream-coloredwithamatteblackdoor.Therearegreenshuttersonthewindowsandflowerboxesthatholdtinyevergreens.Thegardenischock-fullofplants—notflowers,butcarefullytendedgreens.Ihaveanewappreciationforher,awomanwhotendsevergreensoverflowers,thingsthatlive.Ispendfiveminutesstaring,admiringitall,whenavoicemakesmejump.
“Shit,”Isay,holdingahandovermyheart.WhenIturnaround,she’sstaringupatthehouse,too,ablondwithwispypiecesofhairframingherface.Shehasherheadtiltedtothesidelikeshe’sreallystudyingit.
“Lovely,isn’tit?”
Mythoughtsarrangethemselvesaroundherface.It’sadelayedresponse,recognizingsomeoneinpublicwhoyou’veonlyknownonline.Youhavetomatchthefeatures,theairbrushedskintotherealskin.
Hannah.MyheartalmostleapsoutofmychestasIstareather.I’vebrokenarule,breachedacontract.I’vealwayswonderedaboutdeer,whytheydon’trunwhentheyseeacarbarrelingtowardthem.ButhereIam,frozeninplace,heartwhirringinmyears.
“Itis,”Iagree,forlackofanythingbettertosay.Iadd,“Isityours?”
“Yes,”shesaysbrightly.“Myhusbandowneditbeforewegotmarried.Aftertheweddingwedidaremodel.So.Much.Work,”shesays,rollinghereyes.“Luckily,it’swhatmyhusbanddoesforaliving,sohehandledeverything.”
Iloveyouallthesame,wasn’tthatwhathealwayssaid?Thesame!YetheresheiswithahouserightoutofDesignandHomewhileIwiltawayinahigh-rise.Clearly,sheisthetypeyoubuyahouseforandIamthetypewhogetsacard.Sheiswearingafloweredkimono,atanktopandjeans.Asliverofherstomachisvisibleabovethewaistbandofherjeans,smoothandtaut.NowonderSethdoesn’twantusneareachother—I’ddieofinsecurity.
“Wouldyouliketocomeinandseeit?”sheaskssuddenly.“Peopleoftenknockonthedoorandwantatour.Ineverknewthatowningahousecouldmakemesopopular.”
Whenshelaughs,it’sthroaty,andIwonderifshe’sasmoker.Notanymore,Itellmyself,eyeingherbelly.It’stooflattocontainlife,toohollow.Thoughtsofherpregnancyrouseimagesinmymind—ofherlonglegswrappedaroundSeth,himpushingrelentlesslyintoher.
“Yes,I’dloveto.”ThewordsareoutofmymouthbeforeIcanstopmyself.Yes,I’dloveto.Icouldsmackmyself.Butinstead,Ifollowherupthepathandtothefrontdoor,whereshepullsoutakey.Atinyplasticsandaldanglesfromthering.MostofthewordhasbeenrubbedawaybutIcanstillmakeouttheM-e-c-oofMexico.Thereisanimmediatetighteninginmybelly.HadshegonetherewithSeth?MyGod,allthethingsIdon’tknow.Hannahisstrugglingwiththekey.Ihearherswearunderherbreath.
“Damnthingalwayssticks,”shesayswhenitfinallyturns.
Ishufflebehindher,glancingovermyshouldereveryfewsecondstomakesurenooneiscoming.Thisisn’tyourneighborhood,Ithink.Whatdifferencedoesitmakeifsomeoneseesyou?Hannahisevenmorebeautifulthaninherphotos,andontopofthat,she’snice,too.Niceenoughtoopenherhomeforaprivatetourtoacomplete,gawkingstranger.Notsuchastranger,IthinkasIfollowherinside.Wesharethesamepenis,afterall.
I’monthevergeofmaniacallaughterwhenmybreathgetscaughtinmythroat.Imakealittleeh-ehmsoundtoclearitwhileHannahdepositsherkeysonanornatehookandswingsaroundtosmileatme.Thehousecreaksaroundus,gentlyassertingitsage.Thehardwoodfloorsaregleamingandspotless,thetypeofrusticmahoganyI’dwantedtoputinthecondo.Sethhadvetoedmychoice—hewantedsomethingmoremodern,sowewentwithaslategrayinstead.Istandatthefootofacurvingstaircase,unsureofwhetherornotI’mexpectedtoremovemyshoes.IhavetheeeriefeelingthatI’vebeenherebefore,eventhoughIknowthat’snotpossible.Hannahdoesn’tmakeamovetodirectmeeitherway,soIstepoutofthem,leavingthemnearthestairs.Twobrightpinkflatsinthemidstofallthiscream.Adistressedtablesitstomyright;brightlycoloredbougainvilleaspillsfromavaseontopofit.TherearenofamilypictureshanginganywherethatIcansee,andforthat,I’mgrateful.Whatwoulditbeliketoseeyourhusbandinfamilyphotoswithanotherwoman?Everythingistastefulandperfect.Hannahhasaneyefordecor.
“It’ssolovely,”Ibreathe,myeyeshungrytotakeeverythingin.
Hannah,whohasremovedherownshoesandslippedherfeetintosilkslippers,smilesatme,herNordiccheekbonessharpandrosy.Seth’sfaceishardangles,too,asquarejawandalong,straightnose.Iwonderwhatgodlikecreaturethesetwohavecreatedtogether,andmystomachcrampsatthethoughtoftheirbaby.Theirbaby.TheirtriptoMexico.Theirhouse.
“I’mHannah,bytheway,”shesaysassheleadsmeupthestaircase.Andthenshe’stellingmeaboutthemanwhobuiltthehouseforhisnewwifeahundredyearsago,andIthinkabouthowSeth’snew,upgradedwifewaslivinginit.ItwasjustayearagowhenIagreedtoitall—ourplansthwarted,butourlovestillthere.Ihadwantedtopleasehim,muchlikeTuesday,Iimagine,whensheagreedtome.
Sheleadsmethroughseveralbedroomsandtworestoredbathrooms.Ilookforphotos,buttherearenone.Thenshetakesmedownstairstoseethesittingroomandkitchen.Ifallinlovewiththekitchenimmediately.Threetimesthesizeofthetinykitcheninmycondo,thereisenoughspacetocookseveralfeastsallatonce.Seeingthelookonmyface,Hannahgrins.
“Itwasn’talwaysthisgrand.Igaveupthesecondsittingroomtoexpandthekitchen.Weliketoentertain.”
“It’slovely,”Isay.
“Itusedtohaveyellowcabinetsandablack-and-whitecheckeredfloor.”Hernoseiscurledlikeshefindsthewholeideadistasteful.Icanpictureit,theancientkitchenwithbutterycabinets,probablyhand-paintedbythefirstowner.
“Wehatedit.Iknowyou’resupposedtoappreciatethatoldcharm,butIcouldn’twaittochangeit.”
We.Anothershock.MySethdoesnotliketoentertain.Itrytopicturehimstandingunderneaththeexposedbeamsofthisceiling,choppingonionsatthemarbleislandwhileHannahpullssomethingfromthedoubleoven.It’salltoomuchandsuddenlyIfeeldizzy.Iliftahandtomyheadandreachforachairtosteadymyself.
“Areyouallright?”ThereisconcerninHannah’svoice.ShepullsastooloutfromtheislandandIsit.
“Letmegetyousomewater,”shesays.
ShereturnswithatallglassofwaterandIdrinkit,wonderingwhenwasthelasttimeIhadanythingtodrink.Therewasteaatlunch,andaglassofrosé.I’mprobablydehydrated.
“Listen,Hannah,youinvitedastrangerintoyourhouse.Icouldbeaserialkillerorsomething.Andnowyou’regivingmewater,”Isay,shakingmyhead.“Youcan’tdothingslikethat.”
Herfacelooksimpishwhenshegrins,hereyesbrightlymischievous.She’ssignificantlyyoungerthanIam,butthere’salsosomethingregalandoldabouther.IdoubtsheeverdranktoomanyMike’sHardLemonadesandretchedintoatoiletallnightlikeIhadinmyteens.No,thiswomanistooputtogether,tooresponsibleandtoowell-spoken.IcouldseewhatSethsaw,theelegance.Theperfectmothertotheperfectchild.
“Well,now’stherighttimetomakeasnack,”shesaysplayfully.“Ihaven’teaten.”Shegoestothefridgeandthenthepantry,hummingasshepullsthingsout.Andwhenshecomesback,thereisanassortmentofcheese,crackersandfruitonawoodenboard,allarrangedinaveryartisticandgrown-upway.Ifeelakinshipwithher,herwillingnesstofeedastranger.Iwouldhavedonethesame.Ieatafewpiecesofcheeseandimmediatelyfeelbetter.
Asweeat,shetellsmethatshe’safreelancephotographer.Iaskiftheframedprintsinthehallwayarehers.Shelightsupwhenshetellsmeyes.Andagain,Iwonderwhytherearen’tanyfamilyphotosaround.You’dthinkaphotographerwouldhaveaslewofpicturesintheirhome.
“Whatdoyoudo?”sheasksme,andItellherthatI’manurse.
“HereatRegional?”sheasks,interested.
“No,no.I’mherewithmyhusbandfortheweekend.IliveinSeattle.”Idon’texpoundonanyofthat.I’mscaredtogivemyselfaway.WechatforawhilelongerabouthospitalsandtherestorationofHannah’sbeautifulhomebeforeIstand.
“I’vetakenenoughofyourtime,”Isay,smilingatherwarmly.“Look,thiswassoniceofyou.CanItakeyououttolunchnexttimeI’mintown?”
“I’dlovethat,”shesayseagerly.“I’mnotfromOregon.Imovedheretobewithmyhusband,soIhaven’tmademanyfriends.”
“Oh,whereareyoufrom?”Itiltmyheadtotheside,tryingtorecallifSethhadtoldmewhereshewasfrom.
“Utah.”
Myskinprickles.SethisfromUtah.HadheknownHannahwhenhelivedthere?No,thatisn’tpossible.Tuesdayishisfirstwife;he’dbeenwithherinUtah.ThereisanagedifferencebetweenSethandHannah,soitisn’tlikelytheywenttoschooltogether.HannahpullsherphonefromherbackpocketandItellhermynumbersoshecanprogramitin.
Iheadforthefoyerandputonmyshoes.I’msuddenlydesperatetogetoutofhere.WhatwasIthinking,anyway?SethcouldstophomeduringhislunchbreakandfindmewithHannah.Whatwouldhesayifhefoundtwoofhiswivestogether?Imakeforthedoorandbenddowntoliftthelipofmyshoefromwhereit’sfoldedagainstmyheel.It’sthenthatIseetheshardsofglassonthefloornearthewindow—twoincheslongandjagged.Ipickitupandholditinmypalm.Thereisanemptyhookonthewallwhereapictureoncehung.IturnaroundtoshowtheglasstoHannah.
“Itwasonthefloor,”Isay.“Don’twantyoutosliceyourfootopen…”
Shetakesit,thankingme,butInoticetheblushthathascreptupherneck.“MusthavebeenthephotoIhadhangingthere.Therewasanaccidentanditfelloffthewall.”
Inod.Thesethingshappen.Butthen,asshepullsherhandaway,theglassheldgingerlybetweenherfingers,Inoticeasizableclusterofbruisesonherforearm.They’rejustturningpurple.Iavertmyeyesquickly,soshewon’tcatchmestaring,andopenthedoor.
“Goodbye,then,”Isay.
Shewavesbeforeshuttingthedoor.
Ithinkaboutherbruisesallthewaybacktomycar.Hadtheylookedlikefingermarks?No,Itellmyself.You’reseeingthings.
FIVE
IhavejustenoughtimetogetbacktothehotelandtakeashowerbeforeI’msupposedtomeetSethfordinner.I’mdistractedthistime,almostdrivingintothebackofadeliverytruckthatisstalledataredlight.Hannah,Hannah,Hannah.Herfaceswimsbeforemyeyes.Iweartheblackdresshelikes,tightinalltherightplaces,andletmyhairhangloosearoundmyshoulders.Beneaththedress,IamwearingthelingerieIchoseearlierintheafternoon.ThelaceisitchyandI’vemadecomparisonsinmymindabouthowHannahwouldlookwearingthesamething.Itwillbeagoodnight,Itellmyself.Iamlookingforwardtobeingwithhimduringourstolentime.Itfeelslikecheatingandthatthrillsme.HannahmightbeeverythingI’mnot,buthechosetospendtonightwithme.Icallhimtocheckthetimeofthereservation,andwhenheanswers,hisvoicewarmsmerightwhereitcounts.
“Howmuchdidyouspend?”heasks.
He’sjoking,ofcourse.HelikestoactfrugalwhenIspendmoney,buthealwaysaskstoseethethingsIboughtandcommentsonthem.He’saninterestedhusband,andthosearerare.
“Alot,”Itellhim.
Helaughs.“Ican’twaittoseeyou.I’vebeendistractedatworkalldaythinkingabouttonight.”
“Willyoucomehere,orshouldImeetyou?”Iask.
“I’llmeetyouthere.DidyoubringthatblackdressIlike?”
“Oh,yes,”Isay,smilingalittle.MostdaysIstillgetbutterflieswhenIhearhisvoiceonthephone.Sometimesitmakesmefeeleasy,likeallhehastodoisusethatdeeprumbleandI’mputtyinhishands.ButtodaythereisanabsenceofemotionasIlistentohim.Icanfeeltheslightdisconnectintherecessesofmymind.Wearebanteringlikewenormallydo,butmyheart’snotinit.PerhapsactuallyseeingHannah,theotherwife,changedthingsforme.MadeitallrealinsteadofasituationIemotionallydetachedmyselffrom.Theirbaby.TheirtriptoMexico.Theirhouse.IwishIhadtimeforadrink,IthinkmiserablyasIgrabmycoatofftheseat.
SethiswaitingformeoutsidewhenIpulluptovalet.Therestaurantisquaintandromantic—aplacewherenewcouplescometoconnectandoldcouplescometoreconnect.Ithrillthatthisiswhathechoseforournighttogether,notingthecrisp,whitelinennapkinsandankle-lengthapronstheserverswear.Thehostessleadsustoatableinthecorner;Itaketheseatfacingthewindow.Insteadofsittingacrossfromme,Sethslidesinnexttome.
Ilookaroundtoseeifanyoneiswatchingus,iftheycare.WhenIdiscoverthatnooneispointingfingersandlaughing,Irelax.
“IneverthoughtI’dbethatgirl,”Isay,sippingmywater.
“Weusedtomakefunofthem,remember?”Sethlaughs.“Thegrosscouples…”
Ismile.“Yeah,butnowIfeellikeIcan’tgetenoughofyou.ProbablybecauseIhavetoshare.”
“I’myours,”hesays.“Iloveyousomuch.”
Hisvoicesoundsflattome.Hasitalwayssoundedlikethat?You’rebeingparanoidandnitpickingeverythingtodeath,Itellmyself.Hehasn’tchanged,youhave.
It’shardnottowonderhowoftenhesaysthattotheothers.Hannah’sfacefillsmymindandIfeelarushofinsecurity.ThisiswhySethkeepsusapart—sowewon’tfocusonjealousyandeachother,butratheronourrelationshipwithhim.Ibitebackmyfeelings.That’swhatIdo:compartmentalize,organize,prioritize.
SethordersasteakandIoptforthesalmon.Wechataboutthehospitalandthenewhousehe’sbuildingoverinLakeOswegoforaretiredactress.It’sallverybanalandnormal,atypicalmarriedcouplediscussingthesmalldetailsoftheirlives.Ialmostfeelbetterabouteverything,thewinesofteningthesharpcornersofmyanxiety,untilIseeayoungblondwomanwalkuptothehoststandcradlinganewbornbaby.Theonlythingvisibleisthecrownofthebaby’sheadwhereapatchofdarkhairpeepspasttheblanket.Jealousyrollsovermehotandheavy.IfeelasifIcan’tbreathe,andyetIcan’ttearmyeyesaway.Thewoman’spartnerfussesoverher,touchinghertenderly,andthenwrappingaprotectivearmaroundherastheystaredownattheirtinycreation,together.Ifreeze,watchingthemcarefully,thefamiliartideofpaincreepingin.Theyshareanintimacybecausetheymadeachildtogether.No,that’snottrueofeveryone.Plentyofpeoplehavechildrentogetherandthat’salltheyhave.ButIcan’thelpbutthinkofHannahandSeth,howthey’llhavesomethingtogetherthatIwon’t.
Sethseesmewatchingthemandgrabsmyhand.“Iloveyou,”hesays,lookingatmewithconcern.
SometimesIthinkhecantellthatI’mthinkingaboutthem—theothers—andherushesatmewithwords.Wordsalveforthesecond,barrenwife.Youcouldn’tgivemewhatIwantedmostintheworld,buthey!Istillloveyousoverymuch.
“Iknow.”Ismilesadlyandlookawayfromthehappyfamily.
“You’reenoughforme,”hesays.“Youknowthat,right?”
Iwanttolashoutathim,askifI’menough,thenwhyishehavingababywithsomeoneelse?Whyisthereanyoneelse?ButIdon’t.Idon’twanttobethatmaudlingirl,anagger.Mymotherwasanagger.Igrewupseeingmyfather’spainedexpressionswhenshe’drantonandonandIfeltsorryforhim.Andherbitingcommentsseemedtointensifywithage,asdidthecreaselinesonmyfather’sweatheredforehead.Hisfacewaswell-workedleatherwhileherswasaveneerofBotoxandfiller.
“Youlookupset,”Isay.
“I’msorry,”hesays.“Hardweekatwork.”
Inodsympathetically.“AnythingIcandotohelp?”
WhenSethlooksatme,hiseyesaresoft.Hereachesformyhand,asexyhalfsmileonhislips.
“Ichosethislifeandeverythinginit.Icanmanage.Iworryaboutyou,though.After—”
“Youdon’tneedtoworry.I’mfine.”Inodreassuringly.It’sablatantlie,andperhapsifheweren’tsodistracted—stretchedsothin—hewouldseethroughit.I’mnotfine,butIcanbe.Inmyweakness,IthoughtIcouldtalktohimaboutmystruggles,buthehasenoughofhisown.Besides,ifHannahcandoit,socanI.She’sexpectingababywithamanwhohasmultiplewives,andyetwhenIwaswithher,Ididn’tpickuponanyinsecurities.Sheappearedtobeahappywoman.ThenIthinkofthebruisesonherarm,thepurplemarks,darkasplums,thatresembledfingers,andmyeyesnarrow.
“What’swrong?”Sethasks.“Youdidthatthingwithyoureyebrows…”Hishandgripsmythighunderneaththetable,squeezinggently,andIfeelatinglingbetweenmylegs.Mybodybetrayingmymind,typicalofme;Ihavenodiscipline.NotwhenitcomestoSeth.
“Whatthing?”Iask,butIknowwhatthing.Ijustliketohearhimsayit.
“Whereyouscrunchthemupandthenyourlipspuckerlikeyouwanttobekissed.”
“MaybeIdo,”Ithrowback.“Haveyouthoughtofthat?”
“Ihave.”SethleansintokissmeandIfeelthesoftnessofhislipspresstomine.HesmellsofwineandhimselfandsuddenlyIwanthimtoseethelingerie.Iwanttowatchthelustriseinhiseyesbeforehepushesmeontothebed.It’sagoodthingtowantyourhusbandandtowanthimtowantyou,Ithink.
Wearefull-onmakingoutliketwoteenagerswhenIhearawoman’svoicenearby—insolent,alittleriledup.Sethpullsbacktolookoverhisshoulder,butIamstillhazy-eyedandpicturingthebedatthehotel.
“Lovers’quarrel,”hesays,turningbacktome.Overhisshoulder,Iseeacouplearguingatthebar.
IrunmyfingeraroundtherimofmywineglasswhileIwatchhisface.Icantellhe’sstrainingtohearwhatthey’resayingashestaresathiswaterglassinconcentration.Heseemstobeenjoyingthesoundoftheirvoices,whicharestrainedwithtension.Iwatchthesetofhislipstoseeifhe’stakingaside,butno,he’sjustlistening.SethandIrarelyfight,probablyonaccountofhowagreeableIforcemyselftobe.HadIeverseenhimlosehistemper?Iflipthroughmymemories,tryingtoconjureanimageofmyhusbandbeingangryenoughtohit…grab…push.
“Seth,”Isay.“Howoftendoyoufightwiththem?”
Thewinehasloosenedmytongue,myfacadeofindifferencedroppingawayasIstudymyhusband’sface.
Hedoesn’tmeetmyeyes.“Everyonefights.”
“Yes,Isuppose,”Isay,alreadyboredwithhisanswer.“Whatsortsofthingsdoyoufightabout?”
Sethlooksuncomfortableashereachesforhisglass.It’sempty,ofcourse,andhisheadjerksaroundtolookforourserversohecancushionmyquestionwithalcohol.Myeyesstaygluedtohisface.Iwanttoknow.
“Regularthings.”
“Whyareyoubeingevasive?”Idrummyfingersonthetabletop.I’maggravated.Irarelyaskquestions,andwhenIdo,Iexpectananswer.Iexpectanswersformycompliance.Myroleisn’taneasyone.
“Look,I’vehadareallyhardweek.Beingwithyouisabreakfromallthat.I’dratherjustenjoyyourcompanyinsteadofdrudgingupeveryfightI’vehadwiththem.”
Ifeelmyselfsoften.Tuckingmyhandsunderthetable,Ismileathimapologetically.Sethlooksrelieved.Iwasbeingunfair.Whyspendourtimetogethertalkingabouthisotherrelationshipswhenwecouldfocusonstrengtheningourbond?IpushHannahandherbruisesfrommymind.
“I’msorry,”Isay.“Wouldyoulikeonemoredrinkbeforeweleave?”
Sethorderstwomoredrinks,andaftertheyarrive,helooksatmewithwhatcanonlybedescribedassolemnguilt.
“What?Iknowthatlook.Spititout.”
Helaughsalittleandleansovertokissmeonthelips.“Youknowmesowell.”Hegrins.
Ileanbackagainstthefirmleatherofthebooth,waitingforthebadnews.
“Actually,Ireallyneedtotalktoyouaboutsomething.”
“Okay…”
Iwatchashetakesanothersipofhisbourbon,stallingfortime,arrangingthewordsinhismind.Iimaginethatifhehadsomethingbadtotellmeallalong,he’salreadyrehearsedwhathe’sgoingtosay.Itmakesmepricklytothinkheinvitedmeallthewayherejusttobuttermeupforbadnews.
“It’saboutMonday,”hesays.
SomethinginmybellytwistsandIfeelawaveofpanic.HefoundoutI’vebeentoseeHannah.Mylipsaredry.Ilickthem,alreadycomposingthewords—theexcusesI’mgoingtogivehim.
“Monday?”
“Everythingwiththebabyisfine.Sofar.ButIwasthinkingthatit’sabadideaforyouandmetotakeourvacationthisyearwiththebabydue…”
HiswordsdropbetweenusandallIcandoisstareathim,dumbfounded.It’snotasbadasIthought,butalsojustasbad.
“Why?”Iblurt.“Whatdifferencedoesitmake?Wecangobeforeshehasit.”
“That’sjustit,”Sethsays.ThewaitercomesbyandSethpasseshimhiscreditcardwithoutlookingatthebill.“I’llneedthetimeoffwhenthebabygetshere.Ican’ttakeavacation.Ontopofthat,thingsarebusyatwork.Ineedtobethere.”
Ifoldmyarmsacrossmychestandstareoutthewindow,suddenlynotfeelingasspecialandlovedasIhadhoursago.Ifeelcastoff,abandoned.Iamnottheonehavinghisbaby—sheis—andsomyneedsmatterless.OhmyGod,heinvitedmetoPortlandtosoftentheblow.Thiswasn’tastolenromanticgetaway,itwasamanipulation:thesoftwords,theflirting,thenicedinner—therealizationstings.
“I’vesacrificedalot,Seth…”IwanttocringeatthebitternessIhearinmyvoice.Idon’twanttoactlikeachild,butbeingrobbedofmytimewithhimisunbearable.
“Iknowyouhave.Ithurtsmetoaskyoutodothis,”hesays.
Ibalkathistone.It’slikehe’sspeakingtoachild,onehe’sabouttodiscipline.
Ilookathiminalarm,weighingmyurgetolashoutandsaysomethingthatwillhurthim.“Askme?Itsoundsmorelikeyou’retellingme.”
Itbeginstorain,andacoupledashesfromtherestaurantandacrossthestreettowardtheparkinggarage.Iwatchtheirprogressandwonderwhatit’sliketobewithamanwhowantsonlyyou.Ididn’tdatemuchbeforeSeth.Iwasoneofthoseseriousstudentswhoavoidedrelationshipstofocusonmystudies.IfIhadmoreexperienceundermybelt,maybeIwouldn’thaveagreedtothelifeSethofferedmesoeasily.
“Youknowthat’snottrue.”HereachesouttotouchmyhandandIpullitaway,placingitunderthetableonmylap.Tearsstingmyeyes.
“I’dliketoleave,”Isay.
Sethactuallyhastheaudacitytofrownatme.“Youcan’trunawayfromthis.Wehavetotalkaboutthings.That’showitworksinarelationship.YouknewwhenImarriedherwhatthatwouldentail.Youagreed.”
IamsoenragedIstandup,knockingovermyemptywaterglassasIpushoutofthehalf-moonboothandrushtowardthedoor.Ihearhimcallmyname,butnothinghesayscouldmakemestop.Ineedtobealone,tothinkaboutallofthis.Howdarehelecturemeonmarriage?Hispathistheeasyone.
SIX
ThenextmorningI’mwokenbythesoundofthedooropening.Inmyhastetoclimbintobed,I’dforgottentohangtheDoNotDisturbsign.Ihearatentative“Housekeeping…”andIcalloutamuffled“Later!”IwaituntilthedoorclosesagainbeforeIrolloverinbedandseethatIhaveseventextmessagesandfivemissedcallsfromSeth.IfIweretocallthismuchwhenIdidn’thearfromhim,I’dlookneedyandinsecure.IturnmyphoneoffwithoutreadingthetextsandjumpoutofbedtopackthefewthingsIbroughtwithme.Iwanttobehome.Itwasamistakecominghere.Iamcravingthefamiliarityofmycondo,thecoldCokethatwaitsinthefridge.IplanonclimbingunderthecoversandstayingthereuntilIhavetogobacktowork.IwanttocallmymotherorAnnaandtellthemwhathappened,butthenI’dhavetotellthemthewholetruth,andI’mnotreadyforthat.I’monmywaydowntothelobbywhenIthinkofHannahandhavethesuddenurgetoseeheragain.She’stheonlyonewhoknowswhatthisislike,thetortureofsharingyourspouse.IsendheratextasImarchtowardtheparkinggarage,thestrapsofmyduffeldiggingintomyarm.I’dbeensodistractedlastnightIdon’trememberwhereIparkedmycar.Iwalkupanddowntherowsofcars,switchingmybagbackandforthonmyarmwhenitbecomestooheavy.WhenIfinallyfinditandunlockthedoor,Iseeabouquetoflavenderrosesproppedonthefrontseat,acardproppedagainstthesteeringwheel.Imovethemtothepassengersidewithoutopeningthecardandclimbin,gunningtheengine.Ididn’twanthisflowersorhisHallmarkapologies.Iwantedhim:hisattention,histime,hisfavor.Iamalmosttothefreeway,havingmomentarilyforgottenaboutthetextIsenttoHannah,whenmyphonechimestotellmeIhaveatext.I’daskedherifshewasfreetograbalatebreakfastbeforeIheadedoutoftown.Herresponsecausesmyhearttobeatwildly.
I’dloveto!MeetyouatOrson’sinten?Here’stheaddress.
ItypetheaddressintomyphoneandmakeaU-turn.IbarelyglancedatmyselfinthemirrorbeforeIleftthismorning.AsIwaitforalighttochange,Ipulldownthecar’svisorand,flippingopenthemirror,Istudymyface.Ilookpaleandwashedout,andmyeyesarepuffyfromlastnight’scrying.Idiginmybagforalipstickandquicklymopitacrossmylips.
Orson’sisahole-in-the-wallbreakfastspotwithablock-lettersignabovethedoor.Thereisagolf-ball-sizeholeintheOwithaseriesofspiderwebcracksaroundit.Iwalkinside,thesmellofeggsandcoffeethickintheair,andlookaroundforanemptytable.
Theplaceispacked,filledwiththetypeofpeopleIcan’timagineHannahandherfinecheekbonesbeingfriendswith.Mohawks,pinkhair,tattoos—onewomanhassevenpiercingsinherfacealone.
IfindatablebyawindowwhereIcanseethedoorandtossmypurseintotheemptyseatacrossfromme.ToooftenI’dbeenincoffeeshopswheredesperatepeopletrytopilferyourchairs.Hannahwalksintenminuteslater,wearingareddressandglossyblackflats.Herhairispinnedback,butwispsofitfallaroundherfacelikeshewascaughtinastrongwind.
Shelooksfrazzledassheslidesintoherseatandpushesthestrandsbehindherears.“SorryI’mlate.I’djustgottenoutoftheshowerwhenIgotyourtext.”Shepullsoffhersunglassesandsetsthemonthetablewhileshepressesherfingerstothebridgeofhernose.
“Headache?”Iask.
Shenods.“Caffeineheadache.I’vebeentryingtocutback,butIthinkI’llhaveonetoday.”
“I’llgograbuscoffeesifyoutellmewhatyouwant,”Isay,standingup.Ihavethesuddenurgetoprotecther.Shenods,lookingaround.
“Yeah,Isupposewecan’trisklosingourtable.”
ShetellsmeherorderandIwalkuptotheregisterandgetinline.It’sthenthatIstartsweating.Like,whatthehellamIdoing?IsthistogetbackatSeth?No,ItellmyselfasIreachthefrontoftheline.I’msearchingformyownformofcommunity.Ineedtounderstandmyself,andtheonlywaytodothatistogettoknowtheotherwomanwhohasmadesimilarchoices.Besides,itisn’tlikeIcouldfindapolygamygrouponline,likeoneofthoseMOPSmeetingsmothersattend.
Iplaceourorderandcarrythenumberonastandbacktothetable.Hannahischewingonhernailsandstaringatacoffeestainonthetable.
Iglanceatherarm,totheplacewhereIsawthebruiseyesterday.It’sgonefrompurpletoadimblue.
Sheseesmelookingandcoversitwithherhand,perfectlymanicuredfingerswrappingaroundherarm.
“Anaccident,”shesays.
“Lookslikefingermarks.”Mycommentisoffhanded,butshelooksstartled,likeI’vejustslappedher.Istudyhereyes.They’resoperfectlybluetheylookpainted,herlashesflickedupwithexpertlyappliedmascara.It’salltooperfect,Ithink.Whenthingsarethatperfect,somethingiswrong.
Whilewewait,shechatsaboutanotherrenovationshewantstodoonthehouse,butherhusbandisdragginghisfeet.IgravitatebetweenlikingandhatingherasIsmileandnod.Howungratefultoliveinsuchabeautifulplaceandtoneverbesatisfiedwithit.Wasn’tSethexhaustedbyherdemands?Iimaginehe’lltellmeaboutitsoon,askwhatIthinkabouttherenovationshewants.Sethalwaysconferswithmeaboutthesethings,almostlikehe’saskingpermission.I’dtellhimtogiveherwhatshewants,ofcourse.Itwouldmakemelookgood.HannahsuddenlychangesthesubjectandasksquestionsaboutmycondoandhowI’vedecoratedit.Herinterestflattersandconfusesme.I’mgratefulwhenourfoodanddrinksarrive.Istaredownatmyplate,attheomeletthatishealthierthanoneIwouldhaveorderedhadIbeenbymyself,andhavethedesperateurgetotellhersomethingpersonal.“Ifoundoutlastnightthatmyhusbandischeatingonme.”
Hannahdropsherfork.Itclattersontoherplateandthendoesafliplandingonthefloor.Webothstareatit.
“What?”shesays.Herresponseissodelayedit’salmostfunny.
Ishrug.“I’mnotsurehowtoprocessit.WehadafightlastnightandIstormedoff.”
Hannahshakesherheadandbendstopickupherfork.Insteadofaskingforanewone,shepullsanantibacterialwipefromherhandbagandpolishesitclean.
“I’msorry,”shesays.“MyGod,hereIamblabbingabout…I’mreallysorry.”
Shesetsdownherforkandstaresatme.“Seriously,that’sterrible.I’dbeanabsolutemess.Howareyouevenholdingup?”
“Idon’tknow,”Isayhonestly.“Ilovehim.”Shenods,likethisisanswerenough.
Shestudiesmeoverherplateofeggwhites.She’sbarelytouchedherfood.Iwanttotellhertoeat,thatshehasababytogrow.
“I’mpregnant,”shesays.
Ifeignsurprise.Idon’thavetotryveryhardbecauseI’mgenuinelyshockedthatshetoldme,acompletestranger.
Myeyestraveltoherbelly,flatandfirm.
“I’mnotveryfaralong,”sheadmits.“Ihaven’ttoldanyone.”
“Your…husband?”Iask.ThoughIwanttosay,“Ourhusband?”
“Yes,”shesighs,“heknows.”
“And…ishe…happy?”Ialreadyknowtheanswer,ofcourse—Sethwasoverthefuckingmoon—butIwanttohearaboutitfromHannah’smouth.Whatdoesmyhusband’sexcitementlookliketoher?
“He’shappy.”
“You’resayingsomethingwithoutsayingit.”Iwipemymouthandstareatherpointedly.Mymothercan’tstandthissideofme;shesaysI’mtooforward,butHannahdoesn’tseembotheredbymystatement.Shewipeshermouthwithapapernapkinandsighs.
“Yes,IsupposeIam.”Shelooksatmewithnewappreciation.“Ilikehowdirectyouare.”Ibitetheinsideofmycheekstokeepfromsmiling.
“Sowhat’sthedeal?Youhavetotalktosomeoneaboutit,right?”I’mtryingtoplayitcool,butmytoesarecurledupinmyshoesandmylegisbouncingsporadicallyunderneaththetable.Ifeellikeadruggie.Ineedmore,Ineedtohearitall,tounderstand.
Shelooksatmethroughspikyblacklashesandpressesherlipstogether.
“Hehidesmybirthcontrolpills.”
IpressthebackofmyhandtomymouthasIchokeonthesipofcoffeeI’vejusttaken.Shehastobejoking.Seth,hidingbirthcontrolpills?Sethisthetypeofguywhogetswhathewantswithouttricks.Ormaybethat’sjustwithme.
“Howdoyouknowhehidesthem?”Iask,settingmycoffeecupdown.Hannahshiftsinherseat,hereyesdartingaroundlikeshe’swaitingforSethtoappearoutofthewalls.
“He’sjokedaboutitandofcoursemypillsgomissing.”
“It’slikewhenwomenpokeholesincondomstotrapmenwithpregnancies,”Isay,shakingmyhead.“Butwhywouldhewanttotrapyouwithapregnancy?”
Hannah’smouthpullsintoatightlineandshelooksaway.Mybreathcatchesinmythroatasmyeyestraveltothebruisesonherarm.
“Youwantedtoleave…”
Shelooksatmebutdoesn’tsayanything.Icanalmostseethetruthinhereyes,pressedbehindherrapidblinking.Mymindisspinningoutofcontrol.It’sinconceivabletome,Sethhurtingawoman,Sethhidingbirthcontrolpills.Iwanttoaskifsheloveshimbutmytongueisgluedtotheroofofmymouth.
“Hannah,youcantellme…”
Awomanwithdreadlocksandababystrappedtoherchestinoneofthosehippieslingthingswalkspastourtable.Hannahwatchesherwithraptinterest,andIwonderifshe’simaginingherselfwithababy.I’ddoneitathousandtimesbefore,imaginingtheweightofatinyhumaninmyarms—wonderingwhatitwouldfeelliketoknowyoumadesomethingsosmallandperfect.Istareatherbeautifulface.Hannahisnotwhosheseems:theperfecthouse,theperfectface,theperfectoutfit…andthenthosebruises.Iwantedtoknowher,understandher,buteverysecondspentwithhermakesmemoreconfused.AfewhoursagoIwasfuriousatSeth,andnow,asIsitacrossfrommyhusband’sotherwife,myangertransferstoher.Ifeelabsolutelybipolarinmyemotions—oneminutedistrustingone,thenexttheother.Whywouldshehaveagreedtoallofthisifnottohaveachildwithhim?That’swhy…that’swhyheaddedawife.BecauseIcouldn’tgivehimachild.
“Didhemakethatbruiseonyourarm?”Ileanin,studyingherfaceforsignsofaliebeforeshe’sevenansweredme.
“It’scomplicated,”shesays.“Hedidn’tmeanit.WewerefightingandIwalkedaway.Hegrabbedmyarm.Ibruiseeasily…”sheoffersweakly.
“That’snotokay.”
Hannahlooksputoff,likeshe’dratherbeanywhereelsebuthere.Sheglanceslonginglytowardthedoor;Ilayahandonherarmandstareherrightintheeye.
“Hashehityoubefore?”Myquestionisloaded.I’mnotjustaskingHannahOvarkifherhusbandhitsher,I’maskingifmyhusbandhitsher.
“No!Imean,hedoesn’thitme.Look,youhaveitallwrong.”
I’mabouttoaskherexactlyhowIhaveitallwrongwhensomeonebumpsintoourtable.Ileanoutoftheway,butit’stoolate,acuptiltstowardme,emptyingitscontentsovermyclothes.Thegirlwho’dbeenholdingthecupwidenshereyes,hermouthdroppingopen.
“Shit,”shesays,jumpingback.“I’msosorry.It’siced,thankGodit’siced.”
Igrabmypurse,movingitoutofthewayasapuddleofbrowncrawlsacrossthetable.Hannahisshovingnapkinsatme,pullingthemonebyonefromtheholder.IlookatherhelplesslyasIdabatmypants.“Ihavetogo,”Isay.
“Iknow.”Shenodslikesheunderstands.“Thanksforthebreakfast,”shesays.“Itwasnicetotalktosomeone.Idon’tgettodothatveryoften.”
Ismileweaklyatherandthinkofthewomanwiththedreadlocksandthebaby.She’slying.There’ssomethingoffaboutHannahOvarkandI’mgoingtofindoutwhatitis.
SEVEN
WhenSethcallsafewdayslaterIamhome,snuggledupunderablanketonthecouch.I’vebeenscreeninghiscallsfordays,sendinghimtovoicemailonthefirstring.I’mmellowaftertwoglassesofwineandsoIanswer.I’vebeengoingoverwhatHannahsaid,replayingherwordsoverandoveruntilIwanttocryfromfrustration.Hesayshellofirst;hisvoicesoundstiredbuthopeful.
“Hi,”Ibreatheintothephone.Iholdthedevicetomyearwithonehand,andwiththeotherItracethepatternsofathrowpillowonmylap.
“I’msorry,”hesaysrightaway.“I’msosorry.”Hesoundsit.
“Iknow…”Myangerdissolving,IreachoverfortheremoteandmutethemindlessfodderIwaswatching.RealityTVistheultimatedistractionfromabrokenheart.
“IspoketoHannah,”hesays.“That’sMonday’sname.”
Iholdmybreath,pushingmyselfintoasittingpositionandtossingthepillowontothefloor.Didhereallyjusttellmehername?Itfeelslikeatriumph,Sethtrustingmewithsomethinghe’snevershared.Iamfairlycertainneitheroftheotherwivesknowsmyname.Andthenithitsme:Hannahholdsallthepower.Sheisthepregnantwife.Isuddenlyfeelclaustrophobic,mypriorsoftnessreplacedwithnerves.IfHannahdecidedthatitwasimportantforSethtostaywithherinsteadofgoingonvacationwithme,that’sexactlywhathewoulddo.ImaybeSeth’slegalwife,butthisbabyshiftedmetothepositionofmiddlechild,andeveryoneknowsthatthemiddlechildistheforgottenone.Iclearmythroat,determinedtoactnormal,despitewhatIamfeeling.
“Whatdidshesay?”Myheartispoundingandmynailsfindtheirwaytomymouthwheremyteethbegintheirrippingassault.
There’sapauseonhisend.“Itoldherthatitwasimportantformetotakethetrip,”hesays.“You’reright.Ican’ttaketimeawayfromyou.Itisn’tfair.”
Ishouldbenice,playtheroleofthegoodwife,butthewordsbubblefrommylipsbeforeIcanpullthemback.
“Idon’twantyourcharity.Iwantyoutowanttotakeatripwithme.”
“Ido.I’mdoingmybesthere,baby.”
“Don’tcallmethat,Seth.”
There’salongpauseonhisend,followedbyasigh.“Allright.Whatdoyouwantmetosay?”
Annoyancebloomsinmychest.
WhatdoIwanthimtosay?Thathechoosesme?Thatheonlywantsme?That’snevergoingtohappen.It’snotwhatIsignedupfor.
“Idon’twanttofight,”hesays.“IjustcalledtotellyouthatI’mfiguringitout.AndIloveyou.”
Iwonderifhemademethebadguy,toldherIwaskickingupafuss.WhywouldIevencarewhatHannahthinksofme?ButIdocarewhatHannahthinks,evenifshedoesn’tknowwhoIam.Well,shedoesknow,doesn’tshe?Ithink.Shejustdoesn’tknowsheknows,youfuck.
“ItoldherthatitwasimportantIgo,”hetellsme.
ThatsoundslikeSethactually.Neverwantingtobethebadguy.Heneedstopleaseandbepleased.Hemakeslovetomeinthesameway,alternatingbetweenatenderreverenceandwildgripoffingersandthrustsuntilIsoundofflikeapornstar.
Suddenly,hisvoicechangesandIpressthephoneclosertomyear.“Ididn’tknowifyoustillwantedmethere…onThursday…”
IswipeawaytheguiltI’mfeelingforbeingsoharshandconsidermyfeelings.DoIwanthimhere?AmIreadytoseehim?IcouldjustoutrighttellhimwhatIdidandaskforanexplanation.Buthecoulddenythewholething,andthenI’dnevergettotalktoHannahagain.He’dtellherwhoIwasandshe’dfeelbetrayedbywhatI’ddone.There’sahugechancethatIamblowingallofthisoutofproportion,andthenI’dlooklikeapatheticidiottotheonlypersonintheworldIamcloseto.
“Youcancome,”Isaysoftly.Becauseifhedoesn’t,he’llgotooneofthem.Imaybeangrywithhim,butIamstillacompetitivewoman.
“Okay,”isallhesaysinreturn.
WehangupwithbarelymorethananIloveyoufromSeth.WhoIknowgenuinelydoesloveme.ButIdon’tsayitback.Iwanttomakehimsuffer.Heneedstoknowthattherearenoliesinamarriage—nomatterhowmanywomenyou’remarriedto—whichmakesthetruthevenmorecomplicated.Butstill…
Idon’tknowwhattodo.Igrowsourwitheachday,likecurdledmilkleftintheheat.WhenThursdayarrives,inanactofdefianceIdecidenottomakedinner.I’mnotgoingtocookforhim,putonashowlikeeverythingisallright.Itisn’t.Idon’tdomyhairorputoneofmyusuallysexydresseson,either.AtthelastminuteIspraysomeperfumeonmywristsandatthenecklineofmyshirt.Thatwasforme,Itellmyself.Nothim.WhenSethwalksthroughthedoor,Iamsittingonthecouchinsweatpants,myhairrolledintoabun,eatingramennoodlesandwatchingBravo.Hepausesinthedoorwaytothelivingroom,surveyingmystatewithalookofamusement.Ihaveanoodlehangingoutofmymouth,mylipscuppedaroundit.
“Hi,”hesays.He’swearingacardiganpusheduptohiselbowsandalightblueV-neckT-shirt.Hishandsarestuffedintohisjeanpocketslikehedoesn’tknowwhattodowiththem.Sheepish.Howcharming.
Normally,I’dbeonmyfeetbynow,rushingtowardhimsothatIcouldbewrappedinhisarms,sorelievedthatIcouldfinallytouchhim.ThistimeIstayseated,andtheonlyacknowledgmentIgivehimingreetingisaslightraiseofmyeyebrowsasIsuckthelonenoodleintomymouth.ItslapsmycheekonthewayinandIfeelasprayofthesaltychickenwaterhitmyeyeball.
Iwatchasheamblesintothelivingroomandsitsacrossfrommeononeofthefloralchairswechosetogether:deepemeraldgreenwithcreamygardeniasfloatingacrossthefabric.“Almostlikethey’recaughtonthewind,”he’dsaidwhenhefirstsawitinthestore.I’dboughtitjustbecauseofhisdescription.
“There’srameninthepantry,”Isaycheerfully.“Chickenandbeef.”Iwaitforastartledreaction,buthedoesn’thaveone.ThisisthefirstThursdayinourmarriagethatIhavenotcookedanelaboratemeal.
Henods,handsclaspedbetweenhiskneesnow.Imarvelatthechange.Allofasudden,it’slikehedoesn’tbelonghereandIdo.He’slosthispowerandIsortoflikeit.Iliftthebowlofbrothtomylipsanddrinkitdown,smackingmylipswhenI’mdone.Delicious.IforgothowgoodabrickofnoodlescouldbeOhmyGod,I’msolonely.
“So,”Isay.I’mhopingtopromptSethintosayingwhateverhe’sholdingbehindhisteeth.Bythestrainedlookonhisface,heappearstobechokingonallofhisunsaidbits.Ican’tbelieveIevenentertainedthethoughtthatthismancouldroughupawoman.Istudyhisface,hisweakchinandtoo-prettynose.It’sstrangehowperceptionisalteredbybitterness.I’veneverthoughthischinweakbefore,neverconsideredhisnosetoopretty.ThemanwhosefaceI’vealwayslovedandcradledbetweenmypalmssuddenlylooksweakandpathetic,transformedbymyflip-floppingopinionofhim.
Iflipthroughthechannels,notreallyseeingwhat’sonthescreen.Idon’twanttolookathimforfearhewillbeabletoseeinmyeyestheuglythingsI’mfeeling.
“IthoughtI’dbegoodatthis,”hesays.IsparehimaglancebeforeIkeepflicking.
“Goodatwhat?”
“Lovingmorethanonewoman.”
Thelaughthatburstsfrombetweenmylipsissharpandugly.
Sethlooksatme,chagrined,andIfeelastabofguilt.
“Whocanbegoodatsomethinglikethat?”Iask,shakingmyhead.“God,Seth.Marriagetoonepersonishardenough.You’rerightaboutonething,”Isay,settingtheremotedownandturningmyfullattentiononhim.“I’mdisappointed.Ifeelbetrayed.I’m…jealous.Someoneelseishavingyourbabyandit’snotme.”
ThemostI’vesaidaboutoursituation.Iimmediatelywanttoreelthewordsbackin,swallowthemdown.Isoundsojaded.It’snotasideofmyselfI’veeverletSethsee.Menpreferthepurringsofaconfident,securewoman—that’swhatthebookssay.That’swhatSethsaidaboutmeinthefirstmonthsofourdating:“Ilikethatyou’renotthreatenedbyanything.You’reyounomatterwhoelseisintheroom…”Itisn’tthatwaynow,isit?Twootherwomenareintheroom,andInoticethemeveryminuteofeveryday.Ilookaroundmysmalllivingroom,myeyestouchingtheknickknacksandartthatSethandIchosetogether:apaintingofanEnglishseaside,adriftwoodbowlthatwefoundinPortTownsendinourfirstyearofmarriage,apileofcoffeetablebooksthatIsworeIneededbuthaveneverpagedthrough.Allthethingsthatcompriseourlives,andyetnonearefilledwithmemories,orrepresentajoiningoflives,likeababywould.Hesharesthatbondwithsomeoneelse.Isuddenlyfeeldepressed.Ourexistencetogetherisashallowone.Ifnotforchildren,whatisthere?Sex?Companionship?Isanythingmoreimportantthanbringinglifeintotheworld?Ireachupabsentlytolayahandonmywomb.Foreverempty.
EIGHT
IthasbeenamiraculousthreesunnydaysinWashingtonandthenightskyisrejoicingwithasprayofstars.Iopenedtheblindsrightbeforebedsowecouldfeellikewewerelyingunderneaththem,butnowtheyalmostseemtoobrightasIlieawakenexttomysnoringhusband.Iglanceattheclockandseeit’sjustpastmidnightwhensuddenlythescreenonSeth’sphonelightsup.HisphoneisonhisnightstandandIliftmyselfslightlysoIcanseewhoistextingmyhusband.Regina.Iblinkatthename.Wasthat…Tuesday?Aclientwouldn’ttextthislateatnight,andIknowthenamesofeveryoneinhisoffice.Ithadtobe.Iliebackdownandstareattheceilingsayingthenameoverandoverinmyhead:Regina…Regina…Regina…
Seth’sfirstwifeisTuesday.Idon’tknowifitwasmeorifitwasSethwhogaveherthatnickname,butbeforeHannah,itwasjustSethandthetwoofus.ThreedayswenttoTuesday,threedaystome,andonedaywasreservedforhistravel.Thingsfeltsaferbackthen;Ihadmorecontrolovermyownheartandhis.Iwasthenewwife,shinyandwell-loved—mypussyanoveltyratherthanafamiliarfriend.Ofcourse,therewasthepromiseofbabiesandfamily,andIwouldbetheonetoprovidethem—nother.Thatboostedmyposition,gavemeapower.
TuesdayandSethmetsophomoreyearincollegeataChristmasmixerthrownbyoneofhisprelawprofessors.BeforeSethwasbusiness,hewaslaw.WhenSethwalkedin,Tuesday,asecond-yearlawstudent,wasstandingbythewindowsippingherDietCokealoneandilluminatedbyChristmaslights.Hespottedherrightaway,thoughhedidn’tgettospeaktoheruntiltheveryendofthenight.AccordingtoSeth’saccount,shewaswearingaredskirtandfour-inchblackheels.Adeparturefromthedowdyattireoftherestofthelawstudents.Hedoesn’trememberanythingabouthertop,thoughIdoubtitwasanythingscandalous.Tuesday’sparentswerefacultymembersofthecollege,observingMormons.Shedressedmodestlyexceptforhershoes.Sethsaidsheworefuck-meshoesrightfromtheget-go,andthatovertheyears,hertasteinfootwearhasintensified.Itrytopictureher:mousybrownhair,ablousebuttonedtohercollarboneandhookershoes.Iaskedoncewhatbrandsheprefers,butSethdidn’tknow.Shehasawholeclosetfilledwiththem.“Butcheckiftheirsolesarered,”Iwantedtosay.
Towardtheendofthenight,aspeoplewerestartingtoleavetoheadbacktothedorms,Sethmadehiswayover.
“ThosearethesexiestshoesI’veeverseen.”
Thatwashispickupline.Thenhesaid,“I’daskthemonadate,butIthinkthey’lljustrejectme.”
TowhichTuesdayhadreplied,“Youshouldaskmeonadateinstead,then.”
Theyweremarriedtwomonthsaftertheygraduated.Sethclaimedthattheyneverfoughtonceduringthetwoandahalfyearstheydated.Hesaiditwithpride,thoughIfeltmyeyebrowsliftattheridiculousness.Fightingwasthesandpaperthatsmoothedoutthefirstyearsofarelationship.Sure,therewasstillplentyoflifelonggritafterthat,butthefightingstrippedeverythingdown,lettheotherpersonknowwhatwasimportanttoyou.TheymadethemovetoSeattlewhenafriend’sfatherofferedSethajob,butTuesdayhadn’tacclimatedwelltotheconstantshadeandrainymistofSeattle.First,shebecamemiserable,thenoutrighthostileassheaccusedhimofdraggingherawayfromherfamilyandfriendstomoldawayinwet,drearySeattle.Then,ayearintotheirmarriage,hecaughtherwithbirthcontrolpills,andsheconfessedthatshedidn’twanttohavechildren.Sethwasdistraught.Hespentthenextyeartryingtoconvinceherotherwise,butTuesdaywasacareerwomanandmydearSethwasafamilyman.
ShewasacceptedtoalawschoolinOregon,herdream.Theircompromisewasarelationshipcommuteforthetwoyearsitwouldtakehertofinish.ThentheywouldreevaluateandSethwouldlookforanewjobsomewhereclosertoher.ButthebusinessSethranwasdoingwell,andhisinvestmentinitssuccessgrew.Whentheownerhadastroke,heagreedtosellthecompanytoSeth,whomhehadtrustedtorunitfortwoyears.Seth’smovetoOregonwasthwarted.HewouldneverleaveTuesday,helovedhertoodeeply,andsotheyworkedaroundtheirrespectivestates,driving,driving,driving.SometimesTuesdaywoulddrivetoSeattle,butmostlyitwasSethwhomadethesacrifices.IresentedTuesdayforthat,thefirst,selfishwife.SethopenedanofficeinPortlandpartiallytobeclosertoTuesday,andpartiallybecauseitwasagoodbusinessopportunity.Whenwefirstmet,Iaskedhimwhyhedidn’tdivorceherandmoveon.He’dlookedatmealmostpityingly,andaskedifI’dbeenleftbefore.Ihad,ofcourse—whatwomanhasn’texperiencedbeingleft?Aparent,alover,afriend.Perhapshewastryingtodistractmefromthequestion,andithadworked.Tearssprangup,resentfulmemoriescame,andIbelievedSethmysavior.Hewouldn’tleaveme,nomatterwhat.That’swherejealousycamein,whensomeoneorsomethingthreatenedmyhappiness.I’dunderstoodSethinthatmoment,admiredhim,even.Hedidn’tleave,butthedownsideofthatwashedidn’tleaveanyoneHemerelyadapted.Ratherthandivorce,hetookanewwife—onewhocouldgivehimchildren.Iwasthesecondwife.Tuesday,inacompromisetoremainwithoutchildren,agreedtolegallydivorceSethwhileImarriedhim.Iwastobethemotherofhischildren.Until…Hannah.
“Seth…?”Isayitagain,louderthistime.“Seth…”
Themoonisbrightoutsidethebedroomwindow,anditsglowilluminatesmyhusband’sfaceasheslowlyopenshiseyes.I’veinterruptedhissleep,buthedoesn’tlookangry.Earlier,Sethstoodbehindmeandwrappedhisarmsaroundmywaist,kissingmyneckslowly,aswelookedoutatthecitybelow.Imusthaveforgivenhimsometimebetweenhisbowloframenandourlovemaking,becausetheonlythingIfeelforhimatthemomentisintenselove.
“Yes?”HisvoiceisheavywithsleepandIreachouttotouchhischeek.
“Areyouangrywithmeforwhathappenedtoourbaby?”
HerollsontohisbackandIcannolongerseeeverydetailofhisface,justtheslantofhisnoseandoneblue-greeneye.
“It’smidnight,”hesays,likeIdon’talreadyknow.
“Iknowthat,”Isaysoftly.Forgoodmeasure,Iadd,“Ican’tsleep.”
Hesighs,rubbingahandoverhisface.
“Iwasangry,”headmits.“Notatyou…atlife…theuniverse…God.”
“IsthatwhyyoufoundMonday?”Ittakesallofmycouragetoformthosewordsintoasentence.IfeelasifI’vecutopenmyownchestandsplayedoutmyheart.
“Mondayhasn’treplacedyou,”hesaysaftersometime.“Iwantyoutobelievethatmycommitmenttoyouisreal.”Hereachesoutahandandcaressesmyface,thewarmthofhispalmreassuring.“Thingsdidn’tquitepanoutthewaywewanted,butwe’restillhereandwhatwehaveisreal.”
Hehasn’treallyansweredmyquestion.Ilickmylips,thinkingofawaytorephrase.Myfootinginourmarriageisunsteady,mynewpurposeunclear.
“Wecouldhaveadopted,”Isay.Sethturnshisfaceaway.
“Youknowthat’snotwhatIwant.”Hisvoiceisclipped.Endofstory.I’dbroughtupthetopicofadoptionbefore,andhe’dimmediatelydismissedit.
“WhatifthesamethinghappenedtoMonday…thathappenedtome?”
Hisheadsnapsrightsohe’slookingatmeagain,butthistimethere’snokindnessinhiseyes.I’mstartledbyit.
“Whywouldyousaythat?That’saterriblethingtoimagine.”Hepusheshimselftoasittingposition,soIdo,leaningbackonmyelbowsuntilwe’rebothstaringatthebaywindowsandthestarsbeyond.
“I—Ididn’tmeanitlikethat,”Isayquickly,butSethisflustered.
“She’smywife.WhatdoyouthinkI’ddo?”
Ibitemylip,grippingthesheetsinmyfists;suchastupidthingtosay,especiallyafterthingshadbeengoingsowellallevening.
“It’sjust…youleftme.Youfoundherafter…”
Hestaresstraightahead,notreallyseeinganything.Iseethemusclesinhisjawjump.
“YouknewIwantedchildren.AndI’mhere.I’mrightherewithyou.”
“Butareyou?”Iargue.“Youneedtwootherwomen—”
“Enough.”Hecutsmeoff.Hegetsoutofbedandreachesforhispants.“Ithoughtweweredonewiththis.”
Iwatchashestepsintothem,notbotheringtobuttonthemwhenhepullsonhisshirt.
“Whereareyougoing,Seth?Look,I’msorry.Ijust—”
HewalkstowardthedoorandIswingmylegsoverthesideofthebeddeterminednottolethimleave.Notlikethis.
Ithrowmyselfathim,grabbingontohisarmandtryingtopullhimback.Ithappensinaninstant,hishandshovingmeaway.Caughtoffguard,Ifallbackward.MyearclipsthenightstandbeforeIlandonmyrearonthewoodfloor.IcryoutbutSethhasalreadyleftthebedroom.Iraisemyhandtomyearandfeelthewarmtrickleofbloodonmyfingertips,justasIhearthefrontdoorslamclosed.Iflinchatthesound,notbecauseit’soverlyloud,butbecauseoftheangerbehindit.Ishouldn’thavedonethat,wokenhimupinthemiddleofthenightandputthoughtsofdyingbabiesinhishead.Whathappenedwasn’tjusthardonme;Sethhadlosthischild,aswell.Istandup,wobblingonmyfeet.Squeezingmyeyesclosed,Icupmybleedingearandwaitforthedizzinesstopass,thenIwalkslowlytothebathroom,flickingonthelighttoassessthedamage.Thereisacentimeter-longcutontheoutsideofmyear,runningparalleltothecartilage.Itstings.IcleanitwithanalcoholwipeanddabsomeNeosporinonthewound.It’salreadystoppedbleeding,butnothurting.WhenIreturntothebedroomIstareatthebedforalongtime,empty,thesheetsrumpled.Seth’spillowstillholdstheindentationwherehisheadrested.
“He’sundersomuchstress,”IsayoutloudasIclimbintobed.Ithinkmyproblemsandinsecuritiesareextreme,butIonlyhaveonemantokeephappy.Sethhasthreewomen:threesetsofproblems,threesetsofcomplaints.I’msureweallpressurehimindifferentways:Mondayandherbaby,Tuesdayandhercareer…meandmyfeelingsofinferiority.Ipullmykneesuptomychest,unabletoclosemyeyes.Iwonderifhe’llgobacktoHannah.OrmaybeitwillbeReginathistime.
ItellmyselfthatIwon’tsearchforthemonline,thatI’llrespectSeth’sprivacy,butIknowit’snottrue.I’vealreadycrossedaline,befriendedhisotherwife.Tomorrow,IwilltypetheirnamesintoasearchboxsoIcanseewhotheyclaimtobe.SoIcanstudytheireyes,searchforregret,hurt…oranythingthatlookssimilartowhat’sinmyowneyes.
NINE
ReginaCoeleistiny,maybefivefeetonagoodday.Iwalkawayfrommylaptopwhereitrestsonthekitchencounter,andpullopenthefreezer.It’sonlyteno’clock,butIneedsomethingstrongerthantheCokeIpouredtodrinkwithbreakfast.Ipullabottleofvodkafromwhereit’swedgedbetweenabagoffrozenpeasandfrostbittenhamburgerpatties.IstudythephotoofheronMarkel&Abel’swebsite:afamilylawfirmwithtwooffices,oneindowntownPortlandandoneinEugene.Inthewebsitephoto,shewearsdark-rimmedglassesperchedonaslightlyupturnednose.Ifnotforthesmearofredlipstickandhersophisticatedhairstyle,she’deasilybemistakenforagirlinherlateteens.Itopoffmyjuicewiththevodkaandaddafewcubesoficetothetumbler.Mostwomenwouldfeelfortunatetohavesuchayouthfulappearance.ButIimaginethatinRegina’slineofwork,sheneedsclientstorespecther,notquestionifshe’soldenoughtodrink.Theorangejuicedoeslittletodisguisetheheavypourofvodka.Isuckmyteeth,decidingwhattodonext.ItoldmyselfthatIjustneededtoseeher,justonequicklook.I’dmadethesilentpromiseevenasItypedhernameintothesearchbox,butnowthatI’mlookingatherIjustwanttoknowmore.Ithrowbacktherestofthevodkaandthejuiceandpouranotherbeforecarryingmylaptoptothelivingroom.
Iuncapmypenandleanmynotebookonthearmrestofthecouch,readytowork.Inneatletters,IwriteReginaCoeleatthetopofthepageandthenthenameofthelawfirmwhereshepractices.Ifollowthatwithheremailandthefirm’sphonenumberandaddress.Recappingmypenandsettingitaside,Ileavethelawfirm’swebsiteandgotothemostobviousplacetolookforaperson.FacebookhasneverheardofReginaCoele—nottheoneI’mlookingforatleast.ThereareadozenprofilesofwrongReginas,noneofthemmatchingthedetailsmysleuthskillshavealreadyuncovered.Butno,Ithinkruefully;shewouldn’tusehernameonsocialmedia,notiftherewasachanceherclientscouldsearchforher.
ItypeinGigiCoele,R.CoeleandGinaCoelewithnoresults.Ileanbackonthesofa,linkingmyhandsandliftingmyarmsabovemyheadinastretch.Maybeshe’snotonFacebook;thereareplentyofpeoplewhosteerawayfromtheintrusiveprobingfingersofsocialmedia.ButthenIseethefrecklesinmymind,theroundnose—andIrememberalittlegirlwholivedonmystreetwhenIwasgrowingup.GeorgianaBaker—orBarker—orsomethinglikethat.ShewasatomboytomygirliegirlandshelikedtobecalledGeorgie.SomethingaboutmychildhoodmemoryofGeorgieremindsmeofRegina.Perhapsit’sthefrecklednose.
ItypeReggieCoeleintothesearchbaronFacebookandIstrikegold.AdifferentversionofReginaCoelepopsup,thisonewithwavyhair,heavyeyelinerandglossylips.Herprivacysettingsrestrictmefromseeinganythingpastherprofilepicture,butthecasualwaysheembracesafriend,wearingspaghettistraps,tellsmethatthisistherealsideofher—astarkoppositiontoherstiff-backedlawyerlylook.OnceIfindher,it’sarabbitholeofinformation.Ican’tstop,myfingermovingthecursorofmyMacBookfromwebsitetowebsite.I’mmanicinmyresearch,hatingheroneminuteandlikingherthenext.MyeyesarewidewiththeinformationI’vebeenthirstyforthepasttwoyears,mystomachatangleofanxietyandexcitement.Thisismyhusband’sotherwife.Oneofthem,anyway.I’velookedupherInstagram(private),herTwitteraccount,whichisnotprivate,butthelasttimeshetweetedwasayearago.Onanoffchancethatshe’sdoingsomethingsheshouldn’t,IsearchhernameonawebsitethatwouldlinkRegina(orReggie)toanyofthepopulardatingsites.Mysearchpingstworesults:Choose—asitethatallowsyoutoswipeleftorrighttopickandeliminatematchesinyourarea,andGoSmart—amoreelaboratedatingwebsitethatmatchesyouaccordingtotheresultsontheMyers-Briggspersonalitytest.
WhywouldReginabeondatingwebsites?She’dbeenwithSethsincecollege,whenhebarelyhadanyhaironhischin,sotherewasnolapseintheirrelationshipwhenshewouldhavebeensingle.Irearrangemyselfonthecouch,tuckingmysockedfeetunderneathmeandstaringatthescreenwithgrimdetermination.Ihavetofindout,don’tI?Sethcouldn’tpossiblyknowaboutthis,andit’sthesortofinformationthatchangespeople’slives.IthinkofthedeephurtitwouldcausehimtoknowthathisbelovedReginaisbeingunfaithful,andalmostshutmylaptop.
Perhapsthisisbetterleftalone.Icouldfinallyputmywhite-hotjealousytorest,knowingthatSeth’sotherwifeisanunfaithfulwitch.Icarrymytumblertothekitchen,thencirclearoundthelivingroomwiththefingersofonehandpressedtomyforeheadasIthink.AndthenIrealize:Ican’tnotknow.Imustuncoverthesecretsofmyhusband’sfirstwifeorI’llgomad.
ToaccessRegina’sfullprofile,Ihavetosignupforanaccount.IdecidetobeWillMoffit,awebsiteownerwhorecentlymovedtoPortlandfromCalifornia.WhenI’maskedforphotostoupload,IusepicturesofmycousinAndrew,whoiscurrentlyinprisonforidentitytheft.Ironic.Ifeelguiltyaboutit,butnotenoughtostopme.Itdoesn’treallymatter,anyway.OnceIhavetheinformationIneed,I’mgoingtodeletetheaccount.Noharmcaused.Ijustneedtotakeaquickpeek.Ifillouttheinformation,myfingersglidingeasilyoverthekeysofmyMacBook,fillinglineafterlinewithperfectnonsense.Will’sfavoritemovieisGladiator.Herunsmarathonsandhasahordeofniecesandnephewswhomhelovesverymuch,buthehasnochildrenofhisown.Itypefasterandfaster.IamlostintheinformationIamcreating.Andsuddenlythisman,WillMoffit,feelsveryreal.That’sgood.It’sperfectactually.Reginawillthinkhimreal,too.Iwanttheinformationthatwillcondemnmyhusband’sfirstwife.Paintmeinafavorable,faithfullight.LookwhatIhavefound,mylove!Shedoesn’tloveyoulikeIdo!
Andthentheinformationisthereinfrontofme.CompiledonawebsitewithahopefulgreenbannerthatreadsYoursoulmateisjustafewclicksaway!IclickonRegina’sprofilewithonehandwhiletheotherbouncesonmyknee.Iamluckythereisnooneintheroomtowitnessmyexposureofnerves.SethalwayssaysmybodylanguageisadeadgiveawaytowhateverI’mfeeling.
She’slistedasathirty-three-year-olddivorceefromUtah.Herinterestsincludehiking,sushi,readingautobiographiesandwatchingdocumentaries.Whatabore,Ithink,crackingmyknuckles.I’veneverknownSethtowatchadocumentaryintheyearswe’vebeentogether.Ipicturethemonthecouchtogether,holdinghandsunderneathablanket,herlegtossedcasuallyoverhis.Itdoesn’tseemright.ButmaybeIknowadifferentSeththanRegina.ThatissomethingIhaven’tconsideredbeforenow.Couldamanbeadifferentpersonwitheachofhiswives?Couldhelikedifferentthings?Ishegentlewhenhehassexwiththemordoeshelikeitrough?AndperhapsthatiswhyReginaisonadatingwebsiteinthefirstplace.Becausetheyhavenothingincommonandsheislookingforsomeonetoshareherlifewith,someonewiththesameinterests.
Iclickthroughherphotos,recognizingsomeoftheplacesinherpictures:theArleneSchnitzerConcertHall—SethtookmetheretoseethePixiestwoyearsago.ReginaisstandinginfrontofaposterofTomPetty,handsperchedonherhips,wearingabroadsmile.Inanotherphotoshesitsinakayak,aMarinerscapshadingmostofherfaceassheholdsanoaraboveherheadintriumph.Ireachthelastphotoandit’sthenthatIseeher.Ihavetoblinkafewtimestoclearmyvision.HowlonghaveIbeenlookingatthecomputerscreen?Ismybrainplayingtricksonme?
Standingup,IsetmyMacBookonthecoffeetableandwalkovertothebartomakemyselfarealdrink.Noorangejuicetocushionthetasteoftheliquorthistime.Ipourmyselftwofingersofbourbonandcarryitbacktothesofa.I’mnotsureofwhatIsawandmaybeIdidn’tseeanything,buttheonlywaytoknowforsureistowalkbacktomylaptopandlookatwhatspookedmeinthefirstplace.Ibendoverandhitthespacebar.Thescreenlightsup,andRegina’sphotoisstillthere.Istareatitforamoment,myeyesnarrowingbeforeIturnaway.Ican’tbesure,thereisn’tenoughtobesure.ThepictureisofReginastandinginfrontofarestaurant,herarmcasuallythrownaroundafriend’sshoulders.She’scroppedthephototoshowonlyherself,buttherenexttoheristheslightprofileofamuchtaller,muchblonderwoman.AwomanwholooksshockinglylikeHannahOvark.IclicktheiconthatsaysSendMessageandbegintyping.
TEN
WhenIdrivetoworkthefollowingafternoon,I’msodistractedbythoughtsofthewivesthatImissmyturnintothehospitalandittakesmetwentyminutestoloopbackaroundintraffic.Swearing,Ijerkmycarinaspotintheemployeegarageandtakethestepstwoatatimeinsteadofwaitingfortheelevator.I’dspentmyafternooncomposingamessagetoReginafromWill.Ikeptitshort:Hey!I’mnewtothearea.You’reanattorney.Badass.YoushowedupinmymatchessoIthoughtI’dreachout.Thisismereachingout…awkwardly.NoonesaidIwasgoodatthisdatingthing.IendedthemessagewithasmileyfaceandhitSend.Itwasjustenoughself-deprecatingcharmtocatchawoman’sattention.Willscreamed:I’mhonestandnotthreatenedbyyoursuccess—oratleastIthoughtso.OntheoffchancethatReginamessageshimbackI’llhavean“in”togettingtoknowher.
“You’relate.”Lauren,oneofthenurses,frownsatmeasIwalkthroughthedoors.Whydopeoplealwaysfeeltheneedtotellyouyou’relatelikeyoudon’talreadyknowityourself?Myjawclenches.IhateLauren.Ihateheralways-on-timeperfectness,theeasywayshehandlesdifficultpatientslikeit’sherabsolutepleasuretodoso.Shelovestotakecommand;aperfectlypretty,blondgeneral.
IrelaxmyfaceinanattempttolookapologeticandmuttersomethingabouttrafficasItrytosqueezepasther.Shepushesherchairawayfromthecomputer,blockingmywayandstaringmedown.
“Youlooklikeshit,”shesays.“What’sup?”
ThelastthingIwanttodoisexplainmyselftoknow-it-allLaurenHaller.IstarerightthroughherasIconsiderwhattosay.
“Didn’tsleepwell.Thisschedulesometimesfuckswithme,youknow?”Ilooklonginglytowardthebreakroom,wishingshe’dletmepass.
Laurenstudiesmeforamomentlikeshe’sdecidingwhetherornotshebelievesme,thenfinallynods.“You’llgetusedtoit.Iwaslikethatmyfirstyear,didn’tknowmyassfrommyelbow,Iwassotired.”
Irestraintheeyerollandsmile.Itisn’tmyfirstyear.Andtechnicallyshe’sonlybeenhereayearlongerthanIhave,butshebrandishestheseniorityaroundlikeacheerleaderinuniform.Rahrah,I’mbetterthanyou!
“Yeah?Thanks,Lo,I’msureit’llgetbetter.”Iheadforthebreakroom,headdown,tostashmystuffinmylocker.
“Haveaglassofwine,”shecallsafterme.“Beforeyougotobed.That’swhatIdo.”
IliftahandtosignifyI’veheardherandduckoutofsight.ThelastthingIwanttodoisabsolutelyanythingLaurendoes.I’dratherbesoberfortherestofmylifethanimitateherbedtimebehaviors.
ThebreakroomismercifullyemptywhenIslipinside.IbreatheeasyandeyethelockerslikeIdoeveryday.Sameol’,sameol’.Peoplehavedecoratedthefrontsidesoftheirlockerswithphotosofhusbands,childrenandgrandchildreninvariousshadesofhappiness.Thereareanniversarycards,vacationmagnetsandtheoccasionaldriedflower—alltapedupwithpride.Ikickasideagreenballoon,whichdangleslimplyinfrontofmyownlocker,theremnantsofsomeone’sbirthday.Happy40th!itdeclaresinprimarycolors.Thereisasmudgeofwhitefrostingonthetopofit,aslipofastickyfinger.Thefrontsideofmylockerisempty,savefortheremainsofaSubPopstickeritslastoccupantcrookedlyslappedonthemetal.Whenmaintenancetriedtoremoveit,itleftbehindgrayfuzzthatstubbornlylingersdespitehowmanytimesI’vetriedtoscratchitoff.Ireallyshouldputsomethingup,apictureofSethandme,maybe.
Thethoughtdepressesme.Isupposethat’swhyIhaven’tdoneit.Idon’tfeellikeheisallmine,andtheknowledgethatsomewhereoutthere,thattwootherwomenmayhaveapictureofSethontheirdesksortapedtoalocker,makesmesicktomystomach.IreachupabsentlytotouchthesorespotonmyearandthinkofHannah’sbruises.Anaccident,she’dsaid.Sameaswhathappenedlastnight.Anaccident.
MyeyesstraytoLauren’slocker,whichisfourspotsoverfrommine.MostdaysItrynottolook,keepingmyeyestrainedonmyblankspace,remindingmyselfitdoesn’tmatter—buttodayIstareateachoneofherphotos,astrangefeelingbubblinginmybelly.Mostlythereareglossyfour-by-sixselfieswithanoccasionalcardstuckbetweenthem,asappyYouaretheloveofmylifeinpinkcursiveacrossthefront.Thecardsseemlikeadare.Anyonecangooverandflipitopentoreadwhat’sinside,andpartofmethinksLaurenwantsthat.Itakeastepclosertostudythephotos:LaurenandJohnposinginfrontoftheEiffelTower,LaurenandJohnkissinginfrontofthepyramids,LaurenandJohnhuggingnexttoatrolleyinSanFrancisco.HowmanytimeshadIheardhertellpeoplethattheywerean“adventurecouple”?
I’vesuspectedthattheonlyreasonLaurenandJohntravelsomuchisbecausetheycan’thavechildren,andmysuspicionwasconfirmedwhenIwaspregnantandshesuddenlystoppedtalkingtome.Iaskedoneoftheothernursesaboutitandshe’dtoldmeinahushedvoicethatitwashardforLaurentobearoundpregnantwomenwhatwithallofhermiscarriages.I’dbrusheditoff,givingherroomandmakingsurenevertomentionmypregnancyaroundher.AfewmonthslaterwhenIlostourbaby,Laurenhadtakenanimmediateinterestinmeagain,actinglikewewerelong-lostsisters.She’devengoneasfarassendingahugebouquetofflowerstothecondowhenItooktheweekoffofworktogrieve.Thewholethingmademeuncomfortable,havingsomethingsouglyanddevastatingincommonwithsomeone.Maybeifwehadbooksincommon,oraninterestinmakeup,oratelevisionshow—emptywombsweren’tabondingtopic.I’dignoredherinvitationsforSethandmetocomeoverfordinneruntiltheyfinallystoppedcoming.Hertextseventuallystopped,too,andnowwebarelymakeeyecontactunlessshe’sbustingmyballsaboutsomething.
Thetruthis,Lauren’shappyvacationsandattentivehusbandstoriesmakemejealous.Shedoesn’thavetoshareherhusbandwithanyoneelseandIcravethat,asmuchasItrytotellmyselfthatIdon’t.Thingswouldbesomucheasieriftheothertwoweren’tinthepicture.Holidayswheneverwewantedtotakethem,dinnersoutinpublicwhereeveryonecouldseewhatabeautifulcouplewewere,ahusbandwhoopenedthefrontdooreverynightratherthantwodaysaweek.Eventhefightwehadlastnightwouldbeavoidedsinceithad,inessence,beeninstigatedbythesituation.
I’vejustcollectedmystethoscopeandpocketedmytraumascissorswhenatextcomesthroughfromSeth.IcheerupassoonasIseehisname.Slammingmylocker,Ibracemyselfforwhathastobeanapologytext.I’daccepthisapology,ofcourse;I’dapologizemyselfforcausingourargument.Nouseholdinggrudges.ButwhenIopenmyphone,it’snotthemessageIwasexpectingtosee.MymouthgoesdryasIsquintatthescreen.
Ipickedsomeup.I’llmakeanexcuseandgetoutofit.Loveyou.
Istareatthewords,tryingtomakesenseofthemandthenithitsme:thistextwasn’tmeantforme.Sethmadeamistake,typedhismessagetothewrongname.It’sapainfulthingwhenyourealizeyou’vereceivedatextyourhusbandmeantforanotherwoman.It’sevenmorepainfulwhenyougavehimpermissiontodoso.Whichoneisit?Ithinkbitterly.ReginaorHannah?Isqueezemyeyesclosed,pocketingthephone,andtakeafewdeepbreathsbeforepushingthroughthedoor.Icandothis.Isignedupforthis.Everything’sfine.
Inbetweenpatients,IalternatebetweenreadingSeth’smistakenlysenttext,wonderingwhatexactlyitwashewastryingtogetoutof,andscrollingthroughRegina’sphotos.IdecidetotextHannah—seeifshe’llletonaboutanything.
Hi!Hopeyou’rewell.CheckinghoweverythingisIsenditandpocketmyphoneuntilfiveminuteslaterwhenI’mchangingsomeone’sIVandthere’sabuzzingonmyleg.
“Shoot,Iforgottoputthatonsilent.”Iwinkatmypatient,amiddle-agedmanwhocameinwithchestpains.
“Goaheadandcheckit,honey,”hesays.“Iknowhowyouyoungpeopleareaboutyourphones.”
ThetextisfromHannah.Thanksforcheckingonme.Feelinggreat!Whenareyouintownnext?
Hertextisalmosttoocheerful.LasttimeIsawher,she’dsaidthatSethhidherbirthcontrolpillstogetherpregnant.
Everythingokaywithyouandhubby?Itextback.Andthen,asanafterthought,Iadd,Maybelaterthismonth.Let’sgettogether!
Allsortedout.Andthatwouldbegreat.
Istickmyphonebackinmypocket,afrownonmyface.Hannahisahappywomanatthemoment.“Lookatyou,Seth,”Isayundermybreath.
Fourhourslater,Sethhasstillnotacknowledgedthathesentthewrongtexttothewrongperson.Ican’timaginehowexactlyhewilladdressitwhenitdoescomeup.Howdoesonedealwithasituationlikethat?I’msorry,honey,Imeantthattextformyotherwife
AsforRegina,it’simpossibletostayawaynowthatIknowalloftheinformationisoutthere—justfloatingaroundontheinternet.It’screepyactually,thatapersoncanjustscrollthroughyourlifewithoutyouknowing.I’vestudiedthephotosandvisitedherfriends’pages,searchingforcommentsshemighthaveleftontheirposts.Iwanttoknowmore—everything—eventhewaysheinteractswithpeople.
“You’vebeenbentoverthatphoneallnight…”Debbie,amiddle-agednurse,swingsaroundthenurses’station,carryinganarmfulofcharts.HerFrenchbraidisthesamebrightyellowasthesunsonherscrubs.Iturnbacktomyphonewithoutacknowledgingher,hopingshetakesthehint.ThelastthingIfeellikedealingwithisquestions,especiallysinceLaurenalreadygavemethethirddegree.
Debbiedropsthefoldersontothecounter,thenscootsnexttome,standingonhertiptoestocatchaglimpseofmyphone.Herbroadexpanseofhipandbreastbrushesagainstmyarm,andIshootheralookthatIhopesays,Backoff!SomeoftheothernursesandIhavearunningjokeaboutit—ifanyonegetstoonosyyoucallthemDebbieandtellthemtobackoff.
“Whatareyoulookingat?”shechirpsasIliftmyelbowstopreventherfromseeingthescreen.
Somepeoplehavenoconceptofpersonalspace.Iholdthephonetomychest,thescreenhidden,andfrownather.
“Anex-girlfriend,”shesaysmatter-of-factly,foldingherarmsacrossheramplebosom.“IcheckonBill’sallthetime.”
DebbieandBillhavebeenmarriedforaslongasI’vebeenalive.Whatex-girlfriendscouldstillbearoundtoposeathreattotheirdeep-rootedmarriage?Iwanttoask,butaskingDebbieanythingmeansanhour-longconversation.Butmycuriosityispiqued,soIask,anyway.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Oh,honey.Whenyou’vebeenaroundaslongasme…”
Isoftenathertone.Clearly,I’mnottheonlywomanwhosuffersfrominsecurities,wholetsthemgettomeuntilIactirrationally.Istructureaquestioninmymind,onethatwon’tgiveanythingaboutmysituationaway.
“Howdoyoudealwithit—thedoubtsaboutwhetherhelovesyou?”
Debbieblinksatme,surprised.“It’snothisloveI’mworriedabout,”shesays.“It’stheirs.”
SomeonewalkspastuscarryingaStyrofoamcupofcoffee.Debbiewaitsuntilshe’saroundthecornerandoutofearshotbeforecontinuing.
“Womencanbeveryconniving,ifyouknowwhatImean.”ShegivesmealookthatsaysIshouldknowwhatshemeans.ButI’veneverhadmanyfriends,justAnna,really,andmymotherandsister.Butyeah,ifyoupayattentiontoTVandmovies,theypaintwomeninanuntrustworthylight.
“Iguessso,”Isay.
“Well,Iwouldn’tputanythingpastthem.Ormyselfforthatmatter.IknowwhatI’mcapableof.”
Ourheadsbenttogether,Itrytopicturecheerful,plumpDebbieastheconnivingtypeshe’sreferencingandcan’t.
Debbielooksaroundtomakesurenoonecanoverhearus,andthensheleanssoclosetomeIcansmellthecherryblossomshowergelsheuses.
“Istolehimfrommybestfriend.”
“Bill?”Iask,confused.
Billhasapotbellythatsitsontopoftwospindlylegsandonlyahorseshoepatternofhairleftonhishead.It’shardtobelieveheeverneededstealing.
“Andyoustill,um…lookatherprofile?”
“Ofcourse.”Debbiepullsastickofgumfromherpocketandoffersmehalf.Ishakemyheadandshefoldsthestickontohertongueinaperfecthalf.
“Why?”
“Becausewomendon’teverstopwantingwhattheywant.Theyseeanothermanwho’sconsiderateandhandsome,anditremindsthemofwhatthey’remissingintheirownlives.”
Thereisabittertasteinmymouth.IwishI’dtakenthehalfstickofgumshe’doffered.IfDebbieisworriedaboutBill’sexestwentyyearspast,howmuchshouldIbeworryingaboutthewomenmyhusbandfucksontheregular?
Justthen,herpagerbuzzes,andsheshootsmeawrylookassheunclipsitfromherhipandglancesatthescreen.
“Havetorun,doll.Talklater.”
Iwatchhergo,thewidegaitofherstepsasherwhiteReebokssqueakdownthehall.Beforeshereachesthejunctionneartheelevators,sheturnsaroundandfacesme.Herarmspumpathersideswhileshewalksbackward.
“It’sevenbetterwhenyouspyontheminperson,bytheway.”Shewinksandthenshe’sgone.
Nosy,annoying,no-personal-spaceDebbiejustmightbemynewbestfriend.Ihearapingonmyphone.WhenIlookdown,anotificationhasappearedatthetopofthescreen.It’sfromthedatingappIdownloaded.Reginahassentyouamessage.
ELEVEN
ThefrontdoorswingsopenandSethwalksin,carryingtwolargebagsoftakeout.Ah,it’sThursday.I’dforgotten.Lately,allIthinkaboutismyhusband’swives.Somewherealongtheway,Sethhasbeenreplaced.Igivehimhalfasmile.Webothknowit’sforced.Abouquetofwhiterosesrestsinthecrookofhisarm.Rosesfornoreason,orrosesbecausehesentmeatextmeantforoneoftheothers?Normally,I’drushovertorelievehimofwhathe’scarrying,butthistimeIstaywhereIam.Heneverevenattemptedtoexplainhismistakentext.AndIwaitedallweekforsomething…anything.Mymoodisdour—andIdon’tplanonfakingagoodmoodforhissake.
Ipickedsomeup.I’llmakeanexcuseandgetoutofit.Loveyou.
Thelinesonhisfacearerelaxed,hiseyesalert.Ifoldatowelandplaceitcarefullyontheput-awaypileasIwatchhimkickthedoorclosedandcomesaunteringdownthehallwaytowardme.Everythingabouthisdemeanorbothersme.He’snotplayingthepartofthecontritehusband.
“Foryou,”hesays,handingovertheflowers.
Istandawkwardlywiththeminmyhandforafewseconds,andthensetthemasidetodealwithlater.I’mamessagain—hairlooseandair-driedtowaves.I’mwearingmyfavoriteyogapants,theoneswiththeholeintherightleg.Ibrushhairoutofmyeyesasheholdsupthetake-outbagsandshakesthematme.
“Dinner,”hedeclares.
Thesmilehe’swearingisalmostcontagious,exceptIdon’tfeellikesmiling.Iwonderifhe’spleasedwithhimselfforpickingupdinner,orifhehasgoodnews.It’sariskgrabbingtakeoutwithoutknowingifIcooked,butIsupposehesuspectsIamonstrike.
“Whyareyousohappy?”Ifoldmylasttowelandpickupthepiletocarrytothetowelcloset.SethsmacksmybuttasImovepasthim.Ithinkaboutshootinghimadeathglare,butIkeepmyheadstifflypointedforward.Whydoeshiseffortbothermenow?Iwouldhavereveledinthisattentionafewweeksago.
“Can’tamanbehappytocomehometohisgirl?”Can’tamanbehappytocomehometojustonegirl?
Ipressmylipstogethertokeepfromactuallysayingthosewordsandbusymyselfarrangingthetowelsinthelinencloset.
WhenI’mfinishedwiththelaundry,wesitdownatthekitchenbartoeat.I’vesaidnomorethanafewwordssincehewalkedthroughthedoor,thoughhehasn’tseemedtonotice.Orperhapshe’signoringmysilenceasawaytopretendeverythingisfine.Iwatchasheunloadsgrease-stainedcontainersontothecounter,glancingatmeeveryfewminutestogaugemyreaction.
Thesmellofgarlicandgingerwaftsfromtheboxesandmystomachgrumbles.HestandsuptogetplatesbutIwavehimback.
“Noneed,”Isay,leaningforwardandpullingacontainerofgarlicchickentowardme.FlippingopenthelidIpinchapieceofchickenbetweenmychopsticks,watchinghimovertherimoftheboxasIchew.HeeyesmyUGGs,whichareproppeduponthecounternexttothefood,bewilderedamusementonhisface.
“Firstramen,nowChinesetakeout,”Isay.“Nextcomespizza…”It’smeantasajoke,butmyvoiceisdevoidofemotion.Itsoundedmorelikeathreat,Ithink.
Sethlaughs,dragginghisbarstoolclosertomine,reachingforthelomein.“Andshoesinside,”hesaysofmyUGGs.“Ilikeit.”
“Tobefair,UGGsarepracticallyslippers.”I’mflirtingandIhatemyselfforit.
“Ididn’tknowyouwerecapableofallowingyourselftobreathe,”Sethsays.
Mytoescurlinprotest.Ihavetheurgetoyankmybootsoffthecounterandgrabproperplatesfromthecabinet,butIstubbornlystaywhereIam,staringsquarelyatmyhusband.MaybeIwanttofocusonknowingthemaninsteadofimpressingtheman.ProbablysomethingIshouldhavedoneinthefirstplace.Instead,I’dbeenswoony,fullofdreamsandthebeliefthatwehadsomething.
IsetthecontainerofchickenonthecounterandwipemymouthwithoneoftheflimsynapkinsSethhandsme.Forthefirsttime,Inoticethathe’swearingaT-shirtunderneathahoodieI’veneverseenbefore.WhenwasthelasttimeIsawmyhusbandthiscasual,inaT-shirt?Forthelastyear,Seth’swardrobehasconsistedofdressshirtsandties,distressedloafersandsportscoats—workSeth,marriedSeth.HelookslikeanentirelydifferentmaninscuffedChucksandawornT-shirt.Ifeelsomethingstirinmybelly…Desire?SomeoneI’dliketohangoutwith,Ithink.
“You’redifferenttonight,”Isay.
“Soareyou.”
“What?”I’msolostinmythoughts,hisvoicealarmsme.
“You’redifferent,too,”henotes.
Ishrug;itfeelsterriblyjuveniletodoso,butwhatistheretosay?I’vefoundyourwivesandnowthattheyhavenamesandfaceseverythingfeelsdifferent?Idon’tknowwhoyouareanymore?Idon’tknowwhoIam?
It’sdifficulttoputintowordsallthethingsI’vebeenfeeling,soIsaytheonlythingI’veactuallyworkedout.“Peoplechange…”
I’malmostafraidofthecasualwayhe’slookingatme,andthenIremindmyselfthatI’mtryingtocarelessaboutwhathethinksandtofocusonwhatIthink.
“You’reright.”Hepicksuphisbeerandholdsitouttome.“Tochange,”hesays.
Ihesitateonlyforamomentbeforeraisingmybottleofwaterandtippingittowardhisbeer.Hiseyesholdsteadilyontomineaswetoastandsipourdrinks.
“Let’sgoforawalk,”hesays,standingupandstretchinghisarmsabovehishead.HisT-shirtliftstorevealatanned,tonedstomach.
Iquicklylookaway,notwantingtobedistracted.Iamasexualcreature—hecontrolsmewithsex,andIcontrolhimwithsex.It’samerry-go-roundofpleasureandservitudethatI’vealwaysenjoyed.Butbeingdick-whippedorpussy-whippedcansateyoujustenoughtoblindyou.Mymotheroncetoldmethatarelationshipcouldwithstandalmostanytrialifthesexwasgood.Ithadsoundedshallowandridiculousatthetime,butnowIseethat’sexactlywhathashappenedwithSethandme.Alothappensinarelationship,probablyalotthatyoureallyneedtopayattentionto,butyou’retoobusyfuckingtonotice.
Atthedoor,Ishrugonmyjacketandpullabeanieovermyhair.IturntothedoorandfindSethstaringatme,astrangeexpressiononhisface.
“What?”Iask.“Whyareyoulookingatmelikethat?”
“Nothing,”hesays,alittlesheepishlyafterbeingcaught.“Justappreciatingtheview.”
Heleansinandkissesmelightlyonthetipofmynosebeforeopeningthedoor.Ifollowhimintotheelevator,mynosetingling.Weridetothelobbyinsilence,andwhenwestepout,hegrabsmyhand.What’sgottenintohim?Flirting,publicdisplaysofaffection…It’slikehe’sadifferentman.Aswestepoutontothesidewalk,afeelinglurksinthebackofmymind,somethingI’veforgotten.Ipushthethoughtaway.Hereandnow,Itellmyself.Behereandstopthinkingabouteverythingelse.
Normally,SethandIdon’tventureoutofthecondoonthedayshevisits,partofthereasonbeingweprefertostayathomeandjustbetogether.Theotherpart,ofcourse,isbeingspottedbysomeonewhoknowshimasRegina’shusband.Inthebeginningitbotheredme;I’dtrytogethimtogoouttoarestaurantorthemovies,butheinsistedonstayinghome.Ithadn’tseemedfairatthetime—Iwashislegalwife,afterall.EventuallyIgaveup,resigningourrelationshiptobeonethatstayedbehindcloseddoors.Andnowhereweare,steppingoutintothewetstreetsofSeattle,myhandfirmlygrippedinhis.Bravaforme!
Sethglancesatmeandsmiles,likethisisasmuchofatreatforhimasitisforme.MybootsplowthroughpuddlesaswemakeourwaytoaciderstandonPike.Sethunrollsdollarsfromhismoneyclip,oneafteranother.Heleavesageneroustipandhandsmeapapercupofliquidgold.ThemoneyclipwasagiftfrommeafewChristmasesago.I’venotseenhimuseituntilnow;healwayscarriesawornleatherwalletinhisbackpocket.
WehuddleunderneathanawningwithourdrinksandlistentoastreetmusicianplayaLionelRitchiesongonhisfiddle.Aswesip,weglancealmostshylyateachother,anditfeelslikeitdidonourfirstdate—chargedandunfamiliar.Thereisachangebetweenustonight,anewchemistrywe’venottappedintobefore.Iimaginewecouldhavehadthisallalongifthereweretwoinsteadoffourpeopleinthemarriage.Ourbondwouldbestrengthenedinsteadofpulledthin.
SethpullsmecloseandIleanintohim,restingmyheadonhisshoulder,hummingalongwiththesong.I’mpressedsotightlyagainsthimthatwhenhiscellphoneringsIcanfeelthevibrationsagainstmyleg.Seth,whonormallyhashisphoneturnedoffwhenhe’swithme,patshispocketwithhisfreehand.Ianglemybodyawayfromhissohecanreachit,takingacarefulsipofmycider.Itscaldstheroofofmymouth;IpressthetipofmytonguetotheburnedspotasIwaittoseeifhe’llanswer.
Whenhepullshisphonefromhispocket,hemakesnomovetohidethescreenfromme.Regina’snameflashesacrosshiswallpaper—agroupphotoofhisniecesandnephewsintheirHalloweencostumes.Ibitemylipandlookaway,feelinglikeI’vedonesomethingwrong.
“Doyoumind?”heasks,holdingupthephone.ThenameReginastaresatme.Iblinkathim,confused.Isheaskingmeforpermissiontotakeacallfromhisotherwife?
Ishakemyheaddumbly,shiftingmyeyesbacktothefiddler,whoisnowplayingaMileyCyrussongwithgusto.
“Hello,”Ihearhimsay.“Yeah…Didyouputitinpeanutbutter?She’lltakeitthatway…Okay,letmeknowhowitgoes.”
He’stalkingtoReginainfrontofme.It’slikeametalpingstrikingatthecenterofmewithsharpness.Ouch,ouch,ouch.
Heslideshisphonebackintohispocket,nonplussed.
“Ourdog,”hesays,watchingthefiddlerwithrenewedinterest.“She’soldandsick.She’llonlytakeherpillwithpeanutbutter.”
Sethhasadog.
“Oh,”Isay.Ifeelstupid,emotionallyclumsy.HadIevernoticeddoghaironhisclothes?“Whattypeofdog?”
Hegrinshislopsidedgrin.“ASheltie.She’sanoldladynow—hastroublewithherbacklegs.Shehadsurgeryafewdaysagoandwon’ttakehermedicine.”
Ilisten,fascinated.Hisotherlife,adetailmostwouldconsidermundane,butIclingtoit,wantmore.Adog.Webrieflyconsideredgettingadog,butlivinginacondoseemedunfairtoananimal—thatandmyworkhours.
“What’shername?”Iaskcautiously.
I’mafraidthatifIasktoomanyquestionshe’llshutdownorgetangrywithmeforprying.Buthedoesn’t.
Hetosseshisemptycupintoanoverflowingtrashcanandsays,“Smidge.Reginanamedher.IwantedsomethinggenericlikeLassie.”Helaughsatthememoryandthenwavesatatoddlerwhobellows,“Hi!”ashismotherpusheshimpastinhisstroller.Ilookawayquickly.Ican’tlooktoddlersintheeye.
“You’veneversaidhername,”Isay.
Sethtuckshishandsinhispocketsandstaresatme.“Haven’tI?”
“No,”Isay.“Andlastweekyousentmeatextmeantforoneofthem…”
HisheadjerksbackandIcanseetheuncertaintyinhiseyes.“Whatdiditsay?”
Istudyhisface,notbelievingthepretense.“Youknowwhatitsaid,Seth.”
“I’msorry,baby.Idon’tremember.IfIdid,itwasmymistakeandcompletelyhurtfultoyou.Forgiveme?”
Ipullmylipstight.Thereisn’treallyanotheroption,isthere?Icoulddragthisoutandsulkforafewmoredays,butwhatgoodwouldthatdoanyone?Inod,forcingmylipsintoasmile.
“Comeon,”hesays,holdingouthishand.“Let’sgetback.It’sfreezingouthere.”
Ilethimtwinehisfingerswithmineandsuddenlywe’rerunningacrossthestreet,meholdingmybeanietomyheadandskippingupthecurb.Ihearmyselflaughingaswedodgeslow-movingbodiesonthesidewalk.HelooksbackatmeandIsmileshyly,thewingsofinfatuationbeatinginmybelly.
Wekissasweridetheelevatortoourfloor,eventhoughthere’ssomeoneelseintherewithus—amiddle-agedwomanwithatremblingYorkie.Shedrawsasfarawayfromusasshecan,pressingherselftoacorneroftheelevatorasifwe’recontagious.
“Wherehaveyoubeen?”IwhisperagainstSeth’slips.
“Here,I’vebeenhere.”He’sasbreathlessasIam,hishandsgropingthroughthepuffinessofmycoat.Heyanksthezipperdown,thenoisestartlingintheconfinesoftheelevator.
Onthemirroredwallbehindus,Iseethewoman’sfacepale.Sheclutchesherpursetightertoherchestandstaresatthenumbersabovethedoor,willingherselfawayfromus.TheYorkiewhines.IlaughintoSeth’smouthashepushesmycoatoffmyshouldersandreachestocupmybreast.Thedoorsslideopenandshechargesout.Theyslideclosedandweclimbhigher.Hishandisbetweenmylegs,histhumbrubbingcircles.Whenthedoorsopenonourfloor,wemovetogether,notwantingtoletgo.
Later,welieinbed,ourlimbstangledandourskindampfromexertion.Sethtracesalinewithhisfingertipsupanddownmyarm.Icurlintohim,enjoyingthemoment,everythingbutusforgotten.Justfortonight.Tonight,Iwillforget.Tomorrowisadifferentstory.AndthenIrememberthethingthat’sbeenbotheringme,swimminginmymindrightoutofreach:Regina’smessage.
Hi,Will,
Idon’tmindthecomplimentsatall!Iworkedhardtogetthroughlawschool—lay’emonme.
Ihaveaheavyworkloadrightnow,butIcanmaketimeforfun.Youmentionedthatyouliketohike.Maybewecandothatsometime.I’mupfordrinks,too,ifyoupreferthat.Yourniecesandnephewsareadorable.Youseemgreatwithkids.
Talksoon,
Regina
WithSethsnoringsoftlybesideme,IreadhermessagetoWillthreetimesbeforeIwritemyresponse.ThereismoreIwanttoknow,toconfirm,andWillistheonlywayIcandothat.
Hey,Regina,
Sinceyou’vegivenmepermissiontoloadonthecomplimentsIguessIshouldtellyouthatyou’restunning.I’dlovetogoonahikewithyou!Andyes,myniecesandnephewsareadorable.Doyouwantkids?Iguessthat’sareallypersonalquestionbutsomewhatimportanttoknowwhenyou’redating.
Will
It’sbeenjustafewminutessinceIhitSendonWill’smessagewhenmyphonelightsuponthenightstand.IglanceovermyshoulderatSethtoseethathisbackistomeashesnores.Liftingmyphonecarefullyfromwhereitlies,I’msurprisedtoseeanotificationthatReginahassentme/Willamessage.It’slateandIwonderwhyshe’sawake,andthenIrememberSethtellingmethatshe’dstayuplongafterhewenttobed,working—alwaysworking.
Will,whatareyoudoingupsolate?Lookslikeyou’reanightowllikeme.Icanneversleep.There’sareallygreathikingtrailnearmyhouse.Ittakesaboutfourhoursroundtrip.Let’sdothis!
Andyes,Idowantchildren.Let’shaveaphoneconversationsoon.
Talklater,
Regina
TWELVE
It’sSundayandI’matmyparents’forlunch.Mymotherisnowheretobefound.I’vejustreadRegina’slastemailtoWillforthetenthtimeandIslammyphonedownonthekitchencounter.WorriedI’vecrackedthescreen,Iflipitovertocheckfordamage.Tomyrelief,thereisnone.I’mstillangryenoughtoslamitagainsoIwalktothewindowandstareatthemistrollingacrossElliottBaywhileIgetmyfeelingsinorder.ReginaischeatingonSeth;theflirtatioustonesheusesinthemessagestothemanshethinksisWillisescalating.Andontopofthat,Idon’tknowwhyshe’slyingtohimaboutwantingkids.Justthismorning,she’dsentWillasuggestivephotoofherselfinabikini(probablybecauseshelikedtheflatteryaboutherlooks).Ithadreallyirkedmetothinkthephotowasfromavacationshe’dtakenwithourhusband.Idon’tknowifI’mmoreupsetbythefactthatshe’sgoingtohurtSeth,orthatIhavetosharehimwithawomanwhocan’tevenstayfaithful,andwhoorderspizza,forGod’ssake.Ihavetotellhim.Heneedstoknow.
Myfatherwalksintothekitchenamomentlater,acaseofDietCokeunderhisarm.
“IfoundaboxofDietinthegaragefridge,”hesays.“Thatokay?”
“Fine,”Isay.Thoughit’snotfine.Idon’tdrinkDiet.Hepopsacanandpoursthecontentsintoaglasswithice.Itakeitfromhimandsip.Perfume:ittasteslikeperfume.Ormaybethat’sjustthebittertastethat’sbeenlingeringinmymouthsincebreakfastwhenIreadRegina’sfourthmessagetoWill.ShefinallytoldWillshewasdivorced,notexpoundingonwhen,orwhy.Itispartlythetruth—SethdivorcedReginatolegallymarryme,buttheirrelationshiphasn’tended.
“Where’sMom?”
Myfatherpullsabeerfromthefridge.Hedoesn’toffermeonebecauseit’snotladylikeforwomentodrinkthisearlyintheday,orsohe’stoldme.“Atthestore.Whereelse?”
“Ladies’churchgroup,Nordstrom,thegym,withSylvie,thespa…”
“Goodpoint.”Hewinksatmebeforerummagingaroundinadrawerforabottleopener.
“It’sinthere,”Isay,pointingtothedrawerclosesttothebackdoor.Myparentshavelivedinthishousefortwentyyearsandmyfatherstilldoesn’tknowwherethingsarekept.Iblamemymotherforthis,forneverallowinghimtoopenhisownbottleofbeer.
Asifoncue,mymotherbustlesintothekitchen,plasticgrocerybagscracklinginherhands,eyeinguslikewe’rewolvestryingtoeather.“Whatareyoutwoonabout?”sheasks.
Iwatchasshesetsthebagsdownandreachesuptopatherhair,somethingmygrandmotherusedtodowhenshewasnervous.Igetawhiffofherperfume:EstéeLaudersomethingortheother.
“We’regossipingaboutyou,Mom,wereyourearsburning?”Shetouchesherear,frowning.
“Where’sSeth?”sheasks.“Wehaven’tseenhiminweeks.”
Myhusbandisbeingsomeoneelse’shusbandtonight.
“He’sinPortlandtillThursday.”
Sheknowsthis,Itoldheryesterdaywhenshecalled,askingabouthiswhereabouts.Shelikestorubinthefactthatheputsworkbeforeme.Itakeasipofmydrink,thebubblesfizzingclosetomynose.Inhermind,itisbecauseIdon’twifehardenough.SheoncetoldmethatthefactIhadajobwasprobablydrivingSethtobeawaymore.
“Howdoyoufigurethat?”I’daskedher
“Hefeelslikeheneedstocompetewithyou,workmore.Awoman’splaceisinherhome.Andyourfatherneverletabusinessmeetingkeephimfrombeinghomefordinnerontime,”she’dsaid.
Myfatherdoesn’tevenknowwherethebottleopeneris,Iwanttosaytoher.IthinkaboutthelastdinnerImadeforSeth—hadn’theopenedthebottleofwinethatwassittingonthetable?Yes,andheknewinwhichdrawerIkeptthecorkscrew.
“Youshouldreallythinkaboutjoiningagymtokeepyourselfbusy.”Ah,we’vemovedontoridiculingmybody.Sherinsesherhandsunderthefaucet,glancingbacktoeyemythighs.Ipushuponmytoes,liftingmythighsofftheseatofthechairsotheydon’tlooksowide.
“Sethisdoingwhatamanshoulddo,”myfatherchidesmymother.“Workinghardtobuildhisfuture,tobeagoodprovider.”Myfather—stickingupformeandpromotingpatriarchyallinonesentence.Bravo!
Ismileathimgratefully,anyway.Ihavemoremommyissuesthandaddyones.Itdoesn’tmatterthatIhavethetrustfundandastablejobthatpaysthemortgageonourcondo,Sethistheoneworkingtoprovideforhisfamily—threeofthemactually.
“Ofcourse,”mymothersaysquickly.“Itwouldjustbeniceifwecouldseehimeveryonceinawhile.Michaelwasoverherelastweekendwithyoursister.HegotapromotionandboughtheranewBMW.They’regoingtoGreecefortheirthree-yearanniversary.”Mymotherannouncesallofthislikeit’sherwhogotthecarandisgoingtoGreece.Thisismynormal;Iliveintheshadeofmysister’sgreatbiglife.IfI’dhadababyfirst,she’dbelivinginmine,butalas,thatwasneverinthecardsforme.
“Ihavetogetbacktowork.I’llleaveyoutwohenstoyourgirlstuff.”Hekissesmymotheronthecheekbeforeremovinghimselftohisstudy.
“Girlstuff,”Isayoutloud.“Shouldwebefertilizingeggsorcookingthem?”
Shehearsthedisgustinmyvoiceandimmediatelyshushesme.“Youknowwhathemeans.”
“Mom,”Isigh.“Iactuallydo…that’swhatupsetsme.”
Shelooksatmesharply,thecat-eyeglassesshe’swearingcatchingthelightfromthewindow.
“Idon’tknowwhat’sgottenintoyou,”shesays.
She’sright.Iwouldnevernormallysaythingslikethis.Hannahhasgottenintome…andRegina.Deep,deep,deepintome.Istaredownatmyhalf-emptyglassofDietCoke,tearsstingingmyeyes,thenIreachupgingerlytotouchmyalmost-healedear.Youcouldgiveyouralltoaman,everylastthing,andyou’dstillendupwithabruisedear.WhyhadIsoughtoutSeth’sotherwives?I’veruinedeverything.Butforwhom?Iaskmyself.YouorSeth?Nownothingseemsfair,notevenmyparents’marriage.Iamfallingapart,pickingatmyrelationshiplikeit’sascab.IthinkofRegina’smessagestoWill.I’vepouredthroughthemoverthelastfewdays,readingthemoverandovertillIhaveherwritingstylememorized.Sheistothepointbutflirtatious,payingattentiontothelittlethingshesays.Addictedtothedetails.IsthatbecauseSethistoopreoccupiedwiththreerelationshipstonoticethedetails?Regina,whoplacedherselfonadatingwebsite,whoiseagerlywritingmessagestoamannamedWilljustbecauseheissayingalltherightthings.AmInext?WillIbecomesodisillusionedbymymarriagethatI’llseekrelationshipselsewhere?Ifonlymybabyhadn’tdied.TherewouldbenoHannah,Reginawouldbethedistant,pizza-orderingwifeandIwouldhaveallofSeth.IfailedhiminthemostimportantwayandhehadtogotosomeoneelsetogivehimwhatIcouldn’t.
Mymothersetsdownaplateofsaladinfrontofme,thecherrytomatoesfromhergardenanangryredamongallthegreen.Thereisstillachanceforme.IcouldexposeReginaforwhatsheis.SethwouldseethatIhavehisbestinterestatheart,thatIamhistruechampion.Hedidn’trealizehowmuchofatollthislifestylewastakingonhim:theangryoutburstswerejustoneofthewayshisstresswasmanifesting.Itwouldn’tmatterthatIcouldn’tgivehimchildren.IwouldleaveHannahtothat.Andbesides,shewouldbepreoccupiedwiththeirbaby.Aren’tnewmothersnotoriousforneglectingtheirmenoncetheyhaveatinypersontotakecareof?Iwouldstepinwhereshefailed.
Mymindismadeup.IknowwhatIhavetodo.IfIcan’tbeatHannah,IwillbeatRegina.Takethenestfromthreetotwo.
Hi,Regina,
IloveTomWaits.Sawhiminconcertafewyearsago.Itwasprobablymyfavoriteconcertofalltime.I’msorrytohearaboutyourmarriage.Mysistergotadivorcelastyearandshe’sstillamessaboutit.I’mgladyou’reokayandreadytogetbackoutthereagain!Hislossismygain.Ifyoudon’tmindmeasking,whatwasthereasonyoudecidedtoendthings?Doyouhaveanyregretsaboutyourmarriage?Asforme,Ihaven’thadaseriousrelationshipinawhile.I’vethrownmyselfintomyworktheselastfewyears.ButI’mreadytosettledown(Ithink).WillbevisitingmysisterinMontanathisweekend—whatareyoudoing?
Talksoon,
Will
THIRTEEN
Pathetic.Ican’tevengethavingafightwithmyhusbandright.
Ireplayourconversationoverinmyhead,theonewehadafterIleftmyparents’house.I’dcalledSethassoonasIpulledoutoftheirdriveway.Iwantedtotellhimhowgreatourtimehadbeentogether,howmuchIenjoyedbeingwithhimtheothernight,buthesentmetovoicemail.HecalledbacktwentyminuteslaterwhenIwaswalkingintotheelevatorofourbuilding.
“Hey,”he’dsaid.“Iwasonthephone…”HisvoicehadcutoutandasIheldthephoneclosertomyearIheardtheword“…parents…”
Seth’sparents:I’dnevermetthem.Theirlifestylemeantkeepingtothemselvesmostofthetime,andtheyrarelytraveledoutsideofUtah.AstheelevatordooropenedandIspilledout,Ihadanidea.I’dsuggestedittoSeth.
“WeshouldtakeourvacationtoUtah!Howlonghasitbeensinceyou’vespenttimewithyourfamily?”I’dexpectedhimtolovetheidea,jumpontheopportunitytouseourtimetogethertogohome,butSeth’sreactionshockedme,hisvoiceimmediatelygoingcold.
“No,”he’dsaid,followedbyadeepsigh,likeIwasachild.Sethhasbeenputtingoffaface-to-facemeetingwithhisparentsforthetwoyearswe’vebeentogether.“Myfamilyisfuckedup,”he’dalwayssaid.“Busypeople.”Hesays“busy”likeI’mnotbusy,likeIcouldn’tpossiblyunderstandthedemandsoftheirlife.
“Youhavehalfsiblings!”I’dargued.“Surelytheycansparesometime.I’dliketomeetthem…”
Sethhadshotdowntheideasomewhataggressively,andwe’darguedaboutituntilIgavein.That’swhatIdotoavoidlosingSeth’sfavor—Igivein.Iwillnotbethenaggingshrew.Iwillnotbethedifficultwife.Iwillbethefavorite,theonewhomakeshislifeeasier.Whovolunteerstosuckhiscocktoeasehisbaddayandmoanslikeit’sherreceivingthepleasure.
Thetruthis,I’mnotevensureIwanttomeethisparents.They’repolygamists,forGod’ssake.Notthekindweare,either.Theyalllivetogetherandwearoddclothesandraisechildrencollectivelylikethey’resomesortofrabbit-fuckinghive.Imaginelookingtheotherwomanintheeyeeveryday,washingherdishesandchangingherchildren’sdiapers,andknowingshewasclawingyourhusband’sbackinpleasurelastnight.Itseemssotwisted,butwhoamItotalk?ThereasonIhaven’ttoldanyofmyfriendsorfamilythetruthisbecauseofhowtwisteditwouldsoundtothem.
Eitherway,theyarehisparents,andonprinciple,itfeelsrightthatIshouldmeetthem.I’veearnedthat.AthoughtoccurstomethatI’mnotentirelycomfortablewith:Whatifthey’vealreadymetHannah?WouldSetheventellmeiftheyhad?Afterhisreactionthatleftmebleeding,I’mtooafraidtoask.
Ipourmyselfaglassofwine,mysecondforthehour,andwanderintothelivingroomtowatchsomeTV.TheonlythingIcanfindtowatchareepisodesoftrashrealityshowsthatI’vealreadyseen.Somehow,themessylivesofrealitystarsmakemefeelbetteraboutmyown.Thereissomethingdullandvapidabouttheplastic-lookingwomenonthoseshows,despitetheirfameandfortune—nomatteriftheydeserveitornot.Thereissomethinghopefulaboutthatfortherestofus.We’reallfuckedup,everysingleoneofus,Ithink.
Buttwentyminuteslater,Ican’tseemtofocus.IturnofftheTVandstareatawall,myangerstillfestering.Igotothehallclosettoretrievethecardshisparentshavesentovertheyears,eightintotal,andstudythesignaturesatthebottom.Thecardsaregeneric,flowersorteddybearsonthefrontofthem—allthesame,neverwithanythingpersonalasidefromtheirhastilyscratchednames:PerryandPhyllis.Thatseemsstrange,doesn’tit?Theymightnotknowme,buttheycouldatleastexpresstheirdesireto.Can’twaittomeetyou!Hugs!Ormaybeeven,Sethsayssuchwonderfulthingsaboutyou.IthinkaboutallthecardsI’vesentthem,myeagernessspelledoutinthenotesI’vewritten,tellingthemaboutourcondoinSeattleand—beforethemiscarriage—thenameswe’dchosenforthebaby.Ifeelsillyaboutitnow,sharingallofthosedetailswiththemandthemnotcaringenoughtorespond.IwishIcouldaskHannahorReginaaboutthem—whattheythought,iftheyeverhadanymeaningfulinteraction.
I’venotsomuchasemailedwithhismother,thoughI’veaskedonseveraloccasionsforheremailaddress.Ifigurethatifwecanmakesomesortofconnectiononline,we’vemadeprogress.Sethalwaystellsmehe’llsenditoverandneverquitegetsaroundtoit.
Thedaybeforeourwedding,hisdad,Perry,hadbeenrushedinforemergencygallbladdersurgeryandhismomhadn’twantedtoleaveherhusband’sside.Ihadn’tseentheproblem,sincetherewerefourotherwivestotendtohim,weren’tthere?
“She’shislegalwife.Shehastobetheretooverseethingsincasesomethingcomesup,”Sethtoldme.
Aftertheymissedthewedding,theypromisedtocomeupforChristmas,butthenhismothercamedownwithpneumonia.ForEasteritwasstrepthroat,andthefollowingChristmasitwassomethingelse.WhenIlostthebaby,theysentflowers,whichI’dthrownstraightinthetrash.Ididn’twantanyremindersofwhathadhappened.Theyalwayssendacardonmybirthday,fiftydollarstuckedinside
IfinishmyglassofwineandpullupRegina’sFacebookprofile.Maybeshehaspictureswiththemsomewhere.It’salongshotbutworthatry.Sethdoesn’thaveanypicturesofthem.Hesaystheyhatecamerasandcellphones,andforlegalreasonsnevertakeanyphotostogether.JustasIthought,Regina’sprofileyieldsnoinformation.NeitherdoesHannah’s.Idon’tknowifIshouldfeelrelievedormoreupset.
IturnawayfrommyMacBook,frustrated.IfIwantanswersthereisonlyonethingIcando,andthatincludesmecontinuingtogobehindSeth’sback.AmessageinmyemailsaysReginahasmessagedWillback.Isignintothesite,feelinganxious.I’vebeenwonderingwhenshewillrequestameet-up,andtryingtodecidewhatI’llsay,butsofarsheseemsokaytotakethingsslow.Themessageisalongone.Iupgradefromwine,pouringmyselfavodkainsteadandsettlingonthecouch,suckingonmybottomlipwhileIread.
Hi,Will,
Justgothomeafteradayfullofmeetings.I’mblown.WillprobablyjustordertakeoutandwatchNetflix.It’snicethatyou’revisitingfamilythisweekend,havefun!
Mymarriage…hmm,that’satoughone.Weworkedhardatitforafewyears,probablyevenafterwebothknewitwasover.Intheend,wewerejustverydifferentpeoplewhowanteddifferentthings.He’smarriedtosomeoneelsenow…happy,Ihear.
SometimesitbothersmethathewasabletomoveonsoquicklywhileIneededtimetoheal,butIsupposewealldealwiththingsdifferently.Whydidyourlastrelationshipend?Wereyoutogetherlong?
Regina
Istareatthescreenforalongtimecontemplatingherwords.Differentpeoplewhowanteddifferentthings.Whyisshelying?Whatdoesshehavetogainbydevelopingthisrelationshipwithamanovertheinternet?IknowtheanswerevenbeforeIcompletethethought:she’slonely.Seth’sattentionwanesthinandattimesseemsnonexistent,sotheattentionofastrangerwouldsateadeepneedtobeseen…andheard.Regardlessofwhy,thefactissheactuallyischeating.AndSethhasnoclue.IclosethelidtomyMacBookandstareoutthewindow.Icontemplatetakingawalk;thingscangetclaustrophobicinahigh-rise.Youcanspenddaysgoingtothein-buildinggym,visitingthevendingmachinefordrinksinsteadofwalkingtheblocktothemarketandstaringoutattheworldbeneathyouinsteadofventuringoutintoit.I’vefoundthatmoreandmoreIamoptingtostayhomewhenI’mnotatwork,feelinglessinclinedtobravethedrizzlewhenitisn’tforagoodreason.Before,inmyoldlife,youcouldn’tkeepmeinside.IfI’vechangedsomuchinthelastfewyears,maybeReginahas,too.Perhapssherealizesshedoesn’twanttobewithSethanymore,andthisisherwayoffeelingoutthedatingscene.InwhichcasehermessagestoWillareagoodthing.Formeatleast.IfItellSethwhatIknowabouther,I’llhavealotofexplainingtodo.IdecidenottosayanythingtoSeth.I’llwaittoseewhatelseshewritestoWillbeforeIdecide.I’mflickingthroughchannelsontheTVtenminuteslaterwhenIstopononeofthoseshowsaboutinternetrelationships.Theshowbringspeopletogetherwho’veinteractedsolelythroughtheinternet,oftentofindthatoneortheotherhasbeenliedtoindepth.Iflinch,thinkingof“Will,”thephotosofmycousinI’veuploadedtothesite.Whatpeoplepresentontheinternetisseldomtruetoreallife.IfIwanttoknowwhoReginaCoelereallyis,IneedtoseeherinreallifelikeIsawHannah.
IcallthelawfirmofMarkel&AbelandtellthereceptionistthatIwouldliketoscheduleanappointmentwithReginaCoele.I’mputonhold,andasIwait,there’satwistinthepitofmystomach.IaskmyselfwhatI’mdoing.Thisisn’tlikeme;foryearsI’veacceptedeverythingquietly…submissively.Butit’stoolatenow;Iopenedonetoomanydoors,andthelustforknowledgeoverpowersrationality.ShetransfersmetoRegina’ssecretary,whotellsmethatherearliestavailableappointmentisthreeweeksfromtoday.Ifeelasurgeofdisappointment.Threeweeksseemslikeaneternity.
“Areyousurethere’snothingsoonerthanthat?”Iask.
“I’mafraidnot.Ms.Coeleisbookedthrough.Icanputyouonawait-list,buttobehonest,wehardlyeverhavecancellations.”Hervoiceisnasallyandmatter-of-fact—arealHermioneGrangerifI’veeverheardone.
“Allright,then,”Isigh.“IsupposeIhavenochoice.”
“I’lljustgetyousetupinthesystemwithsomebasicinformation,then,”shetellsme.Iheartheclackingofcomputerkeysandthenshebeginstoaskmequestions.
ItellherthatmynameisLaurenBrianfromOregon.Whensheasksaboutthenatureofmyvisit,Itellherthatit’sconcerningdivorce,andsuddenlyshe’sdifferent,hervoicemuchkinder.SomuchsothatIwonderifshe’sexperiencedadivorceherself.ThethoughtofdivorcingSethmakesmesicktomystomach.Idon’twanttodivorcehim—Iwanthimformyself.ButfirstIneedtoknowthenatureofhisrelationshipwithRegina.Sheasksmeaseriesofquestions—arechildreninvolved,didwesignaprenup,howlonghavewebeenmarried?“Don’tworry,”shesaysbeforeshehangsup.“Ms.CoeleisoneofthemostcompetentattorneysinOregon.”
CompetentRegina.IwonderifsomeonewoulddescribemeasthemostcompetentnurseinSeattle?Lomostcertainlywouldn’t.
WhenIhangupthephone,Iwalkdirectlytothebarandmakemyselfavodkaandsoda.I’mlonely,Irealizeastheicecubescrackbeneaththevodka.Lonelyandsad.Ishouldn’tbe;Iamyoungandvibrant,andthesearemybestyears.Thisisnecessary,Itellmyself,pushingasidetheguiltofsneakingaround.Youhavetofigurethisout.
FOURTEEN
IthinkaboutHannahallmorning.It’sbecominganobsessiontowonderwheresheisandwhatshe’sdoing.I’mnotsleepingwell;evenwhenIswallowthesleepingpillsmydoctorprescribedme,Iwakeinthemiddleofthenight,mybodycoveredinasheenofsweat.Ihaveforgottenwhatmyownhappinessmeans.Whatthedefinitionistomeasaperson.ThisinfluxofemotionwasbroughtonbyRegina’slastmessagetoWill,whensheaskedhimwhatmakeshimtrulyhappy.I’dansweredasWill:myfamily,myjob.ButwhenIswitchedgearsandcontemplatedwhatmademehappy,Iwasunabletocomeupwithagoodanswer.IknowwhatmakesSethhappy,andIknowthatIfeelhappinesswhenhedoes,butdoesn’tthatpointtothefactthatI’vecompletelylostmyownidentitytoidentifywithhim?I’vebecomethatwoman—theonewhoismadehappybythehappinessofothers.It’sdisappointingtome,thatI’veforgottenmyselfentirely.WhenSethfoundmeinthatcoffeeshop,Iwasinthepursuitofittosomedegree.Iwasmetaphoricallywetbehindtheears,lackingexperience.SometimesIwonderifhe’dknownthatandifthatwaswhyhechoseme.Howeasytoconvinceayounggirlinlovethatshecanemotionallydotheimpossible.Andpluralmarriagebyallmeansisimpossibleontheheartandmind.ButIamdetermined.SethandIhavegottenofftrack;thewayheshovedmetheotherdayprovedthat.Wecanmakeitbacktoeachother—IjustneedReginaoutofthepicture.
Idecidetotakeawalktoclearmyhead.It’sprobablytoocold,butI’vebeencoopedupinthiscondowithmythoughtsfortoolong.IfIhadafriendnearby,thingswouldbedifferent.Someonetoconfidein,gleanwisdomfrom.Butthissecretinmymarriagepreventsmefromdevelopingmeaningfulrelationships.Therearetoomanyquestions,toomanyliesyouinevitablyhavetotell.Itisalmostcomicaltothinkofsomeonegivingadviceonsomethingasbizarreaspluralmarriage:Besupportiveoftheotherwomen!Remembertosuckhisdickasoftenasyoucansoyoucanbethefavorite…
Shruggingonmywarmestcoat,IslipmyfeetintomyrainbootsandheadtowardWestlakeCenter.ThetreetrunksinthesquarearepaintedcobaltbluefortheSeahawks,andasIweavemywaybetweenthem,Icatchsightofastandsellingmulledwineandroastedchestnuts.I’vealreadyhadtoomuchtodrinktoday,butonecupofmulledwinewon’thurt.AsIwaitinline,Itellmyselfthattheyprobablycookedallofthewineoutofit.
Iorderalargeandcarrymysteamingpapercuptowardtheshopsontheothersideofthestreet.I’mabouttocrosswhenIhearmynamebeingcalled.Iturnaroundandsearchthefacesaroundme,surprised.Idon’tknowmanypeopleinthecity.Mosteveryonehastheirheadsbentagainsttherain,andasIstallonthesidewalk,theypushpastmeinaherd,crossingthesmallintersection.
AndthenIseeher,herimpossiblyperfectblondhairtuckedbeneathabeanieandthenthehoodofabrightredraincoat.Shelooksinnocentandeager,likeahipsterversionofLittleRedRidingHood.“Hey,Ithoughtthatwasyou.”Laurenapproaches,herfacepinkfromeitherexertionorcold.Sherestsahandonmyshoulderasshebendsovertocatchherbreath.“Irantocatchup,”shesays.“Youwereinyourownworld,didn’thearmewhenIcalled.”
“Sorry,”Isay,glancingovermyshoulder.ThelighthaschangedbacktoredandImissedmychancetocross.Great.ThatmeansI’llbestuckatthisintersectionwithLaurenforanotherfewminutes.
“Um…sowhatareyoudoinghere?”Iask.
Ihalfexpectherhusband,John,toappearthroughthecrowd,cheesygrinplasteredtohisface.Johnisforeversmiling,beggingtheworldtolikehim.I’magoodguy!Lookatmesmile!Hewearsbeanies,too,alwayswiththreeperfectcurlsstrategicallyhangingoverhisforehead.Ilookaroundwearily.ThelastthingIneedrightnowistheircouple-ness.
“Oh,IthoughtI’dcomewalkaroundthecenterforabit,”shesays.“Grabsomethingtoeat.”
“Where’s—”
“Working,”shesaysquickly.Someonebumpsintomeandmymulledwinesloshesoutofthecupandontomyjacket.Istumble,unabletorightmyfooting.LaurengrabsmebeforeIcanfall.IsmileathergratefullyasIrightmyself.
“Whoa,”shesays.“Howmanyofthosehaveyouhad?”Shemeanstobefunny,andofcourseshehasnoideathatI’vespentthegreaterpartofmydaydrinking,butsomethinginhervoicemakesmeangry.
“Youdon’thavetobesogoddamnjudgmental,”Isnap.Idumptherestofthewineontothesidewalkandmarchtheemptycupovertothetrash.Thereisnoroomforit,thegarbagecanoverflowing.Isettheemptycupontopofitandreturntowaitforthelight.LaurenlookslikeI’veslappedher,thesmilefallingoffherface.Ifeelguiltyrightaway.Shewasbeingreallynice,andhereIam,spewingmyfrustrationallovertheplace.
“I’msorry,”Isay,liftingahandtomyhead.“Ihadareallyshitday.Look,wouldyouliketogetadrink?”
Shenodswithoutaword,andsuddenlyoutsideofmyowntroublesIseesomethingelseonherface.She’snothappy,either;there’ssomethingwrong.Isigh.ThelastthingIneedistobesomeoneelse’sshrinktoday.
“Allright,then,”Isay,glancingaround.“There’sataphouseupthatway,orwecangotoarealbar,onewiththehardstuff.”
Shecontemplatesthisforafewsecondsbeforenoddingherheaddecidedly.“Hardstuff.”
“Good,”Isay.“Iknowwhereallthebestplacesare.Followme.”
Ileadherpastthetouristspotsandwell-litrestaurantstoPostAlley,whereIswingaleft.Wehavetopassthegumwall,andLocrinkleshernoseatthesicklysweetsmellofhalf-chewedbubblegum.
“Gross,”Ihearhersay.“Ican’tbelievethisisatouristspot.Whatisevenwrongwithpeople?”
“You’rebeinguptightagain,”Icallovermyshoulder.Ateenagegirltoourrightpretendstolickthemoundsofgumasherfriendtakesapicture,andLaurenshudders.
Thefoottrafficthinsoutandsoonwe’retheonlyoneswalkingdownthealley.Laurenpressesclosetomelikeshe’safraidwe’regoingtobemugged.
“Howlonghaveyoulivedhere?”Iask.Hermouthisburiedbeneathascarf;theonlythingvisibleisherred-tippednose.
“Fouryears.”
Inod.Fouryearsisrelativelynewtothecity.You’restilltryingtofigureoutwhichstreetstoavoidandfrequentingchainrestaurants.
“Youwerebornhere?”sheasks.
“Oregon,butmyparentsmovedherewhenIwaslittle.”
Ileadherdownanotheralleyandstopinfrontofagrasswall.“Youokaywiththisplace?”Iask.Loeyestheplacewarily,thennods.
Theinteriorofthebarislitbyneonpinklightsthatrunalongthewallsandtheceiling.It’sthetypeofplaceonemightcallseedy.Thefirsttimewecamehere,Sethsaidtheplacehadeightiespornvibes.Itwasoneofthefewtimeswewereoutinpublictogether,andasLaurenandIwalkthroughthedoorsithitsmethatheprobablybroughtmeherebecausetherewaslittlechanceofbeingseenbyanyoneheknows.
Wefindalittletableinthecornerandbeginthetaskofunwrappingourselvesfromscarvesandjackets.ItrynottolookatherbecauseIdon’tknowwhyI’mdoingthis,exceptthereissomethingsadinhereyes,somethingthatmatcheshowIfeel.ItellmyselfthatifshebringsupourlackofchildrenI’mgoingtoleave.Iordershotstostart.Weneedsomethingtocuttheedge,andfast.
“Whatdoyounormallydrink?”
Iexpecthertosayroséorchampagne,butshesays,“Whiskey,”matter-of-factlyandthendownshershotlikeshe’satacollegefratparty.Nice.
Weorderfries,andbythetimeourfoodarrives,we’vehadthreeshotseachandaresufficientlysloshed.Laurencan’tfigureouthowtoworkthelidontheketchupand,inafitofgiggles,dropsthebottleonthefloor.Sheretrievesitandwedgesthelidopenwithherteeth.
“AndyouthoughtIwasuptight,”shesays,eyeingmeoverthebottle.
“You’redrunk,”Itellher,dippingafryintotheketchupandfoldingitintomymouth.“Yourpicture-perfectlifedoesn’tallowyoutobeanythingbutuptight.”
Losnorts.“Soperfect.”Shecloseshereyes,anexaggeratedexpressiononherface.“It’snotwhatyouthink.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iask.Iknowshe’shadmorethanherfairsharetodrink,butIdon’tstopherwhenshebeginstotalk.Ifshe’sgoingtoregrettellingmethings,shecandoittomorrowwhenI’mnotaround.
“Doyoureallywanttoknow?”
“Iwouldn’thaveaskedifIdidn’t,”Isay.Shetoyswithhernapkin,rippingitinhalf,thenballingitupinherfist.Whenshe’sdestroyedit,shedropsthewadded-uppaperinherwaterglass.Iwatchitfloatbeforeliftingmyeyestoherface.
“Hecheatsonme,”shesays.“Allthetime.ThetripswegoonarealwaysafterI’vecaughthim.Tobuymeback,Isuppose.”
Idon’tknowwhattosay,soIstareatherdumblyuntilshespeaksagain.
“It’sallafarce.I’mafarce.Ithoughtifwehadababy,thingswouldgetbetter,he’dbemorehesitanttobreakupourfamily,butthenitwashardtogetpregnantandevenhardertokeepababyinmybody.NowIcan’thavechildrenatallandthisisjustmyreality.”
Ireachacrossthefriesandemptyshotglassesandtouchherhand—lightlyatfirst,andthenIholdit.“I’msorry,”Isay,thoughthewordssoundshallowanduncomfortingeventomyownears.“Haveyouthoughtaboutleavinghim?”
Sheshakesherhead.Hernoseisthrobbingred,andIseethatshe’sstartedtocry.“No,Ican’t.Ilovehim.”
Thatmakesmepullmyhandbackandstareattheplateofhalf-eatenfries.I’malltoofamiliarwiththatfeeling,aren’tI?NotknowingifIshouldleave,tryingtomakethingsbetter—neverquitebeingableto.I’mdrunkandinspiredbyLauren’shonesty,soIsay,“Myhusbandhastwootherwives.”Andthenfeeltheheatrisetomyface.She’sthefirstpersonI’vetold,andshe’ssomeoneI’vealwaysclaimedtohate.It’sfunnyhowthingswork.
Laurenlaughs,thinkingI’mkidding,buttheseriousexpressiononmyfacecauseshermouthtodropopen.Herownhurtforgotteninthewakeofmyshockingnews,shestumblesoverherwords.“You’rejoking.OhmyGod,you’renotjoking…”
Ifeelpartreliefandpartfear.IknowIshouldn’thavetoldher,thatitwasdangerousbothtoSethandtheotherwomen,butalcoholandsadnesshaveloosenedmytongue,and,well,it’stoolatetotakeitbacknow.
“I’mapolygamist,”Isay,justtoclarify.“ThoughI’venevermeteitherofthem,theydon’tevenlivenearhere.”
“Letmegetthisstraight,”Laurenbreathes.“Youknowinglyletyourhusbandcheatonyou…withtwootherwives?”
Inod.Sheburstsintolaughter.Atfirst,I’mupset.Thiswasn’treallysomethingtolaughabout,butthen,asifthroughahaze,IseewhatsheseesandIcan’thelpbutstartlaughing,too.
“Whatafucked-uppairweare.”Andwiththatshestandstogotothebartogetmoredrinks.Wereallydon’tneedtodrinkanymore,butalsowedo.WhenshecarriesthembacktoourtableIsmilewanlyather.Laurenlooksatmeovertherimofherwaterglass—thepaperremoved—withasmileequallyasweak.
“Whatamesswe’vemadeofourlives,eh?Well,what’shelike—yourSeth?Isheworthit?”
“I’mnotsure,”Isayhonestly.“Iusedtothinkso,otherwiseIwouldn’thavemarriedhim.Butlately,I’vebeenfeelingdifferent.I’veevengoneasfarasfindingthemonlinejustsoIcanspy.”
Hereyesgrowbig,twosaucersofvulnerability.“It’slikeamovie,”shesays.“Infact,ifIweresoberIdon’tthinkI’dbelieveyouaboutanyofthis.”
“AreyougoingtoleaveJohn?”Iaskher.
“AreyougoingtoleaveSeth?”sheshootsback.
“Ireallyjustwantthoseotherwomentogoaway.”
“Here,here,”shesays,liftingherglassinatoast.Butshedoesn’tlookconvinced;shelooksconcerned.
Wepartwaysrightwherewemet,onlynowit’stoodarktoseethebluetreetrunks.Shegivesmeabriefbutmeaningfulhug,afterpromisingtonevertellmysecret,andIsayI’lldothesame.Itfeelsgoodtohavesomeoneknow,evensomeoneI’vealwaysdisliked.That’swhatIkeepthinkingonmywalkbacktothecondo.LikesomeonehastakensomeoftheburdenoffmyshouldersandIcanmovearoundalittleeasier.Iwonderifshefeelsthesame.Ifwecansomehowhelpeachother.
FIFTEEN
I’mlyingonthecouchlisteningtosadmusic:The1975,TheNeighborhood,JuleVera.Myeyesareclosed;myhangoverhasseizedmyheadandmystomach.Ishiftontomyside,keepingmyeyesclosed.Amazinghowonceyouopenadoorforsomething,there’snogoingback.Allyoucandoisbraceyourselfasyougetsuckedin,deeperanddeeper.ReginaandHannah,ReginaandHannah—they’reallIcanthinkabout.IstackmyselfagainstwhatIknowaboutthem,Imeasureourflaws,sievethroughthem.ItextedHannahthismorning,justtocheckonher,butshehasn’tanswered.Sheismyallywithoutknowingit.Myfatefeelstiedtohers.IwonderifsheeverwishesshecouldgetridofRegina.
ReginaismoresuccessfulthanIwilleverbe,moreconfident.Hannahisyounger,prettier.Iamsomewhereinthemiddleofbothofthem,amediumtobalanceouttheextremes.Sethhastextedmemorethanusualthisweek—he’strying.
Iheavemyselffromthecoucharoundnoonandheadforthebathroom.WhenIgetoutoftheshower,IlookatmyselfnakedinthebathroommirrorandtrytoimaginewhatSethseeswhenhelooksatme.I’mshort,withoutthepetitenessofRegina,myhipswideandmythighsfullandmuscular.MybreastsspilloverwhatevershirtI’mwearing;outofabratheyhanglooseandfull.Allthreeofusarecompletelydifferentbodytypes,andyetthesamemandesiresus.Itdoesn’taddup.Menhaveatype,don’tthey?EspeciallyoneasparticularasSeth.Seth,wholikesMary-KateOlsenbutnotAshley—definitelynotAshley,hesays.
HistypewouldhavetobeRegina,sinceshe’swhoSethmarriedfirst.Butweren’twestillfindingourselvesinourtwenties?Perhapshediscoveredhistypeisme.That’swishfulthinking,whenyou’reoneofthree.HeoncetoldmethathewasdrawntoeverythingaboutReginaatthatparty,enoughsothatheapproachedherontheoffchancethatshe’dshoothimdown.He’dbeenattractedtome,too—thewayhe’dflirtedwithme,hiseyesalwaysfilledwithwhatIconsideredlust.Idon’tknowhowhemetHannah,andIneedtoknow.ThephotoofReginaflashesinmymind,thetaller,youngerblondstandingnexttoher—isitHannah?Didtheyknoweachother?IcanwaituntilIgotoPortlandformyappointmentwithRegina,orIcanfindoutnow.
Yes,that’sagoodidea—alittlesleuthworktodistractme.ItextHannahagain,andbeforeshereplies,I’malreadythrowingthingsinasmallovernightbag.Ifshe’sbusy,Icouldalwaysgosnooparoundonmyown.Tomyrelief,shetextsback,delightedthatI’mcoming.Shesuggestsdinnerandamovie.Imustbemad,truly,goingtodinnerandamoviewithmyhusband’sotherwife.Somemightcallmeastalker,somemightsayIwasoffmyrocker—butwhatdiditmatter?Lovecertainlymakespeoplecrazy,Ithink,zippingupmybag.Iimagineshe’lloptforaromanticcomedy—somethinglightandsexy.Womenheragestillhavesucharosyoutlookonlife.Butinstead,sheasksmeifIlikehorrorfilms.I’malittletakenaback.Idon’t,ofcourse,butIsayIdo.Iwanttoseewhatshehasinmind,thetypeofthingsthatamuseher.Hercharminghistoricalhouseandperfectlyput-togethermeatandcheeseboarddidn’texactlyscreamslasherfilmfanatic.Shetellsmethere’sapsychologicalthrillershewantstosee;ithasJenniferLawrenceinit.IaskifherfavoritemovieisTheSixthSense,andshetextsbackthatshehasn’tseenit.I’vejustpulledoutoftheparkinggarage.I’mnotreallypayingattentionandsomeonehonksatme.It’sTheSixthSense;whohasn’tseenTheSixthSense,especiallyahorrormoviefan?She’sthatyoung.
IleaveSeattlejustalittleafternoonwithafreshcoffeeinthecup-holder,cheerfulmusicplayingthroughthespeakers.Oh,howthingschangefromhourtohour.I’mupbeat,theradiostationisplayingeightiesmusicandIsingalong.IfIdrivefast,I’llhavejustenoughtimetocheckintothehotelandfreshenupbeforemeetingHannahfordinner.Ifeelafizzofexcitementinmybelly,notjustattheprospectofgarneringinformationaboutourhusband,butatdoingsomethingotherthansittingathomewaitingforSeth.Waiting,waiting—mylifeisallaboutwaiting.
TraffictotheneighboringcityisthankfullylightandImakegoodtime.Sethwouldhavecalledmeaspeed-demon;hewouldpumpanimaginarybrakeinthepassengerseatwhenImadehimnervous.WhenIgettothehotel,Itossmythingsonthebedandtakeaquickshower.Ionlybroughttwooutfits:oneforthedrivebacktomorrowandonefortonight.Now,asIstaredownatthebrowncardigan,creamsilktopandjeans,IwishI’dchosensomethingwithmorecolor,somethingeye-catching.I’lllookplainanddrabnexttoHannah’sgazelle-likefigure,mylargebreastsmakingmelookplumperthanIreallyam.Irubthefabricbetweenmyfingersandstress.Eventually,I’vestressedtoolongandIdon’thavetimetodrymyhair.Theaircurdlesitintomessywaves.Idomybesttotamethemalittle,butintheendIhavetogo.
Portland’sweatherisinabettermoodthanSeattle’s.Thereisnomistintheair,justthesmellofexhaustfumesandpot.Hannahopensthedooronmyfirstknock,abrightsmileonherface.Toobright.Igiveheraquickhugandthat’swhenIseeit—adark,broodingbruiseskimstheundersideofhercheekbone,asicklygreencolor,likepeasoup.She’smadeanattempttocoveritwithmakeup,butonherfairskin,thecolorbloomswithalarmingvibrancy.
“Ijustneedtograbmycoat,”shetellsme.“Comeinforasecond.”
Istepintothefoyer,notsureifIshouldmentionthebruiseorpretendshe’sdoneanexcellentjobwithhermakeuplikeshe’sprobablyhoping.Ilookaroundthefoyer,checkingforthemissingphotothatwasoncehangingnexttothedoor—orsoshesaid.Initsplaceisaframedprintofapressedpoppy.Itdepressesme.Pressedflowersareanattempttoholdontosomethingthatwasoncealive.They’redesperateandlonely.
“Doyoulikeit?”sheasks,comingdownthestairs.“Ifounditatafleamarket.I’vealwayswantedtobeabletodoitmyselfbutneverhadthetime.”
“Ido,”Ilie.“Didn’tyousayyouhadafamilyphototherebefore?”
Hannahseemstoflushundermygaze.“Yes,”shesays,andthenquicklyturnsaway.
Ithinkofmyemptylockeratworkandrealizeshe’splayingthesamegameIplay.Hidethehusband;avoidthequestions.Butbruises?I’veneverhadtohidebruises.Ithinkofmyearandabsentlyliftafingertotracethespot.Beneathmyrelaxedexterior,myheartbeatshardagainstmyribs.Beforethenighthepushedme,IneverwouldhavebeenabletoimagineSethdoingsomethingtohurtawoman.AndevenafterthenightheshovedmeImadeexcuses,blamedmyself.Butthere’snodenyingHannah’sbruise.IpressmyquestionsdownmythroatuntilitfeelslikeI’mchokingonthem.
“Hey,let’sdriveseparatelysoyoudon’thavetocomeallthewaybackhereafterthemovie,”shesuggests.Inod,wonderingifthere’sanotherreason.TonightishernightwithSeth;he’darrivelateafterleavingRegina’s.Perhapsshedidn’twanthimknowingshe’dmadeafriend.Afriendwouldaskaboutherbruises,afriendwoulddirecthereyesatthehusband.
IfollowbehindherSUV,grippingthesteeringwheelsotightlymyknucklesturnwhite.Wepassthroughdowntown,thesquareoffoodtrucks,theshops,thepeoplebundledup,allwhizzingpast.Ibarelyseeit.I’mtoobusythinking.
We’vejustpulleduptotherestaurantwhenIgetatextfromSeth.
Hi.Whereareyou?
Istareathistext,puzzled.
It’ssixo’clock.WhichmeansSethshouldstillbewithRegina.It’sanunspokenrulethatwhenyou’rewithonewife,youdon’ttexttheothers.
Dinnerwithafriend,Itextback.
Nice.Whichfriend?Thehaironmyarmsprickles.Seth’snotinthehabitofquizzingme.Infact,he’sneveraskedaboutmyfriends,excepttocautionmenottotellthemaboutus.
Whereareyou?Ifhe’sbeingnosy,Ihavetherighttobe,too.
Home.
That’saninterestinganswer,Ithink.Especiallywhenhehasthreehomes.
Hannahiswalkingtowardmycar,havingalreadyparked.Ishovemyphonedeepintomypurseandstepoutofthecartomeether.
Sethwillhavetowait.It’llbeanicechange,sinceI’malwaysonthewaitingend.It’sfunnyhowIcareabouthimlesswhenI’mwithHannah.
“Ready?”Hannahgrins.TherestaurantshechoseremindsmealittleoftheItalianplaceSethtookmetothefirsttimehetoldmeabouthiswife.Assoonaswewalkinthedoors,she’sapproachedbywhoIsupposeisthemanager.Herushesovertosayhi,fussingoverherasheleadsustoatable.Hannahthankshimandherunstothekitchentogetusaspecialtyappetizer.
“Howdotheyknowyou?”Iaskafteraserverwavesather.
“Oh,wecomeherealot.”ByweIassumeshemeansherandSeth.
Inoticethatshekeepsthebruisedsideofherfaceturnedawaysothatwhenshelooksupatthem,theyonlyseehergoodeye.It’sonlyoncewe’veorderedourmealsthatIfinallyaskherwhat’sbeenbotheringmeallnight.
“Hannah,howdidyougetthatbruise?”
Sheliftsherhandasiftotouchitandthendropsitintoherlap.
“Ifyoutellmethatyouwalkedintoadoororhityourfaceonacabinet,I’mnotgoingtobelieveyou,okay?Sowhydon’tyoujusttellmewhatreallyhappened.”
“Soyouwantmetomakesomethingup?”sheasks,raisinganeyebrow.
Ibitemylipthinkingaboutwhattosay.“No.Iwantyoutotrustme,though,”Isaycarefully.“GodknowsI’vemadesomereallystupiddecisions,soI’mnotevergoingtojudgeyou.”
Shewipeshermouthwithhernapkinandtakesalongsipofherwater.“Really,it’slikeyouwantmetoconfesstosomethingscandalous,”shesays.
“LasttimeIsawyou,youtoldmethatyourhusbandhidyourbirthcontrolpillssoyou’dgetpregnant.Thatsoundsprettycontrollingandmanipulativetome.I’mjustchecking.”
Shelooksdownatherhands,whicharenowfoldedneatlyonthetabletop.Shelookscompletelyrelaxedandincontrol,minustheU-shapedbruisebeneathhereye.Istareather,mentallywillinghertotellmeeverything.IfSethishittingher,Ineedtoknow.MyGod—itwouldbehardtobelieve,but…
“Myhusband…”Shechewsontheinsideofhercheek.Iwanttonudgeherforward,encouragehertotalktome,butI’mafraidthatifIsayanythingatallthespellwillbebrokenandshe’llshutdown,soIwait.
“Hedoeshaveatemper.Sometimes…”Hervoicefalterslikeshe’snotexactlysurehowtowordthings.“Ithinkhispastaffectedhimmorethanhe’swillingtoadmit.ButIcanassureyou,hedoesn’thitme.”I’mhunguponpartofherexplanation,thepartabouthispast.DoessheknowsomethingthatIdon’t?
“Hispast?”Iinterrupt.“Whatdoyoumean?”
Imanagetokeepmyfaceneutral,butIcanfeelmyeyebrowspushingtowardeachother,myforeheadwantingtocreasewithworry.
Hannahclearsherthroat,andit’saveryladylikesound.Icanbarelytakeit;Iwanthertospititout.TherearealreadyfeelingsofintensejealousycurdlinginmystomachthatshewouldknowsomethingthatIdonot.
“Well,”shesaysfinally.“Hecomesfromalargefamily…”
Noshit,Iwanttosay.
“Someoneinhisfamily…well,someonehurthim.”
Ishakemyhead.“Hurthimhow?”
“Oh,Idon’tknow,”Hannahsays,andIcantellshe’salreadyregrettingsayinganything.“Roughedhimupforfun,bulliedhim.I’mmakingitsoundlighterthanitactuallyis…”
Istareather,confused.SoSethwasteasedbyhissiblings?What’snew?MysisteroncetossedmyfavoritedollintothefireplaceandlookedoncontentedlywhileIsobbed.
Shewaitsuntiltheserverfillingherwaterglasshaswalkedawayandthensheleansclosetome.“Hehadanolderbrotherwhowasapsychopath,”shewhispers.“Woulddoterriblethingstohim,likeholdhimdowninhisbathwateruntilhethoughthewasgoingtodie,andwouldsneakintohisroomatnightand…well…touchhim.”
Ibalk.“Hewasmolested?”Isearchmymemoryforanything—anythingSethhassaidabouthisbrother.Butthetruthwasthathehardlyspokeabouthim;Ididn’tevenknowhisname.Ifeelarushofanguish;Iwaslessimportant.Hedidn’tsharehishurtwithme.Itakealongdrinkofwater,hopingshedoesn’tnoticemyexpression.
Hannahdrawsbackatmyoutburstandthenquicklylooksaroundtoseeifanyone’sheardus.There’snooneinthedirectvicinity,andherfacerelaxes.
I’mimpatientwithher.Screwcaringwhatpeoplethinkatatimelikethis.MyheartisracingamileaminuteandIfeelpositivelysicktomystomach.Ifthatweretrue,howcouldhenothavetoldme?AsIstareatHannah,atherperfectlysharpcheekbones,andfulllips—purseddisapprovinglyatme—Ifeelbothbetrayedandhurt.Shecanseeitonmyfacebecauseshereachesacrossthetabletograbmywrist.Squeezingitsoftly,shewatchesmewithherbigblueeyes.
“Areyouokay?”sheasks.“DidIsaysomethingtoupsetyou?”
“No,notatall.It’sjustaterriblething…”Itrytopullmyselfawayfromherasgentlyaspossible,keepingatightsmileonmylips.Ihateherinthismoment.Sheseemstobuymylie,becausesheletsmego,retiringherhandstoherlap.
“Howmanyyearsdiditcontinue?”Iask.
“Onandoffthroughmostofhischildhood.Untilhisbrotherleftforcollege.”
“Soyou’resayinghesometimes…doesthings…outofanger,becauseofwhathisbrotherdid?”
“No.Yes.Idon’tknow.Wearguelikeallmarriedcouplesandsometimesthingsgetveryheated.I’veslappedhim,”sheadmits.“Ifeltterribleafter,ofcourse.Andhegrabbedmyarmafter,tostopmefromdoingitagain—thosewerethebruisesyousawlasttime.”Shelooksaway,ashamed.
Inthatmoment,Ihavetheurgetotellhereverything.WhoIam,whatIknowaboutherandRegina.Thewayheshovedmeandneverapologized,whichmademethinkhedidn’trealizehe’ddoneit.Wouldn’teverythingbesoclearifwecouldlayitalloutbetweenus?I’dcertainlyunderstandmoreaboutSeth.OrIcouldjustaskSethaboutit,butthenhe’dknowI’dbeentalkingtoHannah.
“Whataboutthebruisebeneathyoureye?”Iswallowtheemotionlodgedlikeahunkofbreadinmythroatandlookhersquarelyintheeyes.
“No,it’snotlikethat.Iwasdoingahouseprojectandwalkedintoanopencabinet.Really.Hejustgetsmoody,withdrawn…Heneedshisalonetime,youknow?SometimesIthinkit’sbecausehewasalwayssurroundedbypeople.”Shepressesherlipstogether.Itryanewtactic.Icameheretogetinformation,afterall,althoughperhapsnotofthisdarknature.
“Okay,tellmethegoodthingsabouthim,thethingsyoulove.”IsmileencouraginglyasHannahchewsonherlip.“Youarehavinghisbaby,afterall.Therearesomethingsyoumustlike…”
“Ofcourse,yeah,ofcourse.”SheseemsrelievedthatI’vechangedthesubjecttosomethingmorepalatable.
Inoticetheimmediatechangeinher.WhenHannahtalksaboutSeththisway,hereyestakeonaglowandherlipssoftentothesmileofayounggirlentirelysmitten.Irecognizethesymptoms,asI’vesooftenseentheminmyself.
“He’scharming,andhe’skind.Hespoilsme,alwaysaskingifIneedanythingandifI’mokay.Heboughtmeababynamebookandhelikestohearmyideas…thesmallthings…”IrememberSethtellingmeaboutthebabynamebooksayingthatHannah—orMonday,ashecalledher—wantedaboy.
“He’sfun,”shecontinues.“Likestojokearoundandlaugh.Ireallylovethatabouthim.”
HaveIeverconsideredthatSeth’ssenseofhumorishisstrongsuit?Itendtobethewittyoneintherelationship,alwaysquippingsomethingortheotherwhilehelaughs.
“Right,”Isaywhenshepauses.“Thoseareallwonderfulthings.”Shenods,encouraged,andIthinkhereyesfillwithtears,butthenourserverarrivestorefillourwater.
“Canwechangethesubject?”shesaysafterheleaves.
“Sure.”Ismile.“Whereishetonight?”Idon’tknowwhyIask,exceptthatwhenpeopleaskmewheremyhusbandis,Ialwaysfalterbeforemakingupsomelameexcuse.
“He’s…Heshouldbehome,”shesays.“ItoldhimI’dbeoutforthenight.”
“Doeshemindthatyouhavefriends?”
“Hedoesn’tknow,”shesays.“He’sprotectiveofme,ofwhoIspendtimewith.”
Idon’tmissthewayhereyesdartleft,searchingfortherightanswer…theeasiestanswer.
Inod,butIcan’thelpwonderingifshe’sworkingthingsoutwithhimorherself,resigningherselftobethetypeofwomanhewants.She’ssomuchyoungerthanme,closetomyagewhenImetSethinthatcoffeeshop.IfanyonehadtriedtowarnmebackthenIwouldhavelaughed,brushedofftheirconcern.Sethwasagoodman,family-focused;ifhewasoccasionallymoody,thatwasfine.
OurfoodarrivesbeforeIcanthinkanymoreonit.Fortherestofourdinnerwediscussbanalthings,andwhenit’stimefordessert,Istanduptousetherestroom.IcanfeelhereyesonmeasIleavethetable.IwishIcouldknowwhatshe’sthinking.
SIXTEEN
WhenIgetbackfromtherestroom,Hannahisgone.Istareattheemptytable,asinkingfeelinginmystomach.Ourserverisceremoniouslyclearingawaythelastofourglasseswhenhelooksupandseesme.Hegrinssheepishly,shrugginghisshouldersandsteppingback.
“Thoughtyouleft,”hesays.“Sheranoutinahurry.”
AsIstepcloser,Iseethatshe’spaidthebillincashandleftanoteonthebackofmybeveragenapkin.Ipickitup,frowning.Whywouldsheleavesosuddenly?Hadourconversationspookedherthatmuch?MaybeSethcalledandsummonedherhome.Thewordsarescribbled;herpentorethroughthenapkinatseveralspots.Hadtorun,feltsick.Raincheckonmovie.
That’sit?Iturnitoverinmyhand,hopingforamoredetailedexplanation,butthere’sonlythepinklipstickresidueIleftearlierwhenIwipedmymouth.
“Didshelooksick?”Iasktheserver.He’swaitingformetoleavesohecangethismoneyandgetthetablereadyforthenextroundofguests.
“Notreally.”Heshrugs.
Itakeoutmyphonetotext.
What’sup?Whydidyouleavewithoutsayinggoodbye?
Didn’tfeelwell.Hadtorun.
Iconsideraskinghermore,butthenthinkbetterofit.I’vealreadyscaredherenoughwithallofmyquestions.Thingsareprobablybetterleftalone.Itcouldbethebaby,Iremindmyself.She’sstillinherfirsttrimester.Iwassickasadogforthefirstfivemonthsofmypregnancy;thebathroomfloorhadbecomeahangout.Ipushthememoriesfrommymind,theirresurgenceacoldknifeagainstmythincontrol.IfIthoughtonthattoomuch,I’d—
Iconsidergoingtothemoviebymyself,butthemoreIthinkaboutit,themoreIrealizehowtiredIam—IrealizethatallIwantistodrivebacktothehotelinstead.
AsI’mwaitinginthehotelvaletforanattendant,tappingmyfingersimpatientlyonthesteeringwheel,somethingbeginstonagatthebackofmymind.Seth’stextstomeearlierhadbeenstrange—thetoneofthem.Wasitpossiblethathe’dseenmetherewithHannah?IdecidetotakeaquickspinpastHannah’shouse.Justtoseeifhercaristhere.Noharminthat.Iwaveofftheattendantasheapproachesmycarandspeedpast,ignoringhislookofdisapproval.Twentyminutes.ItwouldtakemetwentyminutestopstospyonHannahandmyhusband.ExcitementwhipsthroughmeasIrushthroughayellowlight,eagertoreachtheirquainthome.
Icantellshe’snothomeevenbeforeIreachthehouse.Thewindowsaredarkandlifelessandhercarismissingfromitsusualspotagainstthecurb.Ican’tseeSeth’sanywhere,either.Iconsidercreepinguptothehouseandtakingapeekinside,butit’sstillearlyenoughthataneighborcouldspotme.
Shit.Shit.
Couldshehavelefttherestaurantandgonestraighttothehospital?There’snofindingouttonight.Iheadbacktothehotel,feelingdefeated.Something’sgoingonandIfeellikeI’mtheonlypersoninthismarriagewhodoesn’tknowwhat.
Bythenextmorning,I’vebarelyslept.Mymindwouldn’tstoptickingandIhadtoomanyuglythoughts.IfIcan’tfindawaytosleepsoon,I’llhavetoseeadoctor.Itwastorturelyingawakehalfthenight,beingtiredbutnotknowinghowtoshutoffyourbrain.IfallintoafitfulsleeparoundfiveandwakeatseventofindavoicemailfromHannahonmyphone.Irollontomyback,wonderingwhythephonedidn’tring,andrememberthatI’dputitonsilentbeforewewentintotherestaurant.Mytwohoursofsleephadbeenwroughtwithdreams—darkthingsaboutbeingchasedandbeingcaught.Idon’trememberthedetailsofthedreams,butthefeelingstheyleftbehindlingerinmymind.Ilistentothemessagewithhalfofmyfacehiddenunderthecomforter,myeyessquintingagainstthelightthatsneaksinthroughabreakinthecurtains.Hannah’svoiceshakesandIpressthephoneclosertomyearsoIcanmakeoutwhatshe’ssaying.
“I’mreallyfreakedout.”Hervoicequavers,anditsoundslikeshe’sblowinghernose.“Wehadafight.Idon’tfeelsafe.Ijust…I—”Hervoicecutsofflikeshelostreceptioninthemiddleofthecall.
Iholdthephoneawayfrommyfaceandseethatthevoicemailisstillplaying.Pressingitbacktomyear,Istraintohear,incaseshe’ssaidanythingelse
“Leave…alone…he’s—”Itcutsoutforthefinaltime.Damnmyshittyreception.
Ilietherefrozenforafewminutes,herwordsricochetingaroundinmyhead.Seth.ShehadafightwithSethandnowsheisscared.Whatdidhedotoscareher?Ithrowmyarmovermyeyes.Iwasscared,too,wasn’tI?Eversince…hisoutburst,he’dseemedmoreunpredictable.IfIsaidthewrongthing,wouldhedoitagain?IfIcallHannahbackI’llbeirrevocablyinvolvedinthis…thisthing.Iwouldn’tbeabletomakeanymoreexcusesforhim.I’dhavetoadmitthatwhathe’ddonetomewasdeliberate.I’dbeentheonetoseekHannahout,tokeepthetruthaboutwhoIamfromher.Perhapsit’stimetotellherthatSethismyhusband,too.Irollbackoverontomystomachandburymyfaceinthepillow.IcallAnna.
“What’sup,”shesayswhensheanswersthephone.I’mnotdeterredbythebrisknessofhergreeting;it’sAnna’sway.
“Hi,”Isay.“Ineedmoralguidance.”
“Areyoufacedowninapillow?”
Annaknowsmyways,too.Ishiftmyheadsoshecanhearmebetter.
“Notanymore,”Isay.
“Oh,boy,areyousureI’mtheoneyoushouldbeaskingformoralguidance?”
“No,butIdon’thaveanyoneelse,somoral-upandgivethetypeofadviceMeloniewouldgiveyou.”MelonieisAnna’smother,apsychologistwhospentmostofourteenageyearsobservinguslikewewerescienceprojectsandthendissectingeverythingwedid.Asteenswethoughtitwasterrifyingandthrillingatthesametime.Atthatage,mostadultsaren’tinterestedinthedetailsofyourthoughts,unlessit’stotellyouthosethoughtarewrong.ButMeloniehadbeendifferent.She’dvalidatedusbysayingwewereonourownadventure,exploringtheworld.Shemadeself-destructionseemnormalandsowe’ddestructedwithoutguilt.Nowadays,Iwonderhowhealthythathadbeen:anadultegginguson.AndhereIamasanadult,seekingthesametypeofassurance,askingmybestfriendtovalidatemelikehermotherhad.
“Okay,”Annabreathes.“Hitmewithit,I’minMeloniemode.”
“Ihaveanewfriend—Iknowherthroughsomeoneelse,”Iadd,becauseIknowAnnawillask.“I’veseensomebruisesonherbeforebutdidn’tthinkmuchofit,butthentoday,sheleavesamessageonmyphone,sayingshegotintoafightwithherhusbandandshe’sscared.Twothingsyoushouldknow—she’spregnant,andIknowherhusbandfairlywellandhedoesn’tseemlikethetypeofguywho’dtosshiswifearound,youknow?”
Annasighs.Icanpictureherseatedatherkitchentable,acupofhernastyinstantcoffeecoolinginfrontofher—shelikesitlukewarmratherthathot.Whenshe’sfrustrated,theankleofhercrossedlegswishesfromsidetoside,theanklebraceletshewearsglintingagainstheroliveskin.
“Firstoff,”shebegins,“Idon’tgiveaflyingfuckhowinnocentamanappears,ifawomanhasthetitstocomeforwardandsayshe’sscared,somethingisgoingthefuckontomakeherscared.Youdon’tneedtogettooinvolved,butyoucangetinvolvedenoughtogiveherthepushtoleave.We’realljustwaitingforsomeonetostandbehindus,aren’twe?Evenifit’sjustoneperson,itgivesyoustrength.”
Ibitemylip.Annaisright.Isitupinbed,pullingmykneestomychestandwrappingmyarmsaroundthem.Thisissofucked.I’mcompartmentalizingwithoutevenrealizingit.
“Butwhatifshe’sblowingthingsoutofproportion?Imean,Iknowthisguy.He’sagoodman…”
“Don’tbedense.Parishionersthinktheyknowtheirpriests,auntsthinktheyknowtheirhusbands,andmeanwhilethey’remolestinglittleboysbehindcloseddoors.Canwereallyknowanyone?”
Ithinkofmyselfandallofthethingsmybestfrienddoesn’tknowaboutme,anddropmyhead.Annaisspot-on,isn’tshe?Maybewe’reallpretendingeverythingisfinewhenititsn’t.Hepushedme,Ithink.Icantrytorewritethatstory,blamemyself,excusemyhusband,buthepushedme.
AnnaandIchatforafewmoreminutes,andwhenthere’sabreakintheconversation,IthankherandsayIhavetogo.Shehesitateswhenshesaysgoodbye,almostlikeshesuspectsI’mnottellinghereverythingandshe’sgivingmethechanceto’fessup.She’sgivenmealottothinkabout.Ihangupquicklyandheadtothebathroomtotakeashower.
I’mgoingtocallHannahbackandtellhereverything.Togetherwecould…What?LeaveSeth?FindReginaandaskifSethhadeverbeenaggressivewithher?Itdoesn’tmatter.Wecanapproachtheoptionstogether.Likeateam.IplanwhatI’mgoingtosaytoherasIsoapmyhairandletthehotwatereasesomeofthetensionoutofmyshoulders.
OnceI’mwrappedinmytowelandsittingontheedgeofthebed,Icallherback.I’mnervous.Ichewonmylip.ItringshalfadozentimesbeforeIhearhervoice.Hey,it’sHannah.Leaveamessage!
“Hi,Hannah.It’sme.I’mworriedaboutyousocallmebackassoonasyougetthis.I’llbedrivingbacktoSeattle,soanytimeinthenexttwohoursandIcananswerrightaway.Okay,bye.”
Imovetogetdressedandgatherupmythings,glancingatthephoneeveryfewminutestoseeifI’vemissedhercall,butmyphoneremainsdarkandsilent.IcallagainandthistimeI’msentstraighttovoicemail.
“Hannah,damnit!Callmeback!”ImakeanoiseoffrustrationasIpullthephonefrommyear,andthenrealizeIhaven’thungupthecallyet.Great.Istuffmyphoneinmypocketand,snatchingupmybag,Iheadforthelobby.
Idrivepasttheirhouseonemoretime,butneitheroftheircarsarethere.Notknowingwhattodo,Idecidetoheadforhome.Icanturnaroundandcomebackifsheneedsme.Butfourhourslater,I’mpullingintothegarageundermybuildingnothavingheardfromher.Trafficwasbackedupformiles.Hungryandneedingtousetherestroom,Iwaiteditoutinsteadoflosingmyplaceinthenever-endinglineofbrakelights.Idragmythingsuptheelevatorandintomycondo,kickingthedoorshutbehindme.Idropmypursenearthedoorandraceforthehalfbathroom.
Iemergehungryandthirsty,abouttoraidthefridge,whenIseemovementthroughthedoortothebedroom.MyheartseizesinapanicandIfreeze.Whereismyphone?InthefoyerwhereI’ddroppedmyhandbag?
Ilookaroundforsignsofmymother,whousuallyleavesherthingsonthekitchencounterwhenshecomesover,apileofdesignerleather.ButeverythingisjustasIleftit,rightdowntothescatteringofbagelcrumbsnearthetoaster.Ihearmovement,feetshufflingagainstcarpet,andthensuddenlySethisstandinginthekitchendoorway.Igrabatmyheart,whichispoundingpainfullyinmychest,bendingoverslightlyatthewaistandlaughingatmyself.
“Ithoughtsomeonebrokein,”Isay.“Youscaredme.”
Ittakesaminuteforafewthingstosinkin:thefirstthattodayisnotThursday;thesecond,Sethisnotsmiling;andthird—thereisabandageontheknucklesofhisrighthand.Ilickmylips,mybrainworkingfrantically.Heknows!Ithink.That’swhyhemustbehere,tosortmeout.I’mnotthetypetolie.Omissions,yes,butifheasksmepoint-blankaboutHannahI’lltellthetruth.
Myeyestraveltohisface,andforamoment,neitherofussayathing.It’sastaringmatch,oneI’drathernotbein.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Ifinallysay.
Hiseyeslooktiredanddull,notthenormallymischievoussparklethatismySeth.MySeth!Ialmostlaugh.Idon’tknowwhothatisanymore.Suddenly,Ifeelfrightened.
Heanswersmyquestionwithanotherquestion.“Wherehaveyoubeen?”
Ah,astandoff.Whowantstoanswerfirst?Ithink.
Iturntothefridge,rememberingmythirst,andgrababottleofwaterfromtheshelf.IofferSethonebeforeclosingthedoor,holdingitouttohim.Henods,thatstonylookstillonhisface.ItosshimthebottleandleanbackagainstthecounterwhileIscrewoffthelidanddrink.
“Isawafriend.Itoldyou.”
“Iknowwhatyou’redoing,”hesays.
Inoticehisclothesforthefirsttime,apairofjeansandcrewnecksweaterthatI’dlaunderedlastweek.Thingsthatbelonghereatthecondo.
“Haveyoubeenheresincelastnight?”Thatthoughthadn’tcrossedmyminduntilIsawtheclothes.HadhecomehereafterhisfightwithHannahonlytofindmegone?
“Yes,”hesays.
“I’msorry.Ididn’tknoworIwouldhavecomehome.Whydidn’tyoucall?”
Sethglaresatmeandmystomachturns.Hehasstrongsquaredshoulders,likeaLegoman.Womengetswoonyoverhisshoulders,butrightnowtheyjustscareme.Howmuchwouldithurtifhehitme?HowhardhadhehitHannah?Ipictureherlithebodyandmilkskin—onehit,andshe’dbebloodyandmottled.Thebaby!Ithinkinapanic.Hiseyesaresearchingmyfacebutnotinanimploringway;there’sahardnesstothemthatmakesmeshiver.Thisishisway:heprodswithoutactuallyasking.It’sbeneathhimtoaskquestions.Wearehereforhispleasure.
Iraisemychinathowbitterthismakesmefeel.Somethinghaschangedinme.Didittakedays…?Weeks…?Icannotpinpointwhenorhow,butiftheshiftisnoticeabletome,it’sdefinitelynoticeabletomyhusband,who’sstaringatmelikeIhaveEgyptianhieroglyphicstattooedonmyface.Thatismalefolly;theyexpectyoutoalwaysbethesame,reliablecow,butwomenspendtheirliveschanging.Ourchangecanswingforyouoragainstyoudependingonhowfairlywe’vebeentreated.Iswingagainst,thoughIcanfeelthegravityofmyloveforhimtryingtopullmebackdown.He’sagoodguy.Therehastobeanexplanationforallofthis…
“Whathaveyoudone?”hesays.Hiseyes,Inotice,aren’tasharpwhite.Theyaredingypink,theshadeyougetafteralongnightofdrinking.
Itrytohidethetremblinginmyvoice.“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,”Isay.
“Yes,youdo.”
I’mbreathingthroughmymouthnow.Idon’twanthimtoseehowscaredIam.Idon’twanthimtohavetheupperhand.
Thesinkdrips—it’stheonlynoiseintheroom.Ihearmyselfswallowasthesecondstickby,myeyesstillonhisface.
“Whathappenedtoyourhand?”Iask.
Webothlookathishand.Sethregistersthebandagelikehe’sseeingitforthefirsttime.Hesplayshisfingers,twistinghiswristfromsidetoside,asheblinksatit.Apieceofhairfallsontohisforeheadandit’sthefirsttimeInoticethathishairiswetfromashower.Whatareyoutryingtowashoff?
Ifhisknuckleslooklikethat,whatdoesHannahlooklike?
“Ihitsomething.”That’sallhesays,likeit’sagoodenoughexplanation.
“Doingwhat?”Myquestionseemstothrowhimoffbalance.Heopensandcloseshismouth.
“Seth,”Isay.“Whathaveyoudone?”
SEVENTEEN
Helungesforme.Ithappensinslowmotion,mybraindesperatelytryingtocatchuptoreality.My.Husband.Is.Attacking.Me.I’mnotpreparedforit,andwhenhishandsclosearoundmyupperarms,Iscream.It’sashort,brittlesound—pathetic,really.
It’scutoffwhenSethbeginstoshakeme,hisfingersdiggingviciouslyintomyarms.Myheadsnapsbackandforth,backandforth,untilhestopsandthenhe’sjustaninchfrommyface,breathinghardagainstmyskin.Icansmellliquoronhisbreath,andthemouthwashhetriedtocoveritupwith.Itrytobreakfree,buthehasmepinned,thelipofthemarblecounterdiggingintomyback.HisfingerspinchpainfullyintotheskinofmyarmsandIwhimper.He’snevertouchedmethisway;it’slikeI’mlookingintothefaceofastranger.
“Youbitch,”hebreathes.“Nothingiseverenoughforyou.I’veriskedeverything…”
Afleckofspittlelandsonmylip.Iwrenchmyshouldersoutofhisgrasp,pushingathischestwithmyforearms,butinsteadoflettingmego,hishandsmovetomywrists.I’maprisoner.Ican’tbelievehe’ssayingthat.I’mtheonewho’sriskedeverything.I’mtheonewho’smadethesacrifices.
Ipantintohisface,notdaringtomove.Icouldn’tdenyanyofthisnow,herbruises,myshove.I’mawake!Ithink.Therewouldbenogoingback.Itfeelslikehe’sgoingtosnapthebonesinmywrists,meagerbonesagainststronghands.I’vealwayslikedthatSethissomuchbiggerthanIam,butnowasIcowerunderhisstrength,Icursemyself.I’minshock,tremblinglikeacorneredanimal.
Hesaysitagain,thistimehiswordspronouncedlouder,morecarefully,likeIwastoostupidtounderstandthemthefirsttime.
“Who.Were.You.With?”
“Hannah,”Isaysmoothly.“IwaswithHannah.”
Bothofoureyesmakeachoreographedmovetohisbandagedhand.
Foramoment,hisgriponmefalters,hisfingersgoslack.Ithinkhe’swillinghimselftohavemisheardme.IrealizeI’veconfirmedhisfearandIneedtogetawayfromhim.
Iyankonearmfreeandshoveathischesttogethimtomove.IfIcouldjustgettomyphoneIcouldcallsomebodytohelp.Butwho?Whowouldbelieveme?WhatwouldItellthepolice?MyhusbandisyellingatmebecausehethinksI’vecheatedonhim?Sethbarelybudgesandnowhiseyesarenarrowed,boringintomewithintensity.I’veneverseenthatlookonhisfacebefore.It’slikeI’mseeingadifferentman.
“Why?”Hiseyesflutter.“How?Wehadanarrangement.Whywouldyoudothat?”
“Yeah?”Iseethe.“Oryouhadanarrangement.I’msickofit.Iwantedtoknowwhosheis.Seeherface.Yougeteverythingyouwant,threewives,andwe’rejustlefttopineafteryou.”
“Wehadanagreement,”hesays.“Youwantedthis.”
“Iwanteditbecauseitwastheonlywaytohaveyou.You’rehittingher.Isawthebruises.”
Heshakeshishead.“You’recrazy.”HelooksaghastthatIwouldaccusehimofsuchanuglything.
Hereleasesme,andallofthepressurethatwaspushingagainstmeaminuteagoisgone.Islumpagainstthecounter,massagingmywristsasSethpacesacrossthesmallkitchen.
Hisfaceisblanchedwhite,causingthedarkcirclesunderhiseyestolookevenmorepronounced.Helookssick.ButIsupposeyou’dfeelalittlesickafterhittingyourpregnantwife,drinkingallnightandthenbeingconfrontedbyyourbarrenwife.IfeelmyangerbuildasIwatchhim—themanI’dalwaysthoughtsobeautiful,achiseledgod.Helooksalittlemelted,ifI’mbeinghonest—adiscardedidollowonluster.Iwanttocheckmyphone,seeifHannahcalled.Whatifhehurtherreallybadly?Imoveslightlytowardthedoorway;ifImakeadashforitIcanreachmyhandbaginthefoyer.Myphoneisinthepocket,nexttoahalf-eatenrollofLifeSaversandmypillcompact.
“Listentome.You’resick.It’shappeningagain…”
Istareathiminastonishment.“Sick…?You’rethesickone,”Ispit.“Howcanyouevensaysomethinglikethattomeafteryouaskedmetolivethislifestyle?Yougettohaveasmanywomenasyouwant,andweareyouremotionalprisoners.”OncethewordsareoutofmymouthIrealizehowmuchImeanthem.I’veneverallowedmyselftothinkit;Iwasovercomebylove—pressing,pressing,pressingmyfeelingsdowntoaccommodatehim.Isn’tthatwhatwedoaswomen?
“Haveyoubeentakingyourpills?”
“Mypills?”Iecho.“WhatwouldIneedtotakepillsfor?”Ithinkofthecompact,theoneI’dboughtatatouristyshopatPikePlaceMarketwiththepinkroseonthelid.Whatwasinsideofit?Aspirin…acoupleofoldXanaxfromAnna?Thedrip,drip,dripofthesinkisgratingonme.TherearenopillsIneedtobetaking.Thatendedalongtimeago.
Seth’slipspartasheblinksrapidly—gunshotblinks.Helooksaroundasifsearchingthekitchenforhelp,allthewhiteandsilverwepainstakinglychosetogetherisblindinginthismoment.Iwanttoclosemyeyesandbesomewherewarmer.Ialmostsuggestmovingthislittleaccusationpartytothelivingroomwhenhiseyesnarrowsharplyonme.
“Iwasatyourhouse,”Isayboldly.“Whydidn’tyoutellmeyouboughtherahouseandremodeledit?DidyouthinkIwouldbetoojealoustodealwithit?”
“Areyoufuckingkiddingme?”
Heholdsuphishands,palmssplayedtowardme,hiseyeswide.Iflincheventhoughhe’sclearlynotthreateningme.Hischestisheaving,whichcausesmetolookdownatmyownchest.Iseemtobeholdingmybreath,becauseitdoesn’tmoveatall.
“Thisisover,”hesays,closinghiseyes.“Ithoughtyoucouldhandlethis.Wehadanagreement…Ican’tbelievethis.”Hesaysthatlastparttohimself.
Angerandpaintangleinmychest.Asobescapesmylips.I’msoconfused.Ireachupandtouchmyface,feelmyfeatures;thisisn’tadream,thisisreal.
Seth’sfacesoftens.“Listentome.I’vebeentryingsohard.Whatwehadwasreal,butthingschange.Afteryoulostthebaby,youchanged.”
“No!”Ishout.“I’mgoingtotelleveryonewhoyouareandwhatyou’vedone.Youcan’tkeepyourlifestyleasecretanymore.EvenReginaischeatingonyou.”
Thereisasharpsilencefollowingmywords.HiseyesgrowwideandIcanseetheredstreaksonthewhitesashesays,“Stopit.”
Ithrowbackmyheadandletmythroatchurnoutahoarsechordoflaughter.“Areyoukiddingmerightnow?”Myfearhasmorphedintoanger.It’sbettertobeangrythantobeafraid,Idecide.“You’regoingtobeexposedforwhatyouare.”
“I’mcallingyourdoctor,”hesays.Herootsforhisphone,pullingitfromhisbackpocket,nevertakinghiseyesoffmeasheplaceshisthumbonthescreentounlockit.Adeepfurrowappearsbetweenhisbrowsashisfingersdartacrossthescreen.
“Ifoundthedoctor’sbillinyourpantspocket—Hannah’s.Iwenttoseeher.”Isayallofthiscalmly,watchinghisfaceforabetrayal.He’spretendingthatthisisallinmyhead,why?
“Whatdoctor’sbill?”Heshakeshishead,andthenIseeit.Asparkofrecognition.Hesetshisphoneonthecounternexttothecoffeemaker,forgotten.“OhmyGod,”hesays.“OhmyGod.”Heshakeshishead.“WhenIwasatthedoctor,awomancheckedoutinfrontofme.Shegotdistractedbyherphoneandwalkedoutoftheofficewithoutit.Iranitouttoher,exceptonceIwasoutthereIcouldn’tfindher.Shemusthavedrivenoff.Istuffeditinmypocket.Ishouldhaveturneditintothereceptionist,butIdidn’teventhinktodothat.That’swhatyoufound.”
Idon’tbelievehim,notevenforasecond.Thisiscrazy.He’slying.
“Youneedhelp.You’rehavingdelusionsagain.”
Again?I’msoangrythatit’smewholaunchesathimthistime,myhandsextendedlikeIcanclawhiseyesoutwithmybitten-downfingernails.
“Liar,”Iscream.
Iramintohischest—thatwasamistake.OnceI’minhisrange,heuseshisstrengthagainstme,holdingmeatarm’slength.Ican’treachhim,butmyarmsflail,anyway,asItrytomakecontactwithsomething.Hisopenwaterbottlefallsfromthecounterandmakesadullthudagainstthewoodfloor.Waterpoolsaroundourfeet,andasIstruggletogetawayfromhimIfeelmyselfslipping.Sethtriestocatchme,butasmyfeetlosegripandslideoutfromunderme,sodohis.Wefallinatangle;Islamintotheground,myshoulderbladeshittingthefloorwithSeth’sweightontopofme,andthenIseenothingbutthedark.
EIGHTEEN
“Hello,Thursday.Canyouhearme?”
Avoicetugsatmyconsciousness,unfamiliar.Itpullsmeforwardlikeahandinthefog.AblindingheadachepoundsbehindmyeyesandIknowthatthemomentIopenthemitwillbetentimesworse.IrollmytongueovertheroofofmymouthandIwaketoabrightroom—notnaturallybright,butlitbythefizzinghumoffluorescentsoverhead.
AwomanleansovermeandIregisternavybluescrubsandthestethoscope,whichhangslikejewelryfromherneck.
“Thereyouare,”shesaysbrightly—toobrightly.“You’regoingtohaveaheadache—we’vegivenyousomethingforthat.Youshouldfeelbetterinabit.”
IletmyheadfalltotherightwhereanIVstandssentinelbesidethebed.Iamterriblythirsty.
“Youwereextremelydehydrated,”shesays.“We’refixingyouup.Wouldyoulikesomewater?”
Inod,andapainshootsthroughmyhead,causingmetoflinch.
“Trynottomovearoundtoomuch.”Shedisappearsandcomesbackwithathickplasticcup,colorunidentifiable,strawperchedfromitslip.Thewatertasteslikeplastic,butit’scold,andIclosemyeyesasIsuckitdown.
“WhichhospitalamIin?Where’smyhusband?”
Ilistentothesquelchofhershoesasshecrossestheroom,afamiliarandsoothingsound.Yearsago,apatienttoldmethatthesoundanurse’sshoesmakeonahospitalfloormadeherhaveapanicattack.It’swhenyouknowthey’recomingtoinjectyouwithmoreshit,ortotellyoubadnews,she’dsaid.
“You’reinQueenCounty.Ihaven’tseenahusband,butit’spastvisitinghoursandI’msurehe’llbebacktomorrow.”
QueenCounty!Itrytositupinbed,butyelpwhenapainshootsthroughmyhead.
“Easy,”shesays,rushingover.“Youhaveaconcussion.It’sminorbut—”
“WhyamIinQueenCounty?Where’sthedoctor?Ineedtospeaktohim.”
Sheopensmychart,glancingatmedisapprovinglyoverthetopofit.Hereyebrowsaretwosandybrowncaterpillars—she’sinneedofagoodpluck.Idon’tknowwhyI’mbeingsomeanexceptthatshehasanswersandIdon’t.
“Sayshereyoucameinbyambulance.That’sallIcantellyoufornowuntilyouspeaktoyourdoctor.”ShesnapsitshutwithanairoffinalityandIknowitwon’tdomeanygoodtokeephoundingher.Iknowhertype;shehasthewholenursehard-assthinggoingon.Wehavethreeorfourofthematmyhospital.They’realwaysassignedthemoredifficultpatientsasamercytotherestofus
Momentarilydefeated,Iallowmybacktorestagainsttheflathospitalpillowandsqueezemyeyesshut.Whathappenedexactly?Whydidn’ttheytakemetoSeattleGeneral?Myfriendsandcolleaguesarethere.I’dreceivethebestcareamongmyown.QueenCountyhasareputationforbringinginaroughersortofcrowd.Iknow,becausethisisn’tthefirsttimeI’vebeenhere.QueenCountyisyourcriminaluncleyouonlyseeonholidays:grubby,saggingandtaggedup.It’sthehousewhoselawnhassodacansandbeerbottlesdottingitsyardlikeweeds,theshoppingcartabandonedonthestreetcorner.It’saplacewheredreamsneverhavethesoiltogrow,everythinglostinthecracks.
Ihaveaflashofmemory:awheelchair,blood—plentyofblood—andthetensefaceofmyhusbandasheleanedoverme,assuringmeeverythingwasgoingtobeallright.I’dhalfbelievedhimatthetimebecausethat’swhatlovedoes.Itgivesyouasenseofwell-being—likebadthingswillevaporateunderthestrengthoftwopeoplewhoadoreeachother.Butithadn’tbeenallright,andI’mmuchemptierinmymarriagethanwhenIarrivedthatfirsttime.
Igrimaceatthememory.Ibunchthesheetsupatmyneck,suddenlycold,turningonmysideasIlieasstillaspossible.Myheadfeelstender,likeeventheslightestmovementcouldmakeunbearablepainexplode.IwanttoseeSeth.Iwantmymother.Iwantsomeonetotellmethateverythingisgoingtobeallright,evenifit’snottrue.Whywouldheleavemeherealonewithnonote,noexplanation?
Myeyessnapopen,andverycarefullyIlookaroundtheroomformyhandbagorphone.No,thenursesaidI’dbeenbroughtinbyambulance;myphonewouldbeathome.Ihavethefaintestmemoryofmyhandbagsittingnearthefrontdoor—inthefoyer.I’msuddenlyverytired.Thedrugs,Ithinktomyself.They’vegivenmesomethingforthepainandit’sgoingtoknockmeout.Iletmyeyescloseanddriftbackwardlikealeaffloatinginwater.
WhenIwakeup,thereisadifferentnurseintheroom.Herbackistome,anarrowbraidhangingdownthecenterofit,almostreachingherwaist.She’syoung—I’dguessnotayearoutofnursingschool.Sensingmyeyesonher,sheturnsandseesthatI’mawake.
“Hellothere.”Shemovesfluidly,likeacat—hershouldersrollingforwardasshewalks.ShechecksthemonitorwhileIwatchher,stilltoooutofittospeak.
“I’mSarah,”shesays.“You’vebeensleepingforawhile.Howdoyoufeel?”
“Better,”Icroak.“Groggy.DoIhaveaconcussion?”MythroathurtsandIglanceattheplasticwaterjugtomyright.Seeingmylookoflonging,shepoursmeafreshcupandIglanceathergratefully.IalreadylikeherbetterthanNurseHard-assfromyesterday.
“Letmegetthedoctortocometalktoyounowthatyou’reawake.”
“Seth…?”Iaskassheheadsforthedoor.
“Hewasherewhileyouwereasleep.ButI’msurehe’llbebacksoon…”
Mylipspullawayfromthestrawandalineofwaterrunsdownmychin.Iwipeitawaywiththebackofmyhand.“Whatdayisit?”
“Friday.”Andthenwithanalmostembarrassedlaugh,shesays,“TGIF.”
Irefrainfromrollingmyeyes—actually,Idon’tthinkIcanrollmyeyes.IfeellikeI’munderwater,mybodymovinglikeapieceofseaweeddraggedalongtheoceanfloor.
“Sarah…?”Icallout.She’shalfwayoutthedoor,analmost-escape,whenshepeepsherheadaroundthecorner.
“Whatmedicationdotheyhavemeon?”IsmyvoiceslurringoramIimaginingit?
SheblinksandIcanseeshedoesn’twanttoanswerwithoutthedoctorspeakingtomefirst.
“Haldol.”
Istruggletositup,thelinesinmyarmtugginguncomfortablyasIpushasidethesheets.Haldol,Haldol,Haldol!Mybrainisscreaming.WhereisSeth?Whathappened?ItrytoremembertheeventsthatledmehereandIcan’t.It’sliketryingtopoundthroughabrickwall
Sarahcomesrushingbackintheroom,herfacepinchedwithworry.I’mthepatienttheytrainedherfor—keephercalm,callforhelpIseeherglanceoverhershoulder,tryingtocatchaviewofsomeoneinthehallway.Idon’twanthertodothat;they’llfillmewithmoremedicationuntilIcan’tremembermyownname.Icalm,relaxingmyhands,smoothingoutmyface.Sarahseemstobuymyshowbecausesheslowsdown,approachingthebedlikesomeonewouldapproachalivescorpion.
“WhyamIonHaldol?”I’vebeenonitoncebefore.Anantipsychoticthatdoctorsonlyuseinextremecasesofviolentbehavior.
Sarah’sfaceisblanched,herlipspursingandsquishingforananswer.Sillygirl,she’llgetthehangofitinayearorso.She’srequiredtotellmewhatdrugsthey’vegivenme;she’snotrequired,however,totellmewhy.Iwanttotakeadvantageofherlackofexperiencebeforesomeonewithmoreknowledgecomesin,butthenthedoctoristhere,hispinchedfacesternandunyielding.Sarahscurriesfromtheroomandhenarrowsinonme,tallandbent—thekindoffigurethatcouldbefrightening,ifyouwatchtoomanyhorrorfilms.
“Haldol?”Iaskagain.“Why?”
“Hellotoyou,too,Thursday,”hesays.“I’mhopingyou’recomfortable.”
Ifcomfortablemeansdruggedup,thenyes,I’msureIam.Istareathim,refusingtoplaythisgame.I’mterrified,mystomachinknots,mybrainfightingthroughthedrugstogaincontrol.IwantSethtobehere;Ilongforthereassuranceofhisunwaveringconfidence,andyetI’mdisgustedwithhim,too.Why?Whycan’tIremember?
“I’mDr.Steinbridge.Iwasaconsultingdoctoronyourcaselasttimeyouwerewithus.”
“ThelasttimeSethhadmelockedmeupinthenuthouse?”Myvoiceishoarse.Iliftahandtotouchmythroat,thenchangemymind,droppingittothesheetinstead.
“Doyourememberthecircumstancesthatbroughtyouhere,Thursday?”
Ihatethewayhekeepssayingmyname.Igrindmyteeth,thehumiliationsinkingdeepintomybody.Idon’trememberandadmittingthatwillmakemesoundcrazy.
“No,”Isaysimply.“I’mafraidthememorieshavedisappearedalongwithmyhusband.”
Dr.Steinbridgemakesnoindicationthathe’sheardmysnark.Hislong,ganglylegsmaketheirwayovertothebed,anditlooksasifthebonesinthemcouldsnapatanymomentandsendhimsprawlingtothefloor.
Idon’tsupposeifIaskdirectlywhereSethis,he’danswerme,either.That’sthethingaboutthesedoctors—theyanswerquestionsselectively,oftenturningyourownquestionsaroundonyou.It’sfunnythatI’vespokentoenoughshrinkstoknowhowtheydothings.
“I’mgoingtoaskyousomequestions,justtoruleoutaconcussion,”hesays.“Canyoutellmeyourname?”
“ThursdayEllington,”Ianswereasily.SecondwifeofSethArnoldEllington.
“Andhowoldareyou,Thursday?”heasks.
“Twenty-eight.”
“Whoisthecurrentpresident?”
Iscrunchupmynose.“Trump.”
Hechucklesalittleatthatone,andIrelax.
“Okay,good,good.You’redoinggreat.”
He’stalkingtomelikeI’machildorslowofunderstanding.I’mirritated,butItrynottoleton.Iknowhowhospitalsdealwithuncooperativepatients.
“Anynausea?”hecontinues.
Ishakemyhead.“No,none.”
Heseemspleasedbymyanswerbecausehemarkssomethingoffonhischart.
“Whycan’tIremembercominghere?”Iask.“Orwhathappenedbefore?”
“Itcouldbethehityourheadtook,orevenstress,”hesays.“Whenyourbrainisready,itwillimpartthosememoriestoyou,butfornowallyoucandoisrestupandwait.”
“Butcanyoutellmewhathappened?”Iplead.“Maybeitwilltriggersomething…”
Hetwineshisfingers,lettingthemdroptohiswaistashestaresupattheceiling.Helookslikeagrandfathergettingreadytorecountalong-agomemorytoaroomfullofgrandkidsinsteadofadoctortalkingtoawomaninahospitalbed.
“OnTuesdayevening,youwereinthekitchen.Doyouremember?”
“Yes,”Isay.“WithSeth.”
Heconsultshischart.“Yes,that’sright.Seth.”
IkeepmyfaceevenasIwaitforhimtosaymore.Iwon’ttakethebaitandprompthim,thoughIdesperatelywanttoknow.
“Youattackedhim.Doyourememberthat?”
Ido.Itcomesbacktome,awavecrashingovermyhead.Iremembertheanger,flyingacrossthekitchentowardhim.Thefeelingofwantingtoclawathisskinuntilhebled.Thereasonformyangercomesback,too,andIgripthesheetsasIremember—firstHannah,andthenhisdenial.
“Whydidyouattackhim?Doyouremember?”
“Yes.Hehithisotherwife.Iconfrontedhimaboutitandwefought.”
Hecockshisheadtotheside.“Hisotherwife?”
“Myhusbandisapolygamist.Hehasthree.”Iexpecthimtoreact,tobeshocked,butinsteadhewritessomethingdownonthenotepadinfrontofhimandthenlooksupatmeexpectantly.
“Didyouseehimhithiswife?”
“Oneofhiswives,”Isay,frustrated.“Andno,butIsawthebruisesonherarmandface.”
“Didshetellyouthathehither?”
Ihesitate.“No—”
“Andyoualllivetogether,youandtheseotherwives?”
“No.Wedon’tevenknoweachother’snames.Orwe’renotsupposedto.”
Thedoctorlowershispen,lookingatmeovertherimofhisglasses.
“Soyou’reapolygamistinthatyourhusband—”
“Seth,”Isay.
“Yes,Seth,hastheserelationshipswithtwootherwomenwhosenamesyoudon’tknow.”
“Iknowtheirnamesnow,”Isay.“I…foundthem.”
“Andyouconfrontedhimabouttheseotherrelationships?”
“Yes!”Idropmyhead.MyGod,thisisgettingsotwisted.
“Iknewaboutthem.Iconfrontedhimaboutthebruises…onMonday’sarm.”Theinsideofmefeelshollowasalarmbouncesthroughmychestandsettleslikeaweightinmystomach.Itrytokeepmycomposure;breakingdownnowwouldonlyresultinmelookingcrazierthanIalreadydo.
Dr.Steinbridgepicksuphispenandwritessomethingonmychart.Hispenscratchesagainstthepaperinquicklittlesuccessions.Thesoundtriggersanechoofmemories,memoriesthatmakemyentirebodyclenchinemotionalagony.Iimagineitsayssomethinglikedelusional.Maybeunderlinedtwoorthreetimes.Isn’tthatsomething?I’mtheonebeingcalleddelusionalwhenitwasSethwhothoughthecouldpulloffthreemarriagesatonce.
Idecidetosticktomyguns.Pullingmyselfup,IstareDr.Stein-whateverrightinhisbeadylittleeyesandsay,“Icanproveit.Ifyoubringmeaphoneandallowmetomakeacall,Icanprovethewholethingtoyou.”
NurseSarahreappearsintheroom,afoodtrayinherhands.Sheglancesattheexpressiononthedoctor’sfaceandthenatme,hercateyesbrightwithinterest.
“Dr.Steinbridge,”shesays,hervoicelightandfriendly.“Thursdayhasavisitor.”
NINETEEN
Sethstrollsin,lookingeverybitlikehe’sgoingforacasualSundaybrunchinsteadofvisitinghiswifeinthepsychward.He’swearingabutton-downwithacardigananddistressedgrayjeans.Idon’trecognizetheoutfit;itmustbesomethinghekeepsatoneoftheirhouses.
Iseethathe’shadahaircutrecentlyandstraintorememberifhehaditadayagowhenhesurprisedmeatourcondo.Wouldn’tthatbesomething?Hiswifeinthepsychwardandhegoestogetahaircut.WhoamIkidding?Hehastwoothers—whenoneofthesparesfallsoffthewagon,lifekeepsmoving.
Hesmiles,lookingrefreshedandwell-slept,andwalksovertokissmeontheforehead.Ialmostturnawaybutthinkbetterofit;ifIwanttogetoutofhere,I’mgoingtohavetoplaynice.Sethismyshotatfreedom.
Thespotwherehislipstouchmyskinstings.It’shisfaultthatI’mhere,hisfaultthatnoonebelievesme.Isn’thesupposedtobeonmyside,tryingtokeepmeoutofplaceslikethis?AndthenIrememberhislie,hisdenial,asIstaredhimdowninthekitchen.He’dtriedtomakemebelievethatI’dmadeHannahup.Ilookupathisfaceinalarm,wonderingifIshouldwaittoconfronthimwhenwe’realone,orifIshouldjustdoitnow.IglanceatDr.Steinbridge,whoiswatchingus.Everyone’salwayswatchinginthisplace,hawkeyeswaitingforyoutomessupandbetrayyourmentalstate.
“Maybeyoucanclearsomethingupforus,”thedoctorsuggests,lookingtoSeth.Yes!Ithink,settlingdeeperintothebed.Finally.Puthimonthespotandmakehimanswer.Myhusbandnods,hisbrowfurrowedlikehe’sdyingtohelp.
“Thursdayhasmentionedthatyouhave—”Dr.Steinbridgeglancesatmelikehe’sembarrassedtosayit“—additionalwives…”Hissentencedropsoff,andSarahfreezeswhereshe’swritingsomethingonmywhiteboard.Sheglancesoverhershoulderatme,andthen,embarrassedtobecaught,turnsbacktoherwork.
“I’mafraidthat’snottrue,”Sethsays.
“No?”Dr.Steinbridgeglancesatme.Histoneislight.It’slikethey’rediscussingtheweather.
“Idivorcedmyfirstwifethreeyearsago,”Sethsays,lookingembarrassed.
“Butthey’restilltogether,”Isay.
“We’redivorced,”Sethsaysfirmly.Thedoctornods.“IleftherforThursday—”
Ishakemyheadindisbelief.Ican’tbelieveit.“That’sbullshit,Seth.Youcan’tspinthisstoryanywayyoulike.Tellthetruth—you’reapolygamist!”
“Iamonlymarriedtoonewoman,Thursday,”Sethsays.Hisfaceisearnest,soconvincing.Ifalter,becausehisperformanceissoexcellentIamtemporarilytongue-tied.
“Okay,then,”Isay.“Buthowmanywomendoyouhaveasexualrelationshipwith?”
“ThursdayclaimsyouhavetwootherwivesthatyourefertoasMondayandTuesday,”thedoctorsays.
Hisfacecolorsunderneaththedoctor’sgaze.Iwatchiteagerly.There’snowayhe’llbeabletotalkhimselfoutofthis.“It’sagameweplay.”
“Agame?”Dr.Steinbridgerepeats.Mymouthdropsopen.I’mshaking.
“Yes.”Helooksatmeforsupport,butIturnmyfaceaway.Idon’tunderstandwhyhe’slyinglikethis.Heisn’tlegallymarriedtotheothertwo,soit’snotlikehecangetarrestedforbigamy.Everythingbetweenushasbeenconsensual.MakingitseemlikeI’vemadeallthisupisensuringthattheywon’tletmeoutofthisplace—notwithoutalotofcounselingandmedication,anyway.
“ThisthingThursdayandIwoulddotojokeaboutallofmytimespentaway.I’dalwayscomehomeonThursdayandsincehernameisThursday,wesaidtherewasaMondayandaTuesday,aswell.”Heglancesatmenervously.“Ididn’tknowshetookitthisfar,butconsidering…”
“What?Consideringwhat?”Isnap.Angersurgesthroughme.Ican’tbelievehewentthereI’msuddenlyhotallover,eventhoughIknowtheykeeptheroomscool.Ihavetheurgetoshoveoffthesheetsandleanoutthewindowsothecoldaircantouchme.
“Thursday,youhaveahistoryofdelusion,”thedoctorinterrupts.“Sometimes,whenatrauma…”Hisvoicecontinues,butIblockitout.Idon’twanttohearit.Iknowwhathappened,butthatisn’twhat’shappeningnow.
Seth’seyesarepleadingwithme;hewantsmetogoalongwithwhateverhe’sdoing.Myheadachehassuddenlygottenworse,andIneedtobealone,thinkallofthisthrough.
“Getout,”Isaytobothofthem,andwhenit’snotenoughandnobodymoves,Iscreamit.“Everyonegetout!”
AnewnursecomeschargingaroundthecornerandlooksatDr.Steinbridgeforinstruction.
Ilookpointedlyathim,ignoringSeth.“Idon’tneedtobesedated.I’mnotadangertomyselforanyoneelse.Ineedtobealone.”
Thedoctorconsidersmeforamoment,makinguphismindaboutmymentalstate.Thenhenods.“Allright,then.I’llbebacklatertocheckonyouandwecantalkfurther.”HelooksatSeth,whoappearsreadytopassout.“Youcancomebackforafternoonvisitationandseeifshe’sreadytotalkthen,”hesays.“I’dliketotalktoyouinmyoffice.”
Icanseethetensionbuildinginhisshoulders;he’slostcontrolofthesituation.Sethdoesn’tliketolosecontrol;he’snotusedtoanyoneelsegettingtheirway.Whyhaven’tIrealizedthisbefore?WhyamIjustseeingitnow?
Sethglancesatmeoncemorebeforenodding.
“Allright.I’llbebacklater.”Heannouncesthistotheroom,nottome.Hedoesn’tlookatmebeforehestridesoutthedoor.
Whenthey’reallgone,Itakeadeep,shudderingbreathbeforeturningonmysideandstaringoutthesmallslatofwindow.Theskyoutsideisamurkygray,itstearsafinemistofrain.IcanjustseethetipsofsometreesfrommyangleandIfocusonthose.Ithinkofthewindowinour—my—condo.Theonethatoverlooksthepark,howhardI’dfoughtforthatunitwhenSethwantedtheonewiththeviewoftheSound.I’dneededthatviewintothelivesofstrangers;itwasanescapefrommyownlife.
IdozeoffandwakeuptoSarahcarryinginmylunch—orisitdinner?Idon’tevenknowwhattimeitis.AssoonasIsmellthefood,mybodyremembersit’shungry.Itdoesn’tevenmatterthatthemeatloafisgray,orthatthemashedpotatoesareinstant.Ishovelfoodintomymouthatanalarmingrate.WhenI’mfinished,Isettlebackagainstthepillowswithastomachache.MyeyesareclosedandI’mdozingoffagainwhenIhearSeth’svoice.Iconsidernotopeningmyeyes,pretendingtobeasleep,inhopesthatheleaves.
“Iknowyou’reawake,Thursday,”hesays.“Weneedtotalk.”
“Thentalk,”Isay,withoutopeningmyeyes.Iheartherustlingofapaperbagandthesmelloffoodreachesmynose.WhenIopenmyeyes,Sethhaslaidoutcontainersbetweenus—fiveofthem.Despitetheheavinessofthehospitalfoodsittinginmystomach,mymouthbeginstowater.
“Yourfavoritetakeout,”hesays,onesideofhismouthliftinginasmile.It’shismostcharmingsmile,theoneheusedonmethatdayinthecoffeeshop.Heglancesupatme,hisheadstillducked,andforamomenthelookslikealittleboy—vulnerableandeagertoplease.
“I’vealreadyhaddelicioushospitalmeatloaf,”Isay,eyeingthecontainerofmushroomrisotto.
Sethshrugsandhissmileturnssheepish.Ialmostfeelsorryforhim,butthenIrememberwhereIamandwhyI’mhere.
“Seth…”Istareathimhardandhestaresback.Neitherofusquiteknowswhattodowiththeother,butwe’repreparingforsomesortofemotionalwarfare—Icanseeitinhiseyes.
“Whywon’tyoutellthetruth?”Isayfinally.That’sreallythebottomline,isn’tit?Ifhetoldthetruth,Icouldgetoutofhere.
Butifhetoldthetruth,thingscould…thingscouldnevergobacktonormal.That’swhenIunderstandit,thesteelylookinhiseyes.Itallcomestome.NotonlydoIknowwhoHannahis,Iknowthathe’sbeenphysicalwithher—hither—andthingsbetweenuscanneverbethesame.Initially,myhopeswerethathe’dwanttobewithme,onlyme.Butthatwillneverhappen,andIdon’tevenwantittohappenanymore.Idon’tknowwhomyhusbandreallyis.Idon’tknowanythingatall.WhathesaysnextisnotwhatIexpect.
“Thetruthisthatyou’reverysick,Thursday.Youneedhelp.Itriedtopretenditwasn’thappening,Iplayedyourgames…”Hestandsupandthecontainersoffoodwobbleprecariouslyonthebed.
I’msoangryIcouldtossthemathim.Hewalkstothewindow,staresoutbeforeheturnsbacktome.Hisfacehaschangedfromoneinstanttothenext;there’sagrimdeterminationwrittenacrossitnow,likehehassomethingawfultosaytome.
“Youchanged,”hesaysslowly,cautiously.“Afterthebaby…”
“Don’t,”Isayquickly.“Don’tbringthebabyintothis.”
“Youwon’ttalkaboutit,andwehaveto.Youcan’tjustmovepastsomethinglikethat,”hesays.There’smoreconvictiononSeth’sfacethanI’veeverseen.Hisfistsareballedathissidesandmymindflashestolastnightinthekitchen.Helooksjustasangry,butalsosad.
He’sright.I’vealwaysrefusedtotalkaboutwhathappened.Itwastoopainful.Ihaven’twantedtorelivethosefeelings,dragoverthemagainandagaininsomeshrink’soffice.Myhurtisalivingthing—sickandswollen,stillfesteringunderthesurfaceofmycalm.It’spersonal;Idon’twanttoshowanyoneelse.Inurtureitonmyown,keepitalive.Becauseaslongasmyhurtisstillthere,thememoryofmysonis,aswell.Theyhavetocoexist.
“Thursday!”hesays.“Thursday,areyoulisteningtome?”
Thesmell—eventhesight—ofthefoodmakesmesick.Ibeginpushingthecontainersoffthebed,onebyone.
ThesoundofthemhittingthefloorwithwetthudsdivertsSeth’sattention.Heracesforthebed,whichisjustfivestepsaway,andgrabsmywristsbeforeIcangettothepeasoup.Iliftmykneeunderthewhitesheetandtrytotoppleitoff.That’stheoneI’vebeenlookingforwardtomost—seeingitspreadacrossthehospitaltilelikesludge.
“Ourbabydied,Thursday.Itwasn’tyourfault.Itwasn’tanyone’sfault!”
Iwrithe,throwingmyselfbackagainstthepillowsandthenrearingupagain.MywristsachewhereSethholdsthemandIbaremyteethathim.Thatisn’ttrueandwebothknowit.Itisn’ttrue.
“Youhavetostopthis,”hepleads.“Alltheliesyoutellyourself.Theywon’tletyououtofhereuntilyoutellthetruth…”
Analarmgoesoff,highandear-piercing.Iwonderifit’sbecauseofwhatI’vedone.Sarahracesintotheroom,herbraidflyingcomicallybehindher.She’sfollowedbyamanandanotherwoman—allflashesofbluescrubsanddeterminedfaces.
Thealarmishere,inthisroom,Irealize.Sethmusthavesetitoff.Butno…it’snotanalarm…it’sme.I’mscreaming.Icanfeeltheburnasthenoisechurnsthroughmythroatandoutofmyopenmouth.
Oneofthenursesslips,andshegoesdownhardintothesmearoffoodacrossthefloor.Themalenursehelpsherup,andthenthey’reonme,pushingSethasidetoholdmedown.Hebacksaway,againstthewall,watching.
Iexpecthiseyestobewidewithfear,orhisfacedistortedwithworry—buthelooksquitepeaceful.Ifeelsomethingcoldslideintomyveinsandmyeyesflutterback.Iforcethemopen;IwanttoseeSeth.Heblursforaminute,buthe’sstillthere,watching.Thedrugstugatmyeyelids,pullingmedown.Whatwasthatlookonhisface?Whatdiditmean?
TWENTY
WhenIcometo,Iamcold.Idon’trememberwhereIam,andittakesafewminutesfortheeventsofthelastfewdaystosettleoverme.Scratchymemories—theydon’tfeelgood.ThesmellofantisepticfillsmynostrilsandIstruggletopushsheetsasideandsitupinbed.
Ahospital…Seth…Foodonthefloor.
Irubmyforehead,whichisthrobbingpainfully,andpeeroverthesideofthebed;there’snotraceofthecollageofcolorIleftbehindbeforetheycocktailedmeout.WhydidIdothat?It’sastupidquestionbecauseIknow.BecauseSeththinksfoodfightsarewastefulandstupid.Ihadn’tthrownanythingathim,butthrowingitonthefloorhadfeltlikeenough—achildishdisplayofactingout.
Practical,dry,somewhatsternSeth—that’snothowIwouldhavedescribedhimafewweeksago.Whatchanged?
Hannah!Thatnamehitsmeharderthantherest.Becauseit’sbeenhowmanydayssinceIlastheardfromher?Three…four?IrememberthelookonSeth’sfacebeforethedrugspulledmeunder…Icouldn’tmakeouthisexpression;itwasamixofthingsIhadn’tseenonhisfacebefore.Isn’tthatsomething?Beingmarriedtoamanforyearsandseeinganexpressionforthefirsttime.
IhavetocontactHannah—seeifshe’sallright.Butwithoutmyphone,Idon’thaveaccesstohernumber,andwhatifSethhasalreadybeenthroughmyphoneanddeletedthetextswe’dexchanged?Doesheknowmypassword?It’snothardtofigureout—ourdeadbaby’sduedate.
Anewnursewalksin,thistimeanoldermanwithabuzzcut,whiteeyebrowsandafacelikeabulldog.Islinkdowninbed.HisshouldersaretoowideandIcantellhewon’ttakemyshit.Iwashopingforsomeoneyoungerandinexperienced,likeSarah,whoIcouldtalkintohelpingme.
“Hello,”hesays.“I’mPhil.”
Whendidhisshiftstart?Whenwillhebegone?
“Ispoketoyourdoctor.Seemslikeeverythinglooksgoodwithyourhead…”HeknocksonhisownskullwithhisknucklesashepagesthroughmychartandIgrimaceatthegesture.He’sacavemaninanurse’suniform.“They’llbetransferringyouovertothepsychward.”
“Why?IfI’mfine,whyamInotbeingdischarged?”
“Hasn’tthedoctorspokentoyouaboutthis?”Philscratchesoverhisleftnippleandflipsanotherpage.
Ishakemyhead.
“Heshouldbeoverinabitandhe’lldiscussitwithyouthen.”
“Great,”Isaydryly.I’msour.Idon’tlikePhil.Heisobviouslyex-militaryandthinkseverythingshouldbedoneacertainway:disciplineandorder.Iwantayoung,easilymanipulatednurselikeSarah,whowillfeelsorryforme.
BeforePhilleaves,IaskifIcanmakeacall.
“Towhom?”
“Myhusband,”Isaysweetly.“He’sworkinginPortlandandI’dliketocheckonhim.”
“There’snohusbandlistedinyourchart,”hesays.
“Areyoucallingmealiar?”
Philignoresme.“Whydon’tweleavethecheckinginuptohim?Afterall,you’retheoneinthehospital.”
Iglareathimasheleavestheroom.IusedtolikeguyslikePhil—theywerehelpfulinstickypatientsituations,alwayswillingtoplaybadcopwhenanurseneededabreak—butbeingonthissideofaPhilisaterriblething.I’llwaitforthenextnurseandhopeshe’smoremytype.
Dr.Steinbridgetellsmethatalliswellinmyhead,nothingswollenorbruised
“Lookinggood,lookinggood,”hesays,tappingabentfingeragainstmychart.Hisknucklesaredustedwithwhitehairs.“We’retransferringyoutothepsychward,whereyou’llhaveyourevaluationandwe’llgetyournewmedicationsortedout.”
“Waitaminute,”Isay.“Idon’tneedtogotothepsychward.I’mfine.Ifellandhitmyhead.”
Hislipsfoldinlikehe’sdisappointedwithme.
“You’rehavingextremedelusions,Thursday.Violentoutbursts.Don’tworry,”hetriestoreassureme.“We’llworkongettingyoubetter.Weallwantthesamething.”
Idoubtthat.Sethwantsmeinhere.Iwanttoscream,swearathim…forcehimtoseethetruth,butIknowthatifIdoI’llonlyconfirmwhathe’sthinking…whatSeth’stellinghim.I’mnotcrazy.You’renot,Itellmyself.Evenwhenyoufeellikeyouare,rememberyou’renot.
Anhourlater,anursepushesawheelchairintotheroomandflipsonthebrakes
“I’mhereforyourtransfer,”shesays.
“Myhusband…?”Ihatethewhineinmyvoice,hatethatIhavetoaskwheremyhusbandisinsteadofknowing.
Sheshrugs.“I’mjusthereforyourtransfer.That’sallIknow.”
IfeelwoozyasIwalkovertothechair.ThebacksofmylegshitthesoftleatherandIsinkdowninrelief.It’snottheheadinjurymakingmefeelthisway,it’sthedrugs.Icanbarelythinkclearly.Idon’trememberthewheelchairrideuptotheeighthfloor,orgettingintothebedinthetinyroom.I’massignedanurse,butIhavenorecollectionofhercomingintoseeme.Nothingfeelsreal.Iquestionmyexistence,IquestionHannah’s…DidIimagineeverything,liketheysaid?IwanttotalktoSeth,Iwantmyheadtoclear,buttheykeeppouringpillsdownmythroat.
Ispendthenextsevendaysinasortofhaze.Nothingfeelsreal,thedrugsmakingmefeeldetachedfrommybody:alimpheliumballoonbobbingaboutaroomgoingnowhere.Igotogroup,eatmymealsinthedininghallandseeDr.Steinbridgeforsessions.I’velostsomuchweightthatIdon’trecognizemyselfwhenIlookinthemirror.Myjawhasdefinitionandtherearehollowsabovemycollarbone,deepcompressionsthatwereoncefilledwithfat.Howcanaweekdothistoaperson?Iwonder,butI’mnotsureIcare.Everythingismuted,evenmyfeelingsaboutmyself.
IstopaskingaboutSethafterafewdays;eventhethoughtofhimmakesmefeeldesperateandcrazy.Thenurseslookatmewithpityintheireyes.IhavethevaguefeelingthatIdon’tlikeitwhentheydothat.Theyprobablydon’tthinkthereisaSeth.Andmaybethereisn’t.Also,fuckhimforputtingmeinthispositionwhereIamquestioningmyself.
Ontheninthday,mymothercomestoseeme.Visitinghoursareinthecommonarea,whereallofuscrazieswaiteagerlyforourpeopletoarrive.Wesitonmustard-coloredcouchesoratthegraytablesonfoldoutchairs,ourhairgreasyandourfacespaleandsplotchyfromtoolittleortoomuchsleep.Anattemptatnormalizingtheroomismadewithpottedplantsandframedartwork.I’vestudiedeachpieceofartandtheplaquesnexttothemtellingofthelocalartistswhopainted,orsketched,orphotographed.Seattlelikestokeepitlocal,homegrownartiststosoothethehomegrownsick.
Ifindanunoccupiedcouchnearthevendingmachines.Theywon’tallowuscaffeineortoomuchsugar.Themachinesarestockedwithvitaminwaterandbruised-lookingapples.Isitwithmyhandsinmylap,staringatthefloor.Whenmymotherwalksin,shedoesn’trecognizemeatfirst.Hereyesmoverightovermyface,thenbouncebacklikethey’reonabungeecord.
Iseehermouthmynamebeforesheclutchesherpursetightlytohersideandscurriesover.Istandassheapproaches.I’mnotsureifshewantstohugmeorifshe’stoodisappointed.ThefirsttimeIlandedmyselfinapsychward,sherefusedtocome,sayingitwastoopainfultoseemethatway.Toopainfulforher.Nowshelowersherselfontothesofawithouttakinghereyesfrommyface.
“Yourfather—”shestarts.
“Yeah,Iknow,Mom.It’sfine.”
Welookateachotherlikeit’sthefirsttimewe’retrulyseeingeachother’sfaces.Myfatherwouldnevercometoaplacelikethis.Toseeoneofhisdaughterslockedinapsychwardwouldmeanthathehaddonesomethingwrongasaparent,andmyfatherlikestomaintaintheillusionofperfection.Asformymother,Iamhercrazy,unhingedoffspring—shegavebirthtomeandhasnoideaofwhoIamorofthelifeIlive.Shedoesn’twanttoknow.We’reboththinkingthesamething.IpullmysweaterdownovermyhandsasIgazeatherBotoxedforehead.Shedoesn’twanttoadmithowoldsheisanymorethanshewantstoadmitthatherdaughterisafirst-classfuckup.
“I’mnotherebecauseI’mcrazy,”Itellher.
Sheimmediatelyopenshermouthtodenyshe’severhadthatthought.Ofcourse,that’sherjobasamother.
“I’mnotsick,either.I’mnothavinganemotionalbreakdownbecauseIlostmybabyayearago.”Icutoffalltheroadshermindistaking,allthewaysshe’stryingtomakeexcusesforwhyI’mhere.
Shecloseshermouthandstares.Ifeellikeachildasmybottomlipquivers.Shewon’tbelieveanythingIsay.Sethhasalreadygottentoher.
“Mom,SethalreadyhadanotherwifewhenImethim.HernameisReginaCoele.Shedidn’twantchildren.Iwastheonewhowassupposedtogivehimababy.ButthenIhadthe…”Myvoicetrailsoff.
Mymotherdropsherheadlikethisisalltoomuch.Iwatchthetipsofherlashes,thebridgeofhernose,asshestaresdownathershoes.Fromthisangleshelooksten,twentyyearsyounger.Justagirlwhohasbentherheadinexasperation…frustration…hopelessness?I’veneverbeengoodattellingwhatshe’sreallyfeeling.Iknowallofthebrandsshelikes,Iknowherthoughtsonshallow,uselesstopics,butIdon’tknowhowtouncoverwhatshe’strulyfeeling.I’mnotquitesureifsheknows,either.
“ReginaisSeth’sex-wife.Hewasmarriedbeforeyou,yes.You’reright—shedidn’twantchildrenandsotheypartedways.”Mymotherleansforward,hereyesimploring.It’strue.HowcanIarguewiththat?Reginaistechnicallyhisex-wife.Hedivorcedhertomarryme,afterall.Butthey’restilltogether,stillacouple,justwithoutthetitle.
“Mother,”Isay.“Pleaselistentome.Sethistryingtocoverhistracks.They’restilltogether.”
Shedropsherfaceintoherpalms.WhendidIbecomethetypeofwomanwhoisn’tbelievedbyherownmother?Whenyoustartedlyingtoyourself,Ithink.
Whenshelooksup,hereyesarewet.Sheremindsmeofacockerspanielwiththoseweteyes.“Youhaveanunhealthyfixationonhisexes.But,Thursday,he’snotwiththem.He’swithyou.Sethisworriedsickaboutyou.”Shereachesformyhand,butIpullitaway.Iwon’tbecoddledthatway—spokentolikeI’machild.Herhanddropsuselesslybackintoherlap.
“Whydoyouthinkhe’salwaysinPortland?Hehastwootherwives.”Istandup,beginpacing.
“Heworksthere,”shehisses.“Helovesyou,wealldo.Wewantyoutogetwell.”
“Iamwell,”Isaystiffly.Istoptoglareather.“Whyhasn’thecome?Whereishe?”That’swhenshegetsshifty,avertinghereyes,crossinganduncrossingherankles.Shedoesn’tknowwhattosaybecauseshedoesn’tknowwhereSethis,orwhyhehasn’tcome.
“InPortland…”shesays.Itsoundsmorelikeaquestion.“Hestillhastowork,Thursday.Lifegoeson.”
“No,itdoesn’t.NotwhenI’minthehospital.Hehasotherwivestotendtohisneeds,”Isay.“WhycomeseetheloonytooninTonkerTown?”
Shelooksatmequizzicallyforamomentbeforeshestandsup.WefaceeachotherandIcanreadthedisappointmentonherface.
“Ineedtogetgoing,”shesays.Fifteenminutes.Shelastedfifteenminutesinthepsychward.Iwatchassheretreatstowardthedoors,hershoulderssaggingwiththeweightofmyfailuresasherdaughter.Atleastthistimeshecame.
TWENTY-ONE
Iamalone.Irealizethatit’salwaysbeenthisway,mywholelife,andanythingmymindconstructedtoconvincemeotherwisewasalie.AcomfortablelieIneeded.Myparentswereoccupiedwithmysister,Torrence,whowasalwaysgettingintotroubleatschoolorwithherfriends.Iwasthegoodchild;Iparentedmyselfwellwhiletheywerebusy.Iknewtherules,themoralconfinesthey’dbuiltaroundme:nodrinking,nopremaritalsex,nodrugs,nosneakingout,top-notchgradesonly.Itwaseasytofollowtheirguidelines;Iwasn’ttherebelofthefamily.Mysister,ontheotherhand,dabbledinalloftheabove.Myfathergrayedathistemples,mymotherstartedgettingBotoxandItriedmybesttobeperfectsotherewasonelessdaughtertoworryabout.Then,whenTorrencestraightenedupandmarriedtherightman,they’dbeensorelievedthey’dshoweredherwithadifferenttypeofattention.She’dputinthreewell-behavedyearsandthey’dbothforgottenthedecadeshespentsnortingtheirmoneyuphernoseandfuckingeverydealerintown.MaybeallofthattryingmademegocrazyMaybethelackofattentionfrommyparentspushedmetowardSeth,mydesperationtobeacceptedtrappingmeinarelationshipanynormalpersonwouldthinkbizarre.
IpokeatmyJell-O.TheylovetofeedyouJell-Ointhisplace—wobblyandcolorful,likeourminds.Todayisorange,yesterdaywasgreen.It’slikethey’retryingtoremindyouthatyou’reweakandunstable.IeatmyJell-O.
Ihavetogetthefuckoutofhere.IhavetofindHannah,makesureshe’sokay.WhereonceIslept,Iamnowawake.IsawDr.Steinbridgetoday.I’verealizedthatheismykeeper—nottheelectricdoorswithkeycardaccess,northeburlynurseswhowrangleusliketoddlersifwegetoutofhand.Calmdown,littleThursday,orwe’llputyouinthepaddedtime-outroom.
Dr.SteinbridgehasthepowertosayI’mwell;heisGodinthisplaceofspeckledsteriletileandfluorescentlights.Oneswipeofhispen(aBic)andIamafreebird.
Hannah…Hannah.She’sallIthinkabout.I’vebecomehersaviorinmyownmind.Ifsomethinghashappenedtoher,Iamresponsible.Ifsheistobesaved,Imustgetoutofhere.Imarriedthisman,gavemyblessingforathirdwife.WhenIsawthatfirstbruiseIshouldhavespokenup,forcedhertotellmewhathedid.Foramoment,Idoubtthatsheisreal.That’showgoodtheyare—theycanmakeyoudoubtyourownmindinthisplace.
EatyourJell-O!
IrealizeitismydutytoconvincethegooddoctorthatIhavecometomysenses,thatmyheadisclearedofitsdelusionalfog.ThatIamwholeandmyhusbandisaone-womanman!ThatHannahandReginaarenotreal,butasexualgamemyhusbandandIplayed.That’swhattheywanttohear,isn’tit?AllIhavetodoissayI’mlyingaboutSeth’spenchantforpluralpussyandIamacuredwoman!
Itcan’thappentoofast,mychange,orSteinbridgewillsuspectthatIamlying.Duringourdailysessions,Ipretendtobeconfused.Sethonlyhasonewife?Thatwifeisme?Gradually,Ibecomemoremyself,eachsessionIamlessconfused,lessinsistent
“Whatiswrongwithme?”Iaskthedoctor.“Whydon’tIknowwhat’srealandwhatisnot?”
Iamdiagnosed!Thetraumaoflosingachild,neverdealingwiththatlossinahealthyway,itputstressonmyrelationshipwithSeth.Iblamedotherwomeninsteadoffocusingonmyhealing.WhenthegooddoctoraskedwhatIthoughttriggeredthemaniathatledtomymentaldemise,IthoughtofDebbie:chattyDebbie,nosyDebbie,DebbiewiththebighairwhosuggestedIsnooponthewomenwhomademefeelinsecure.Idon’tblameDebbieforanyofmyactions;ifanything,shewokemeup.Iwasn’ttheonlyonewhosufferedcripplinginsecurity,youcouldbeanyage.Hell,Laurenseeminglyhadaperfectlife.Ialwaysthoughtshetapedthoseanniversarycardstoherlockertobrag,torubitintherestofourfacesthatshehaditbetterthanus.ButnowIseethetruth:womenarestuckinacycleofinsecurityperpetuatedbythewaymentreatthem,andweareconstantlyfightingtoprovetoourselvesandeveryoneelsethatweareokay.Sure,womenoccasionallylosetheirmindsovermen,butdoesthatmeanwe’reallunstable,orthatmenmadeusunstablewiththeircarelessactions?Idon’ttellDr.SteinbridgeaboutDebbieorLauren;hewouldsayIwasdeferringresponsibility.Butthat’snotwhatI’mdoingatall;I’mholdingeveryoneaccountable,becauseittakesavillagetoputsomeoneinamentalinstitution.
Mylackofdealingwithissuesispartofmyunraveling,accordingtoDr.Steinbridge.Ilikethewaythatsounds:myunraveling.
ButI’mnotunravelinginthewaytheythinkIam;I’munravelingoutofmyinfatuationwithmyhusband.Iplaythepartoffrail,painfullyunawarewoman.Stresshaseatenatme,Ihavenocopingmechanisms,myparents’lackofattentioncoddledmeintoatight,naivelittlecocoon.
Wetakeatourofmydaddy/mommyissues.Mymotherisapleaserandmyfatherisdetached.AsIwatchedmymotherdomore,more,moretoearnmyfather’sattention…well…Ilearnedtoexpressthatlovelanguage.AndwhenIdotoomuch,Icollapseundertheweightofexpectations.MyemptywombhasmademefeellikeI’mnotarealwoman,notworthyofmyhusband’slove.Theyscrapedallofmyorgansout,ropedoffmyreproductivesystem:closedforbusiness.Beforemyeyes,scenesfrommymiscarriagebegintoflashinpainfulsuccession.IknowI’msupposedtoletthemcome,facethem—asthedoctorsays.Butthey’rememoriesI’veneverlookedover,notevenonce,sinceithappened.It’seasiertocopewhenyoudon’tacknowledgewhatyou’recopingfrom.
SethandIhavejustleftourbedandbreakfast,andwestopatagasstationtofillupandbuysnacksfortheroad.We’vejusteatenbutheinsiststhebabywillneedsnacks,whichmakesmesmile.He’ssoattentive:buyinglittlegiftsandkissingmyswellingbelly.Oneofmyfriendsatthehospitaltoldmethatherhusbandisrevoltedbyherpregnantstomachandrefusestotouchit.Iwatchhimthroughthecarwindow,myheartswollenwithpride.Myhusband,mine.Andnowwe’vemadeababytogether;mylifecouldn’tbemoreperfect.He’ssohandsomeashewalkstowardthecar,carryingtwopapercups,aplasticbaghangingfromhisforearm.Thecupsholdtea;hesaysheaskedforhotwaterinsideandthenusedhismother’steabags.It’sbitter,butI’vebeendrinkingitforaweekandthetasteisgrowingonme.Idiginthebagwhilehefinishesupwiththegas.He’sboughtmyfavoritepregnancysnacks:unhealthy,processedgarbagethatnormallymakemeblushwithshame.ButasIsiponmyteaandpullthingsoutofthebag,Ifeelonlygratefulformythoughtful,observanthusband.Sosweetaretheranch-flavoredchipsandlicoricesticksthatresembledtwisted,redplastic.Thecrampsstartanhourandahalflater.Idon’twanttosayanythingatfirst,rememberingthatmydoctorsaidthatsomewomenexperienceBraxtonHickscontractionsearlyintheirpregnancies.Thephantompainsamerereflectionofwhatistocome.Isquirmuncomfortablyinmyseat,myopenbagofchipsfallingtothecar’sfloorboard,littlespeckledtrianglesspillingoutaroundmyshoes.It’snotuntilIbendtoretrievethechipbagthatIseetheblood.It’spoolingonthetanleather,stainingmycreampantsinadark,ominousred.“Seth,”isallIhavetosay.Helooksoveratmeandpusheshisfootdownonthegas,hisfacepaleatthesightoftheblood.Thenearesthospital:QueenCounty.WhenwepullupatthedoorsoftheemergencyroomIalreadyknowmybabyisdead,hislifeleakingoutfrombetweenmylegs
EverythingfromthereIcouldonlyrecountinasortofdizzinessthatwascoloredbyfluorescentlights.ThefirsttimeIhadclarityofmindafterthecarridetothehospitalwasfivedayslaterwhentheytoldmethatmyuterushadrupturedandinordertocontrolthebleedingthey’dhadtoremoveitinanemergencysurgery.Iwouldneverbeabletobecomepregnantagain.I’dletSethholdmeasIsobbedintohisshirt,andthenwhenhe’dlefttotakeacallfromwork,I’dgonetothetinybathroominmyroomandattemptedtoslitmywristswithametalnailfile.Anursefoundmebleedingonthefloor,staringattheblood,perfectlycalm.Itwasahackjob,mywristssawedopenwithsomethingdull.Thescarsarethickandlumpy.I’dbeencalmuntiltheytriedtohelpme,thenIscratched,andbit,andscreamedthatthey’dkilledmybabyandweretryingtokillme.ThathadbeenthestartofmyfirststayatQueenCounty.Thestaythathadleftmebarrenofwombandheart.
Dr.Steinbridgesaysthat,inmygrief,Icreatedthedelusionofthreewives—womenwhowerebettersuitedforSeth,oneswhocouldgivehimwhatIcouldnot.God,it’sdepressingallthethingsthatarewrongwithme—evenifonlyhalfofthemaretrue.
Ishuffleoutofoursessions,myheadduckedlow,thescarsonmywriststhrobbing.I’mbelievablypathetic.HethinksI’mgettingwell.Butinthosebent-shouldermomentswhenIlookmymosthumble,Iamangry.WhereisSeth?Whyhasn’thecome?Hewasn’tlikethiswhenIcarriedhisbaby—hewaspandering,andcateredtomyeverywhim.Doesheevenfeelguiltythathelied?
I’vebeenjettisoned.Ifumeallthewaybacktomyroom,whichistoocolddespitethevariouscomplaintsI’vemadewiththenurses.MyroommateisawomaninherlatefortiesnamedSusan,whohadamentalbreakdownaftershecaughtherhusbandhavinganaffair.WeakSusan,Iwanttosay.Trysigningoffontwoextramarriagesandbeingtheforgottenmiddlewife.
Susanhasnoeyelashesoreyebrows.I’veseenhersearchingforthemwhenshe’sanxious,thinfingersreachingupliketweezerstopluck.Shehasabaldspotontopofherhead,too,andascatteringoflongbrownhairsaroundherbed.Iimaginebythetimeshegetsoutofhereshe’llbecompletelyhairless,likeoneofthosecats.
She’snotintheroom.Iliedownonthebed,myarmthrownacrossmyeyestoblockoutthelightbecausewearen’tallowedtoturnoffourlightsduringtheday.Iamdriftingoffintoasemi-nap—whichisthebestyoucandointhisplace—whenanursecomesintotellmethatIhaveavisitor.
Myeyessnapopenandmyfirstthoughtis:I’mgoingtopretendnottobeangrywithhim.That’sright.I’llbedocileandapologetic—theSuzy-homemakertypeofwifehelikesmetobe.Itwon’tbesohard,willit?I’vebeenpretendingforyears,theangerbubblingunderthesurface,unexplored.You’reawake,Ithink.Donotlosegripofyourawakeness.
Istandup,alertandready.Thereisnomirrortocheckmyreflectionin—mirrorsareslitwristswaitingtohappen—soIsmoothmyhair,wipebeneathmyeyes.IhavenoideawhatIlooklike,butIsupposethemorepathetic,thebetter.WhenIrunmyhandsdownmyabdomen,thereisonlyahollowandthentwosharpknobsofhipbonethatusedtobeburiedunderneathmybadhabitsofwineandcheesypastas.Istickoutmychest,which,thankfully,hasnotdiminished.Ihavetogetmyhusbandonmyside.
WhenIwalkintothecommonarea,it’snotSethIsee,butLauren.Ifeelasenseofdisappointment.Thisisdifferentthanwhatwassupposedtohappen.Irearrangemyface,hidingwhatI’mreallyfeelingtosmileatpain-in-the-assLauren.Lauren,whomIhaddrinkswith,andtoldallmysecretsto.Werewefriendsnow?
Idon’tknowifI’mhappytoseeher,butshe’scertainlyhappytoseeme.Shestandsupfromthetablewhereshe’sbeenwaitingandIseethatshe’swearingjeansandaSeahawkssweatshirt.Herfaceiscontortedwithconcernasshemakesherwayovertome,dodgingawomanwhoisdoinginterpretivedanceinthecenteroftheroom.Theplacebetweenhereyebrowsispinched.
“Thursday,”shebreathes,shakingherhead.“Whatthehell?”
IlikehersomuchinthatmomentthatmylittleactofcontritehumilityIhadreadyforSethdropsaway,andIlatchontoherinadesperatehug.Mymoods,mythoughts,they’reallovertheplace.I’mlikeaspidermonkey,clinginginmyrelieftosomeoneIknow.
LaurenletsoutalittleyelpandIrealizeI’mstranglingher,soIletgo.Shesmilesatmeinthewaythatoldfriendssmileaftersomethingbadhashappenedtoyou.Shealreadybelievesme,Icantell.Idohaveafriend.
“Howdidyoufindme?”Iask,breathlesswithanticipation.
“Yourhusbandcalledthehospital—Seth,right?—andsaidthatyou’dbetakingextendedtimeoffduetoanillness.Itriedtogetintouchwithhimbutwedon’thaveanumber.So,Icalledyourmother—she’slistedonyouremergencycontacts—andshetoldmewheretofindyou.”
I’msurprisedthatmymotheradmittedtoastrangerthatherdaughterwasinamentalhospital.Laurenhadputinalotofworktofindme.IwonderifAnna’snoticedthatI’vebeenmissing,ifshe’sreachedouttomymother.
“Whyareyouhere?”shesaysfinally,oncewe’vesettleddowninaspotbythewindow.Theglassisstreakedwithwaterasanunusuallyhardrainleanseast,slappingtheglassandbendingthetrees.Awoman’shairwhipsaroundherassherunsthroughthegardenareabelow.AsIleanintoLauren,amother/sonduowalktowardus,eyeingtheemptychairsinourcircle.Ishootthemaviciouslookandtheyscootawaysomewhereelse.Good.Go.
ItellheraboutgoingtoseeHannah,andaboutfindingReginaonline.WhenIgettothepartaboutHannah’sbruise,Lauren’seyesbugout.Anotherconvoluteddetailtoaddtothisstory.ItellherhowSethpushedmewhilewewerearguing.
“Iconfrontedhimaboutallofit.HesaysIattackedhim,thatIfellandhitmyhead.WhenIwokeup,Iwashere.Lauren…”Isay,loweringmyvoice.“He’ssayingthatImadeitallup.”
Herfaceishorrified.Herlifeisamess,butmineismessier.
“Thatyoumadewhatup?”
“Hispolygamy.HehaseveryoneconvincedI’mcrazy,includingmyownmother.”I’mrubbingapieceofhairbetweenmyfingersandIabruptlystop,incaseIlookcrazy.
Laurendoesn’tseemtonotice.Hereyesdroptothegroundasshethinks.
“Ifeveryoneclosetoyouissayingthesamething,they’llneverbelieveyou,”shesays.“Youknowhowthisstuffworks.”
Iknow.
“Whataboutyourfriends?IstheresomeoneIcancalltocomeinhereandbackyouup?”Herhandsaresplayedflatonherkneeswithjustthepointerfingerofherrighthandmovingupanddowninquicksuccession.Anervousfinger,Ithink.
“No,”Isay.“I’venevertoldanyoneasidefromyou.Notevenmysisterknows.”
“Notaclosefamily,huh?Soundslikemine.”
“We’reclosewithoutbeingclose,ifyouknowwhatImean.Weseeeachotheroften,butnoonereallyknowswhat’shappeningbehindeveryone’seyes.”
LaurennodslikesheknowsexactlywhatI’mtalkingabout.MaybeallAmericanfamiliesplaythetogethernessgame—theonewhereyoutalkaboutsportsanddineoncasseroles(inthePacificNorthwest,it’sgluten-freeandorganic),fightaboutpoliticsandactlikeyouhavemeaningfulrelationshipswhenyou’reactuallydyingofloneliness.
“Idon’tknowifshe’sokay,”IsayofHannah.“ShewasoffthelasttimeIsawher.Shecalledmethenextday,butwhenIcalledherback,shedidn’tanswer.”
“MaybeIcancontacther,”Laurensuggests.“DoesshehaveaFacebookorsomething?”
IgiveherallofHannah’sdetails.Irememberheraddressoffthetopofmyheadbutnotherphonenumber.
“Doyouknowwherehemetthisgirl?”sheasksmeasIwalkhertothedoors.
Ishakemyhead.Inallmydetectivework,Ihadn’taskedHannahwhereshemetherhusband,thoughIdoubtshewouldhavetoldmethetruth.
“There’saphoto,”Isayquickly.“OnRegina’sdatingprofile.IthinkHannahandReginaknoweachother.”
Laurenisstartled;theplothasthickened.“Wait,”shewhispers.“Seth’sothertwowivesknoweachother?”
Inod.“Ifyoucanfindthatphotowehaveproof.WecantakeittoRegina,makehertalk…”
Myplanisfaulty.ThinkingthatReginawouldcomeforwardtobackmeupisfar-fetched.ThinkingthataphotocouldprovemyclaimthatSethisapolygamistisequallyasfar-fetched.Butit’sallIhave.Icouldblackmailthem.
Laurenpromisestocomebackassoonasshehassomething,andIfeelsuchimmensereliefthatIhugheroncemore.
“Lauren,”Isaybeforesheleaves.“Youhavenoideahowmuchthismeanstome.Ihaven’tevenaskedhowyouare…”
“Yeah,well,inlightofyourcurrentsituation,yougetafreepass.”
Ismileathergratefullybeforesheturnsinhervisitorbadgetothesecuritydeskandgivesmealittlewave.“I’llbebacksoon,”shepromises.
Iwalkbacktomyroom,arenewedhopegrowinginmychest.I’mnotalone.SethwantsmetobelievethatIam.He’stakenmymother…myfather.Hewantsmetobesolelyreliantonhim.ButI’mnotsurewhy.IbecamealiabilitywhenIsnoopedafterhetoldmenotto.Iknowthingsthatcouldruinhisbusiness,hisreputation.Ofcoursehewantstoshutmeup,lockmeup.
Whatif…?WhatifHannahdoesn’tknowaboutme?Maybethat’sit.AllalongI’vethoughtthatallthreeofuswereincahoots,likesomesecretgirlalliance.Ourmanissolovablehescoredthreewomen,andwe’rejustsohappytobeapartofit!ButSethisgoingtogreatlengthstokeepmelockedaway,sequestered.PerhapstokeepmefromHannah.Tokeepherfromfindingout.IthinkofthephotoonRegina’sdatingprofile,theblondinthecornerofthephotowholookedsuspiciouslylikeHannah.WhatifSethusedthesamestoryonHannahthatheusedonme?Thebarrenwife,theneedtobewithsomeonewhowouldgivehimchildren…Icouldberemovedfromtheequationaltogether…soSethcouldonceagaingetwhathewants.
TWENTY-TWO
Laurencomesbacktwodayslater,lookingtiredandwearingapuffyblackjacketthecolorofgarbagebagsoverherscrubs.SheavoidslookingatmeasshehandlesaStarbuckscup,spinningitaroundandaroundbetweenherfingers.Herfingernailsaren’tpainted;Idon’tthinkI’veeverseenherwithoutherfingernailspainted.Iwonderifthat’sanupper-classcryforhelp,Laurenindistress.I’mtoodistractedtospendanytimeonnicetiesandsmalltalk.
“Igotyouone,buttheywouldn’tletmebringitin.”
Gotmewhat?Oh!Alatte—she’stalkingaboutalatte.Idismissthecoffeewithawaveofmyhand.“We’renotallowedtohavecaffeine.”
Shenods,takingadeepbreathbeforeshebegins,puffingouthercheeksandwideninghereyes.Ibracemyself.
“She’snotonFacebook,Thursday,there’snothing.Icheckedallofthesocialmediasites—IevencheckedPinterestandShutterfly.Shedoesn’texist.God,Ieventriedchanginghernamearound—youknowpeoplehaveallthosecutesiehandlesnowadays…”
Inod,thinkingofRegina,howI’dhadtobecleverwithhernametofindher.
“She’seitherdeletedherprofileorhasextremeprivacysettings,”Laurensays.Shepicksatthecardboardsleevearoundhercup.“IGoogledher,too…Nothing.Areyousurethat’sherrealname?”
“Idon’tknow.That’sthenameIsawonthepaperIfoundinSeth’spocket.”Idropmyheadintomyhands.
“WhataboutthepictureofReginaandHannah?Didyoufindthat?”Shereachesintoherpurseandpullsoutafoldedpieceofpaper.Lauren’sfaceiswashedofcolor.SheslidesthepaperacrossthetableandIreachforit.MyhandsshakeasIunfoldit.It’saprintoutofthephotoI’dfoundofReginaandthewomanIsuspectisHannah.ButwhenIlookdownatthegrainyprintoutsomethingiswrong.Reginaisthesame,hersmilewidejustasIrememberit,butinthecornerofthephotowhereI’donceseenHannahthereisawomanwithdarkhair.
“No,”Isay.No,no,no…
“Isthather?”Laurenasks.Herfingertapsthephoto,rightwhereHannahshouldbe.“IsthatHannah,Thursday…?”
Ishakemyhead,pushingthepaperaway.I’mcoldallover.Irockslightly,shakingmyhead.AmIcrazy?
IfIthinkI’mcrazy,maybeLaurenthinksso,too.Ilookupsuddenly.“Doyoubelieveme?”
“Yes…”Butthere’sacatchinhervoice.Hereyesdartaroundtheroomlikeshe’stryingtofindaloopholetomyquestion.Myheartdoesalittlesqueeze,squeeze,squeeze
Wesitinsilenceforafewminutes,lookingoutthewindow.Lauren,Inotice,isslouchinginherseat—anothertellingsignthatallisnotright.Idon’tknowifshe’sbotheredbymysituationorifthere’saburdenofherownshe’scarrying.
“There’sonemorething…”She’sbeenholdingontothis,savingitforlast.Whywon’tshelookatme?
Ifeelthefigurativeknotsforminmybellyandmykneestartstobounceunderthetable.Ijustwanthertospititout,getitoverwith.Squeeze,squeeze,knot,knot…
“Tellme…”
“Look,there’snoeasywaytosaythis.Imadeafewcallsand…well…thehousefortheaddressyougaveme…Ugh,Thursday!It’sregisteredunderyourname.”Shecovershereyeswithherpalms.
Mymindgoesblank.Idon’tknowwhattosay.IstareatLaurenlikeImisheardheruntilshefinallyrepeatsherself.
“What?”
Sheislookingatmedifferently.It’sthewaythedoctorsandnurseslookatme,withcautiouspity—thispoorgirl,thisbrokenthing.Istandupandforcemyselftolookherintheeyes.
“Thatisnotmyhouse.Idon’tknowwhat’sgoingon,butit’snotmine.Idon’tevencareifyoudon’tbelieveme.I’mnotcrazy.”
Sheholdsupbothhandsasiftowardmeoff.“Ididn’tsayyouwerecrazy.I’mjusttellingyouwhatIfound.”
IlickmylipsasIbackup.Theydon’tgiveyouChapStickinthisplace;theytrytosootheyourmindbutletyourbodyfalltopieces.Everyonehereiseitherdryoroily;theirhairplasteredtotheirheadsinstringy,wet-lookingchunks,ordecoratedwithtinyflakesofdandruffliketheywerejustsnowedon.
I’mtryingnottodoanythingrash,likerunofftomyroomwithoutagoodbye,oryell—yellingwouldbebad.Butit’stakingallofmyself-control.Thewaypeopleperceiveyouisthereallymentallythwartingthinginlife.Ifeveryoneisagainstyou,youstarttoquestionthingsaboutyourself,likenow.
“Thankyouforcoming.”Iforcethewordsout.“Iappreciateyoutrying,anyway.”IhearhercallingmynameasIwalkbrisklyaway—notrunning,noteventrotting—justaquickexitsoshecan’tseewhatI’mfeeling.
Inmyroom,Icurluponthethinmattress,mykneesdrawntomychest,andpressmycheekagainstthescratchysheets.Theysmellofbleachandalittleofvomit.Susanisstaringatmefromacrosstheroom;IglancedatherwhenIwalkedinthedoor,herlashlesseyesalarmed,likeshe’dforgottenIlivehere,too.
Icanfeelhereyesboringintomyback.Thisisusuallythetimewhenwe’rebothintheroom,betweenourgrouptherapysessionsanddinner.“Alittledowntime,”theycallit.Mostofususeourdowntimetoreflectonhowdownwereallyare.It’sacatch-22.
“Howlonghaveyoubeenhere,Susan?”MyvoiceismuffledandIhavetorepeatmyquestionwhenshesqueaksbackamousylittleresponse.
“Amonth,”shesays.
Isitup,leaningmybackagainstthewallandhuggingmypillowtomychest.
“Haveyoueverbeeninaplacelikethisbefore?”
Sheglancesupatmeandwhensheseesmewatchingher,shelooksawayagain.“Onlyonce…whenIwasmuchyounger.MyfatherdiedandIdidn’tcopewell.”IlikethewaySusansumseverythingupsoyoudon’thavetoaskmorequestions.Hertherapistmustloveher.
“Andwhendidtheydecideyouwerereadytoleave?”
Susanlooksflustered.Tworedspotsappearonhercheeksandshebeginsknottingherfingerstogether.
“WhenIstoppedbeingsuicidal—orsayingIwas.”
Truethat.AtleastIknowI’montherighttrack.I’vestoppedtalkingaboutit,allofit.
“Ihopethingsgetbetterforyou,Susan.Hewasn’tdeserving.”Imeanit,too.Mythoughtsforthelastfewdayshavebeenaboutwomenlikeme,andLo,andSusan—womenwhogiveeverythingtothemenwhobreaktheirtrust.
Shelooksupatmethen,andwithoutthesupportofhereyebrows,Ican’ttellifshe’ssurprisedorsad.Sheappearstobesomewhatpleasedbythetimemywordssinkin.Likeshe’srepeatingthemoverandoverinherhead.Hewasn’tdeserving,hewasn’tdeserving.
“Thankyou,”shesayssoftly.“Hereallywasn’t.”
Inod,butIthink,NeitherwasSeth.Notdeserving.Notofthewomenwhobowandcowanddoeverythingtopleasehim,norofthelifehe’sbuiltonourbacks.Why,hehasawholeteambehindhim:legal,childbearingandmoney.I’veneverwantedtoadmitthatpart,thatmaybehe’swithmeformymoney,formytrustfund.It’sbeenathingIdon’tthinkabout.
I’mthemoney.I’veneverseenmyselfthatway,neverthoughtitplayedafactorinourrelationship.ButI’mrichbyanysenseoftheword.MyfatherhasmadesuremysisterandIarewelltakencareof.MysistersnortedmostofhertrustandthenmarriedawealthycountryclubmannamedMichaelSprouce,Jr.Thathadbeenhersavinggraceinmyparents’eyes.Themoneyhasnevermeantanythingtome,onlySethhas.AndsoI’vealwaysbeengenerous…oblivious,even,handingovercontroltohim.
Butnow…noweverythingfeelsdifferent.Isdifferent.He’ssequesteredmeawayandthatisn’tsomethingyoudotoyourwife,someoneyoulove.It’swhatyoudotosomeoneyou’retryingtomanage.Buthe’sbeenmanagingallthreeofusallalong.
SusanandIsitfacingeachother,oureyesgluedtotheceilingaswewaitfordinnertime.
ImakealistinmyheadofthingsImustdowhenIgetout:checkthebankaccount,talktothewives,contactSeth’sparentsandtalktohisbusinesspartner,Alex,whodoesn’tknowIexist.Theycan’tkeepmeinhereforever.Iwillgetout,Iwillshoweveryonewhohereallyis.Hecan’tdothistome.ThistimeI’mgoingtofightback.
TWENTY-THREE
Iamreleasedtwodayslater.IsaygoodbyetoSusan,whoisingroup,byleavingmylittlesquareofsoap,anappleI’dstolenfrombreakfastandthehospital-issuedbottlesofshampooonherbed.Wewerealwayscomplainingaboutnotenoughshampoo,likethiswasahotelandnotamentalhealthfacility.Someofthecomplainingwasjusttofeelnormal;ifyouthoughtalotaboutshampoo,youdidn’tthinkaboutanythingimportant.
Sethisstandinginthereceptionarea,talkingtooneofthenurses,asthedoctorwalksmeupwithmypaperwork.
“He’scalledeverydaytocheckonyourprogress,”Dr.Steinbridgesayssoftly.Hisbreathsmellslikeoldmanandonionbagel.“Peopledealwiththingsdifferently,sodon’tbetoohardonhim.”
Inod,grittingmyteeth.Whatalittleboys’club.Dr.Steinbridgewearsaweddingbandonhishairyfingerbutspendsallofhistimehere.IwonderifMrs.Steinbridgesitsathomewaitingforhimorifshehasalifeofherown,andifthereissomeoneinherlifesaying,“Heworkshard,don’tbetoohardonhim…”Waiting…waiting…that’swhatwomendo.Wewaitforhimtogethome,wewaitforhimtopayattentiontous,waittobetreatedfairly—forourworthtobeseenandacknowledged.Lifeisjustawaitinggameforwomen.
I’mstillplayingthedocilegameandI’llplayitallthewayoffthepropertyuntilI’mfree.IsetmyfaceinanimpassivemaskasIputonefootinfrontoftheother.Sethlookslikeamodelofsuccessandcomposure.He’swearinghisReginaclothes:darkgrayslacksandaforestgreensweateroverabutton-down,hishairneatlygelledandcombed,hisfacefreeofstubble.It’salladifferentstylethanhewearswithme.I’mrealizingthathe’sdifferentwitheachofus,adoptingdifferentstylestomatchhiswives.ForHannahit’sthehoodies,baseballcapsandbandshirts:youngclothestomatchhisyoungwife.Theclean-shavenfaceandtheworkclothesareforRegina,sohecanbetherespectablebusinessmanforhislawyerwife.IgetthesexySeth:thestubble,thesuitjackets,thefittedT-shirtsandexpensiveshoes.He’sachameleonandhegetstoplayhousewithvariety.Whenwe’reafewfeetaway,Sethlooksupfromhisconversationandsmilesatme.Smilesatme!Likenothingiswrongandthisisallnormalandfine.Dropyourwifeoffinahospitalforthementallyillanddisappearallthistimewithoutaword.Iforcemymouthintoaweakreturnsmilethatdoesn’treachmyeyes.ThenursebehindthedeskglancesoveratmelikeI’msoooolucky,andwhat’saguylikehimdoingwithanutlikeyou?Iwanttopatherontheheadandtellherhe’stherealnutinthisrelationship,butIignoreherandfocusonSeth,mydarlinghusband.Iwalkrightintohisarmslikenothingiswrong,andstaytherewhileheholdsme.Hiscologneisoverpowering,sharp…nottheonehewearswithme.I’msureIlooklikeafrightened,relievedwife,butasI’mpressedagainsthischest,smellinghisReginacologne,Iamnothingbutfurious.
“Well,I’llleaveyoutwotoit,”Dr.Steinbridgesays.“Remembertocallifyouhaveanyquestionsorconcerns.Mynumberisrightonthepaperworkthere.”Hepointstoaspotonthesheethe’sholdingbeforesettingitonthecounterinfrontofSeth.Weboththankhim,ourvoicesblendingtogetherasifwe’reaperfectlysynchronizedcouple.Wecertainlyhavebeeninthepast,mostlybymyeffort.
Sethhasbroughtmeachangeofclothes:sweatpantsandalong-sleeveT-shirt,andmyNikes.
“Yourmotherwenttoyourcondoandgrabbedafewthings,”hesays,handingthemtome.
Yourcondo,Ithink.Whywouldhesayyourandnotours?Igotothebathroomtochangeandfindthateverythingasidefromtheshoesistoobigforme.Iwalkout,tuggingself-consciouslyonmyshirt,whichisswallowingmeup.
“Youlookgreat,”Sethsayswhenheseesme.
SkinnylikeHannah!Ithink.Onourwayout,Sethgrabsmyhandandsqueezes,andforamoment,I’mlostinrememberingwhatit’sliketobelovedbyhim.Wakeup,Thursday!
Iwakeup.Isqueezebackandallowhimtoleadmetothecar,butIamawakeineverysenseoftheword.AmonthlockedinagrimyplacelikeQueenCountyhasmestaringaroundtheparkinglotinwonder.Free!IcanruninanydirectionandI’mfree.Iclimbintothepassengerseat,adjustingthevents,asismyhabit.Sethnoticesandsmiles.It’sallbacktonormalforhim—predictableThursday.I’mawake!WhenhewalksaroundthefrontofthecarIfumeandpracticehatinghim.It’snothiscar.Whatcaristhis?Everythingiswrong:thesmellisdifferent,theseats…butIdon’twanttoaskquestions.Hecouldaccusemeofhavingdelusionsagain.Whenhegetsin,Ismile,tuckingbothhandsbetweenmythighstokeepthemwarm.It’sraining,gentlesplashesonthewindshield,nottheviolentrainofthepastweek.Sethreachesoutandpatsmyknee.It’ssopaternal.
“Listen,Thursday…”hesays,onceweareonthehighway.“I’msorryaboutnotcomingtoseeyou—”
That’swhathe’ssorryfor?
“Youdidn’tcall,either,”Ipointout.
Sethglancesatme.“Ididn’tcall,either,”headmits.Casual,likeahusbandadmittingtoforgettingananniversary,notinstitutionalizinghiswife.Icouldcallhimoutforitrightnow,confronthimabouteverything,butsomethingisoff;it’sliketheairisdifferentbetweenus,filledwithtensestatic.AsIlookoutthewindow,wepassaminivanandalittlegirlwithredhairwavesatmefromherboosterseat.Idon’twavebackandIfeelguilty.Iliftmyhandtoolateandwaveattheemptyroad.Ifeelcrazyforthefirsttime.Ididn’tfeelcrazyinQueenCounty,butIfeelcrazynow.Funny.
“Iwas…angry,”Sethcontinues.He’schoosinghiswordscarefully.“Iblamemyselfforwhat’shappenedtoyou.IfI’ddonebetter…beenbetter…Ididn’tknowwhattosay.”
Angry?DoesSethevenknowwhatangeris?Hislifeiscraftedexactlythewayhewantsit,withthreewomentosatehim;whenoneofusdoessomethingtoupsethim,hesimplyburieshiscockandattentioninsomeoneelseuntilhisangermelts.
Ithinkofallthethingshecouldhavesaid,thingsIwanthimtosay.Somanythings…andthenithitsmethathedidn’tsaywhathewasangryabout.AngrythatIrattedhimouttothepsychward?AngrythatIaccusedhimofhittinghisyoung,pregnant,thirdwife?AngrythatI’dbeensneakingaroundtoseesaidwife?Orperhapsangryaboutallofit.OneaccusatorywordtoSethcouldcausehimtoturnthecararoundandtakemebacktoQueenCounty,whereDr.Steinbridgewouldbewaitingwithaslewofnewtreatmentsthatwouldleavemeslack-jawedanddrooling.Ihavetokeepcontrol,andthatmeanspretendingthatIdon’thaveany.
I’llgiveittohim—helooksgenuinelywounded.Mypoor,victimizedhusband.
Mybodytenses.
“Youliedtothedoctors,madeupstories…”
SoevenoutsideofthehospitalSethisholdingtohistheorythatI’mlying.Icanhardlybelieveit.Mytoescurlinvoluntarilyinmyshoes,andIstarestraightaheadatthecarsinfrontofus.I’mtheonlyonewhoknowsthetruthotherthanHannahandRegina.Sethhasmadesurethatmyfriendsandfamilyseemeasimbalancedanddelusional.HecouldsendmebacktoQueenCountyandnoonewouldbeonmyside.IrememberthelookonLauren’sfacethelasttimeshecametoseeme,andbitetheinsideofmycheek.Hannahisoutthere,Iknowexactlywheretofindher.AllIneedtodoisgotalktoher.Shereachedouttomethatlastday,leftamessageaskingforhelp.Keepyourmouthshutuntilyouhaveproof,Itellmyself.
“Iunderstand,”Isaysoftly.
Sethseemspleasedenoughwiththisthathedoesn’tfeeltheneedtopushtheconversationfurther.Hetapsthesteeringwheelwithanindexfinger.Hisbodylanguageisalldifferent;IfeellikeIdon’tevenknowhim.
“Areyouhungry?Yourmotherrestockedthefridge,butwecangrabsomething,too,ifyoupreferthat?”
I’mnothungry,butInodandmanageahalf-assedsmile.“Ijustwanttobehome.I’msureIcanfindsomethingthere.”
“Good,”hesays.“Wecanmakesomethingtogether—you’vebeenpromisingtogivemelessonsforyears…”Hisvoiceisoverlycheerful.Idon’tknowifthere’sanythingworsethansomeoneforcingcheerfulnessdownyourthroatwhenyoudon’tfeelabithappy.
GivingSethcookinglessonswasoneofthosethingswealwaysspokeaboutbutnevertrulyintendedtodo.It’slikesayingyou’dtakeballroomdancinglessons,orgocouplesskydiving.Imaginethat!andWouldn’tthatbefun!Seth’saboutasinterestedincookingasIaminbuildingahouse.
“Sure,”Isay,andtobemoreconvincing,morepliable,Iadd,“Thatwouldbefun.”
WhenwewalkintoourcondothirtyminuteslaterIampricklywithnerves.TheairsmellsfreshandInoticethathe’sleftawindowopeninthelivingroom.It’schillyinsideandIgotocloseit.Sethisatmyelbow,hovering,likeI’mgoingtosnapatanymoment.Ibumpintohimonmywaybackfromthewindowandweapologizelikestrangers.I’munsureifhewantstocatchmeifIfall,orreturnmetoQueenCounty.ThisiswhatIwanted—tobehome,yetIamcominghomeundercompletelydifferentcircumstances:myhusbandisnotthemanIthoughthewas,andIamnotthewomanIhavebeenpretendingtobe.Everythinglooksthesameandfeelshorribly,irrevocablydifferent.
ThefirstthingIdoistakeashower:along,hot,soapyshower.IlathertheshampooinmyhairusingdoublewhatInormallyuse,andIthinkofSusan.Wehadn’texchangedinformation,butI’dliketofindheroneday,checkonher.Wecouldmeetforcoffeeandpretendwedidn’tmeetinamentalfacility.WhenIstepoutontomybathrug,myfingersareshriveled.Ipressthewrinkledpadstogether,chewingonmybottomlip.I’manxious,butforthefirsttimeinalongtime,Ifeelclean.Iwrapmyselfinmyfurryrobe,takeadeepbreathandstepoutofthebathroom,steamtrailingbehindme.
“I’mgoingtostayherewithyouforawhile,”Sethsays.
Awhile?Whatdoes“awhile”mean?Ifhe’dsaidthosewordstomejustamonthago,I’dbesothrilledI’dprobablythrowmyselfathim,butnowIjuststare.Twodays?Threedays?Hispresencealreadyfeelsoppressiveandit’sonlybeenafewhours.MyhomefeelslessprivatethanthehospitalIjustleft.Hashegonethroughmythings?Mydrawerslookrumpled,likesomeonewithunpracticedhandshasbeenshiftingthingsabout.SethandIhavealwaysrespectedeachother’sprivacy,butnowthatIknowsomethingabouthim,I’msureheneedstoknowthingsaboutme.
“Whataboutwork?”
“You’remoreimportantthanwork.You’remypriority,Thursday.Listen,”hesays,takingmyhands.Hishandsfeelwrong—awkward.HasitbeensolongthatIdon’trecognizethefeelofthemanymore?
“IknowI’vefailedyou.IrealizethatI’veputthingsbeforeyou.Iwanttomakethingsrightbetweenus.Workonourrelationship.”
InodlikethisisexactlywhatIwanttohear.Forcingasmile,Itwistmywethairontopofmyhead.I’mascasualandcompliantastheoldThursday.Skinnier,though!Seth’sprettylittlefuckdoll.
“I’llmakeussomethingtoeat.Youhungry?”Ineedthedistraction,IneedtothinkwithoutSethwatchingme,butthenhestandsup,blockingmywaytothekitchen.Myheartleapsasadrenalinerushesthroughmybody.Ifhetriesanything,I’mready,I’llfighthim.Itakeafullbreath,fillingmylungstocapacity,andthenIsmile.It’sthemostgenuinesmileI’vegivenanyoneinweeks.
“No,letme,”hesays.“Yourest.”
Iexhale,unclenchingmyfistsbeneaththesleevesofmyrobe.Iextendmyfingersstraightout,tryingtorelax.Sethstrollsintothekitchen,glancingaroundsheepishly.EveninmycurrentsituationIwanttolaughathisuncertainty.Justlikemyfather.Hehasnoideawhathe’sdoing.IstandfrozentothespotandthenIcallout,“I’mnotsick,ortired,orbroken.”
Hepeekshisheadaroundthedoorway.“MaybeIshouldaskyourmothertocome…”
Hesaysitinsuchanormal,cheerfulway,exceptIdon’twantmymotherhere.Andsincewhendidmyhusbandcallmymotherforbackup?She’dfussandcluckandlookatmewithdisappointedeyes,judgingmymarriage.Iwalkintothekitchen,takinghimin.He’sstandinginfrontoftheopenfridge,apackageofchickenbreastsinhishand.Hehasnoideawhattodowithit.Itakeitfromhim.
“Scoot,”Isay.Ibobmyheadtowardthekitchendoorway,indicatingthatheneedstoleave.
HeopenshismouthandIcuthimoff.“Idon’tmind.Iwanttokeepbusy.”
Thatseemstoappeasehim.Heturnstowardthelivingroom,aweakshrugmovinghisshoulders.Thisistheessenceofhim;hemakesabigshowofeffort.It’salwaysgivenmetheillusionthathe’strying,workinghardtopleaseme;butintheendit’sjustanactandI’mtheonewhodoestheheavylifting.Ipullapanfromthecabinet,cutupanonionandfreshgarlicandsettheminthehotoliveoil.Ihatehim.Whenthechickenissizzlinginthepan,Ileanbackagainstthecounter,foldingmyarmsacrossmychest.Icanhearthetelevisionplayingfromthelivingroom,thenews.AndthenIrealizewhat’shappening:thingsarereturningtonormal.SethistryingtomakeeverythingfeellikeitusedtoinhopesthatIwillslipintotheroleasseamlesslyasIalwaysdo.
Isinkontothefloor,notsurewhattodowithmyself.Ihavetogetoutofhere.
TWENTY-FOUR
I’mnotallowedtodrink,notonmymedication.Itmakesthenextfourdaysunbearable,asSethandIsitonthecouchandwatchhourafterhourofsitcoms,himononesideofthecouch,meontheother.Thespacebetweenusiswideningeveryday.Ifantasizeaboutthesharptangofvodkaslidingdownmythroat,burningsogood.Thewayitwouldfirstheatmybellyandthenrollslowlyintomyveins,settlingsomewhereinmyheadandmakingmefeellightandflimsy.WhendidIstartdrinkingsomuch?WhenSethandIfirstmetIdidn’ttouchalcohol.Maybeitwasseeingmysisterconsistentlydrunkandhighthatturnedmeoffthestuff,butatsomepointIpickedupthebottleandneverputitdown.
Sethdoesn’tdrink—mercysobriety.HegaveupdrinkingwhenIwaspregnant,too.Itmakesmewonderifheeverlikeddrinkingorifhejustreserveditforourtimetogether.Sexy,dangerousSeth.Hewasplayingarolewithme,livingoutafantasy.
Theorangebottlesthatdictatemylifesitnexttomyelectrickettleinthekitchen,alineofsentries.ItwasSeth’sideatoplacethemthere.
“Whynotinthebathroom?”IcomplainedwhenI’dfirstseenthem.
“Soyouwon’tforget,”he’dreplied.
Butreally,heputthemtheretoremindmeandanyoneelsewhocomesoverthatI’msick.EverytimeIwalkintothekitchentogetwaterorasnack,theycatchmyeye,theirlittlewhitelabelsglaring.
Mymotherstopsbywithherminestronesoup.Soup—likeIhaveaheadcold.Icouldlaugh,butIsmileandtakemy“sick”soup.Whenshecatchessightofthebottles,herfacevisiblypalesandsheturnsawayandpretendsshehasn’tseenthem.Peopletreatbeingsickinthebodyasfine,normal,empathy-worthy;they’llbringyousoupandmedicine,andpressthebackoftheirhandtoyourforehead.Butiftheythinkyou’resickinthemind,it’sdifferent.It’smostlyyourfault—Isay“mostly”becausepeoplehavebeentoldagainandagainthatmentalillnessisn’tachoice—it’schemical.
“I’msorryIwasn’therewhenyougotoutofthehospital,”shesays.“DidDaddytellyouthatIwasvisitingAuntKelinFlorida?”
“Daddy?Hedoesn’ttalktome.He’sashamed.”
Shestaresatmeoddly.“He’strying.Honestly,Thursday,sometimesyoucanbesoselfish.”I’mtheselfishone?Wherewasmyfather?Ifhecared,wherewashe?
Themedicationmakesmefeelthick-limbedandsloppy.Sethdisappearsforafewdays,presumablytogobacktoPortlandtoseetheothers.Mymotherstayswithme,dolingoutpillseachmorningandeachnight.Igetasleepingpillatnight—theonlypillI’mgratefulfor.SleepistheonlytimeIrestfromthereelofworrisomethoughtsthatruninacontinuousstreamthroughmymind.Planning,planning,planning…
Thenexttimemymothercomes,myfathercomeswithher.I’msurprisedtoseehim.IntheyearsI’velivedinthecondo,myfatherhasonlybeentovisitahandfuloftimes.He’snotthetypetodothevisiting,mymotheroncesaid.He’sthetypetobevisited.Ichalkedthatuptomyfather’ssenseofself-importance;akinginhisownmind,hissubjectscametohim.Istandasideastheyshufflein,wonderingifSethorchestratedtheirvisit.Heleftnottenminutesago,sayingheneededtospendafewhoursintheSeattleoffice.I’dbarelygottendressedwhenthedoorbellrang.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”ThewordsareoutofmymouthbeforeIcanarrangetheminanicerway.Myfatherfrownslikehe’snotsurehimself.
“Really,Thursday.Whatawaytoshowappreciation,”mymothersays.Shemarchestowardthelivingroom,herpurseswingingonherarmlikealittledesignermonkey.MyfatherandIexchangeanawkwardsmilebeforepickingupthepaceandfollowingher.I’macutelyawareofhispresenceaswemovethroughthehallway,madeuncomfortablebyit.Heshouldn’tbehereandIshouldn’thavebeeninthenuthouse,webothknowthisabouteachother.IhaveasourtasteinmymouthasIsitinthechairoppositethem.Parentsareemotionalprisonguards,alwaysreadywiththeirsternlooksandTasers.
“Yourfatherhasbeenworriedsick.”
Shereachesintoherpurseandpullsoutatissue,whichshedabsdelicatelytohernosewhileIlookatmyfather,whoisstaringatmeuncomfortably.
“Icanseethat,”Isay.
I’meagertoberidofthem.IhavethingsIneedtodo.Idecidetogetdowntobusiness.
“DidSethaskyoutocome?”
Mymotherlooksaffronted.“Ofcoursenot,”shesays.“Whywouldyouthinkthat?”
Iopenandclosemymouth.Ican’tverywellaccusehimofkeepingmeprisoner—thatwouldmakemesoundcrazy.Iarrangesomebullshitabouthimbeingworriedaboutmeonthetipofmytonguebutthenmyfatherbeatsmetoit,speakingfirst.
“Thursday…”Theexpressionhe’swearingisthesameoneheusedonmysisterandmeaschildren.Idon’tknowwhethertobuckledownforthetalking-toofalifetimeortobeoffendedthathestillthinksI’mtwelve.“EnoughwiththisSethbusiness.”Heslicestheairwithhishand,palmdownlikehe’schoppingthe“Sethbusiness”inhalf.“Allofthatneedstobeputbehindyou.Youneedtomoveforward.”
“Definitely,”Isay.
“Youshouldjoinagym,”mymothersuggests.
“Iwill.”Inod.
“Well,then…”Myfathersitsup.Hisjobisdone.Heisfreetogohomeandwatchthenews,andeatthemealsmymotherserveshim.
“I’mreallytired,”Ioffer.
Myfatherlooksrelieved.“Yougoontobed,then,”hesays.“Weloveyou.”
It’salie.Ihatehim.
Iseethemtothedoor,alreadyformulatingwhatI’mgoingtodoassoonasthelocklatchesbehindthem.CallHannah…packabag…leave.CallHannah…packabag…leave.ButIdon’tevenmakeittothebedroomtolookformyphonewhenSethiswalkingthroughthedoor.HehasthatHoney,I’mhome!lookabouthim.Swoopingintorescuemefrommyself.IstraightenupwhereI’mbentoverthenightstand,silentlycursingmyselffornotgettingridofmyparentssooner.
“Whatareyouupto?”Itwouldbesuchanormalquestionifnotforeverythingthat’stranspiredthelastfewweeks.Nowhistonefrightensme.
“Lookingformycortisonecream.”Ismile.“Ithinkthemedicationisgivingmearash.”Iscratchatmyarmabsently.
“Wouldn’titbeinthemedicinecabinet?”
“Ihaditnexttothebedafewmonthsago,butmaybe…”Ilooktowardthebathroom,stillscratching.
“I’llgetitforyou.”HistoneisbrightbutIseethebarelyperceptibleshiftinhiseyes.He’swalkingdifferently:hisstepsstiffer,hisshouldersheldatarigidangle.Whatareyouupto?MyshiverisdelayedasIwatchhimsteptowardthebathroom,flickingonthelight.Hecomesbackwiththecreamafewsecondslater.Ipasteasmileontomyface,likeI’mgrateful…relieved.It’sasmileIwouldhavewornmonthsagoandmeantit.Imakeashowofuncappingthetubeandrubbingthecreamonmyarm.Sethleansintoexaminethespot.Inoticeforthefirsttimehowmuchhishairisgraying.Thestressofthreewivesandthestressofkeepingupwithhisliesmustbetakingatollonhim.He’sputonweight,too.“Idon’tseeanything,”hesays.
“It’sitchy.”Mywordssoundflateventomyownears.
Hestraightensupandmeetsmyeyes.“Ididn’tsayitwasn’t.”
WestandtherelikethatforwhatseemslikeminutesbutIknowisonlyafewseconds,staringeachotherdown.
“Mymother—”Istarttotellhimthatshewasherewithmyfather.Seth’seyesareonmyarmagain.
“Shesaidshe’dbebacktomorrow.Shewillstaywithyouthen,”hesayswithoutlookingup.
“Idon’tneedababysitter,”Isay.“I’mfine.”
Heturnsawayforthefirsttime.“Wecareaboutyou,Thursday.Untilyou’rewellagain,someonewillbeheretostaywithyou.”
Ihavetogetoutofhere.Ihavetogo.
Wegotobedatthesametime—couple’sbedtime—butSethdoesn’tsleepinthebedwithme.Hesleepsonthesofa,thetelevisionplayingallnight.It’stheonlytimeI’maloneandI’mgratefultohavethebedtomyself.It’salltoomuch,thispretending.WhenIgotothebathroomheknocksonthedoorandasksifI’mallright.Onmyfifthdayhome,Sethgivesmemyphoneback—givesmyphonebacklikeI’machildwhoneedspermission.Therearetextsfrommybosswishingmeaspeedyrecoveryandtellingmethatmyshiftshavebeencovered,textsfromLaurenbeforeshefoundoutwhereIwasandtextsfromAnnafromfourdaysprioraskingwhenwecouldchatnext.IsendaquicktexttoAnnaapologizingforbeingbusyandtellherI’llcallsoon.
WhenIlookforthetextsfromHannah,Ifindthatthey’vebeendeleted,alongwithhernumber.
“Myvoicemailsareempty,”Isaycasually.“Didyoudeletethem?”
Helooksupfromthebookhe’sreading,athrillerhechosefrommycollection.He’snotturnedapageinfiveminutes.Heshakeshishead,hismouthdippingatthecornersasheglancesupatme.“No.”
That’sit?No?Hegoesbackto“reading”hisbook,buthiseyesaren’tmoving.He’swatchingme.Isetthephonedown,hummingasImovethingsaroundonmylittledesk,pretendingtoswipeatthedust.Iamahappywife.Ifeelsafeandsecurewithmyhusbandhere.Whenhelooksatmeagain,IsmileasIstraightenastackofbills,makingsuretheircornersareneat.Whatareyouupto,youfuckingbastard?
Myfingersitchformylaptop,tosearchHannah’snamelikeIdidthatfirsttime.It’sbeensittingonmydesk,chargingsincethelasttimeIusedit.Mylaptopispasswordprotected,sothere’snowaySethcouldhaveguessedmypasswordandwipedeverythingfromthere,too.
ButthetruthisI’mscared.IsawthelookinhiseyesthedayIfellandknockedmyselfoutinthekitchen.AndHannah—hehitHannah.God,Idon’tevenknowifshe’sokay.
Ibidemytime.Onthesixthnight,IcrushuponeofmysleepingpillswhileI’mheatingthesouponthestove.SethistryingtofindussomethingtowatchonTV,sincewe’vealreadyworkedourwaythroughtwoseasonsofsomemindlessrealityshow.
Iladleoutthesoupandstirthepowderintohisbowlofminestrone,thenaddhotsauce—justthewayhelikesit.WemakeitthroughoneepisodeofFriendsbeforehenodsoffonthecouch,hismouthhangingopenandhisheadthrownbackashesnores.Isayhisname—“Seth…”andthen,“Seth…?”alittlelouder.Whenhedoesn’trespondafterahardpokeonthearm,Istandupcarefully,myheartpounding.Thecarpetcushionsmystepsbutstilltheysoundlikeanelephantstampede.Whatwouldhedoifhecaughtme?I’venevergonethroughhisphonebefore.Therewerenosetrulesaboutprivacyotherthaninregardtothewives.Ijustneverlookedthroughhisthingsandheneverlookedthoughmine.Thatis,untilhewentthroughittodeleteHannah’stexts.Itisanewageinourmarriage.
Hisphonesitsfacedownonthecoffeetable.Itrytorememberifthatisnormal,ifhe’sdonethisbefore.Butno—hisphoneisalwaysfaceup,openandwillinglyexposed.Afriendincollegeoncetoldmeabouthercheatingboyfriend,whoshecaughtalwaysputtinghisphonefacedown.Ishouldhaveknown,she’dsaid.That’ssuchaclearindicator.ButSethisn’texactlycheating,ishe?Hedoesn’twantmetoseetheirnamespopuponhisscreen.He’sbusytryingtoconvincemethattheydon’texist.Ireachforhisphone,nevertakingmyeyesfromhisface.ThereisacommercialonTVaboutawomanwithcrocodileskin,whensheusestheirlotionshebecomesmagicallysmooth.SherunsherfingersacrossherarmandsmilesatmeconvincinglyasItypeinSeth’spassword.
Hispasswordhasalwaysbeenthesamethingsincewemet,somethinghorriblypredictableI’dseenhimtypeintohisphoneahundredtimes.I’msurprisedwhenhisscreenlightsupandI’mgivenaccesstohishomescreen.Ofcoursehehasn’tchangedit—he’sincontrolofthesituation,he’sincontrolofme.HisphoneneverleaveshissideandIam,forthemostpart,supervisedeveryminuteoftheday.Orhewantsmetosee.IgofirsttohiscontactsandsearchHannah’sandRegina’snames.Nothingcomesup,nothing.MyhusbanddoesnotknowasingleHannahorRegina.Butjustafewweeksagowe’dbeendrinkingcideratthemarketwhenRegina’snamehadpoppeduponhisphone:acallabouttheirdog.Ihadn’timaginedthat.Histextmessagesarevoidofanythinginteresting:mymother,mysistercheckingonhowIam,work,clients,contractors…me.Hisvoicemailsarethesameandsoishisemail.
I’venotmovedfromthespotwhereI’mstanding,butI’mbreathinghard.He’sclearedeverything.Hewantedmetofindthisandsee…nothing.Isethisphonebackonthecoffeetable,carefultopositionitjustthewayhehadit,thenIcreepovertomylaptop.Butitwon’tturnon.ThepowerbuttonstaysstubbornlydarkevenwhenIholditdown.He’sdonesomethingtoit.Iwipemysweatypalmsonmypants;myhandsareshakingasIpunchatthebuttononelasttime.Idon’tknowifI’mangryorafraid.Whywouldhedothis?Ormaybeitwasn’thim.Computersstopworkingallthetime.Two…three…four…itdoesn’tturnon.No,Iboughtthiscomputerjustayearago.Itwasfinebefore…beforeItoldmyhusbandthatI’dfoundhisotherwife,thatis.
IfindmyphoneinarushtotextLoandtellherwhat’shappened.MythoughtscomeoutinburstsasIglanceovermyshouldertoseeifSethhasstirredinhissleep.Isendonetextafteranotheruntiltherearedozensoflittlebluebubblesonmyscreen.ItlooksmanicandIimmediatelyregretsendingthem.IdeleteeachoneincaseSethlooksatmyphone,andthenwaitforhertotextmeback,forthebubbletoappeartoacknowledgethatshe’sseenwhatI’vesent,butitdoesn’tcome.
Sethhashiddenmycarkeysandwallet.It’sjustpastsevenwhenIgrabachangeofclothesanddigoutthesparecarkeyfobIkeephiddeninthejunkdrawer.I’llneedcash.IbitehardonmylipasIslidethecrisphundreddollarbillfromhiswallet.Hekeepsanotherfivehundredinthebreadboxforemergencies.Mywalktothekitchenisalongone,andIagonizeoverwhatI’lldoifthemoneyisgone,butwhenIliftthelid,thefirstthingIseeisthewadofcash,cello-wrappedinthecornerandsittingnexttoonelonelyraisin.Istuffanarmfulofnecessititesintoabagand,withSethstillslumberingonthesofa,Iheadforthedoor.Ifreezewhenthedoorchimes,thenoisesoloudinmyownearsI’mconvincedithaswokeneveryoneinthebuilding.Mybodytenses;Seth’shandswouldbeonmeatanymoment,pullingmeback.Iwhipmyheadaroundtoseehowcloseheis,readytosprintawaybeforehegetsagrip,butwhenmyeyessearchtheroom,Iseehimstillslumpedacrossthesofainsleep.
Idon’treallyknowhowlongI’llbegone.IfIrunoutofcashIcouldcallAnna,askherforsomemoney,butshe’dinsistoncomingouthereandthenI’dhavetoexplaineverything.No…think…therehastobeanotherway.Andthenitcomestome.Iheadtotheelevator,mystomachinmythroat.Whatifhewokeup?Whatwouldhedotostopme?Ifhetriedtorestrainme,wouldIbeabletogetaway?Icouldscream,andperhapsaneighborwouldcometohelp.Ijabattheelevatorbutton,imaginingeveryterriblethingthatcouldgowrong.Hurry,hurry…ItwilltakehimabittofigureoutwhereI’mgoing.He’llcheckwithmymotherandAnnafirst,perhapsthehospitaltoseeifanyone’sheardfromme.Thatwillbuymeafewhours.Asalastresort,he’llassumeIwenttoseeHannah,butbythattimeI’llalreadybethere.Astheelevatorjarstolife,itoccurstomethatSethmayhaveplacedatrackingdeviceonmyphone.Iwouldn’tputitpasthim,wouldI?Thereareappsforthat.Phonelocators.Iholdthephoneinmypalmandstaredownatit.Sethisaplanner,Sethleavesnocornerunswept.Whenthedoorsopen,IhesitateonlyforamomentbeforeIdropitontheflooroftheelevatorandstepout.
TWENTY-FIVE
Therearenewplantersinfrontofthehouse,greatbigceramicthingsthatlookliketheyweighahundredpoundseach.IwonderifSethhauledthemfromthecartothepath,positionedthemforherasshestoodafewfeetaway,callingoutinstructions.Ahappyfamily.She’splantedbrightorangeandyellowcalendulasinthem.Theysitneatlyinthesoil,newtotheneighborhoodandstilltameintheirgrowth.
Iwonderwhatelsehaschanged,ifshe’llbeshowingwhensheopensthedoor,holdingherstomachwhileshetalkstome.IhadahabitofdoingthatevenbeforeIwasshowing,alwaysconscientiousofthelifegrowinginsideofme.Imakemywaypasttheplantersandupthepaththatleadstothefrontdoor.IcanheartheTVoninside,ashowwithalaughtrack.Good,thatmeansshe’shome.
Ipausebeforeringingthebell.Ileftthehouseinahurryandfailedtoevensmoothmyhairinthecarbeforerushingout.Oh,well.Toolatenow.Iringthebellandstandback.Aminutelater,Ihearfootstepsandthentheclickofthelock.Thedoorsuctionsopenandthesmellofcinnamontangleswiththenightair.
HannahisstandingbarefootinthedoorwaylookingverydifferentthanthelasttimeIsawher.She’swearingpajamapantsandatanktop,herhairpulledbackinalowponytail.I’mrelievedtoseeher,andshelookswell.Hereyebrowspullupwhensheseesme,herheadtiltingeversoslightlytotheside.Whythatface?Ithink.ButthenI’msuddenlyself-consciousaboutmyclothes,myhair.IprobablylookasunhingedasIfeel.Hannah—eversoshinyandputtogether,likeabeautifulchinapiece.
“I—Youleftamessage—Ididn’tknowifyouwereokay.Youlookgreat!”andthenwhenshestaresatmeoddly,Iadd,“Ihaven’thadmyphone…”
Myvoicecatchesinmythroat.Somethingisn’tright.Hannah’sfaceispolite,butstony.Theonlyindicationthatshe’sheardmeistheslightwideningofhereyes,thewhitesflashingbeforeherlidsdrop,sleepyandlow,onceagain.
“I’msorry,”shesays.“I’mnotsureIunderstand.Whoareyouherefor?”
“You…”Isaysoftly.“I’mhereforyou.”Myvoiceisawisp,unsureandquicklyevaporated.Irightmyface,tryingtolookcertain.
Sheliftsahandandtouchesitlightlytothespotbelowhercollarbone.She’sconfused,blinkinghard.“Idon’tknowyou,”shesays.“Doyouhavethewronghouse?”Shelookspastmetothestreet,asiftoseeifanyoneiswaitingforme,orifIamalone.“Whathousenumberareyoulookingfor?Iknowmostofthepeopleonthisstreet,”sheaskshelpfully.
MymouthopensandclosesandIfeelarushofcoldpricklingmyskinfrommynecktomyheels.Mybreathingspikesandmyeyelidsgrowwarm.
“Hannah…?”Itryonelasttime.
Sheshakesherhead.“I’msorry…”Hervoiceisfirmernow;shewantstogetbacktoherlaughtrackshow.
“I—”Ilookaround,upthestreetanddown.There’snooneoutside,justtheneatexteriorsofthehouses,windowslitbywarm,yellowlight.Ifeellockedout,isolatedinsideofmyself.Thewarm,yellowlightisnotforme,it’sforotherpeople.Itakeastepback.
“It’sme,Thursday,”Isay.“We’reboth…I’mmarriedtoSeth,too.”
Hereyebrowsdrawtogetherandsheglancesbehindherintothehouse.
“I’msorry,Ithinkthere’sbeenamistake.Letmegetmyhusband,maybehecanhelpyou…”
She’sturningaround,callingtosomeoneinside.That’swhenInoticethenthatherhairisn’ttiedbackinalowponytaillikeIthought;rather,it’scroppedshort—apixiecut.
“Yourhair,”Isay.“Didyoucutitrecently?”Inoticeherbelly,too,theflatness.Ialmostliftahandtomyowninconfusion.
Shelooksafraidnow,hereyesdartingaroundforhelp.Sheliftsahandtotouchit,rightatthenapeofherneck.
“Ihopeyoufindwhoyou’relookingfor,”shesays,andthenshutsthedoorinmyface.ThesmellofcinnamoniscutoffandI’mleftwiththesmellofdampearthandrottingleaves.
Istumbleback,turningaroundhalfwaydownthepathandrunningacrossthestreettomyparkedcar.AsIfumblewiththedoor,Iturnbacktolookatthehouse,andseeashiftofthedrapesonthesecondfloor,likesomeoneispeekingout.Her—Hannah.Butwhyissheclaimingnottoknowme?Whatishappening?Iclimbintothecarandrestmyforeheadagainstthesteeringwheel,mybreathhissingfrommylipsinsoundlessheaves.Thisiscrazy,Ifeelcrazy.ThethoughtissouncomfortablethatIquicklyturnthecaronanddriveawayfromthehouse.I’mafraidshewillcallthepolice.HowwouldIexplain?
Afterpullingupanaddressonmycar’sGPS,Iheadforthefreeway.Sethwouldcheckthelargerhotelsfirst—thehotelswithrobesandaminibar.He’dneverconsideranythingelsebecausehemarriedawomanwhoprefersthefinerthingsinlife.
MyheadisachingandIrealizeIhavenothingtoeaseitwith;mytraveltubeofaspirinisinthepurseSethhid.Forthefirsttimeindaysmythoughtsaresharpandclear—myheadacheisprobablyaresultofmybodycomingdownfromthedrugsIonlypretendedtotakethelastfewdays.Ithinkoftheorangebottlesnexttothekettle,thebittertasteofthemastheymeltedtopasteonmytongue.Theyweresupposedtohelp,buttheymademefeelcrazy,suffocatingmythoughts,makingmeunsureofmyself.HadthatbeenwhatSethwanted?Tomakemedoubtmyselfandtrusthiminstead?
Tenminuteslater,thecar’sGPStakesmedownalongdirtroad.It’sdark,butIknowthattomyleftandthroughaheavycopseoftreesisalake.Inthedaytime,thelakeisdottedwithJetSkisandpaddleboarders—aweekendspotforcollegestudentsandfamilies.TheroadendsandIputthecarinPark.Thehouseinfrontofmeisdark,largewindowsloominglikeholloweyes.Igrabmybagfromthepassengerseatandstepoutofthecar.Please,God,letthiswork,IthinkasIheadforthehouse.Thehouseistwostories,surroundedbywoodsanddownalongwindingdriveway.It’saboxydesignthatwaspopularinthesixties.ThereisstillconstructionequipmentlyingaboutandIhavetosidestepalargemetalpipewhenIgetoutofthecar.Imakemywayacrossthecurveddriveway,myshoescrunchingonthegravel.ThelockboxhangsfromthefrontdoorandIkneelinfrontofit,wishingI’dthoughttobringaflashlight.ThecodeisthesameforallofSeth’shouses;he’dtoldmethatoncewhenweweredatingandhe’dtakenmetoseeahousehewasbuildinginSeattle.We’dwanderedaroundtheten-thousand-square-footmansion—meoohingandahhingateverythinginside—andthenwe’dhadsexontheislandinthekitchen.
Itypethenumbersintothelockbox,prayingSethhasn’tchangedthecode.ItopenswithasatisfyingclickandIshakethekeyintomyhand.Islideitintothekeyhole,thedooropensandIstepinside.Istarearound,feelingadeepsenseofaccomplishment.I’mhidinginplainsight.Theairsmellslikecigarettesanddamptowels,soIbreathethroughmymouthasIwalkslowlyintothehouse,myeyesdartingaround.TheCottonmouthhouse:sourceofendlessheadaches.It’son66CottonmouthRoad,whichiswhySethnicknameditthesnakehouse.Fourmonthsago,theownerofthehousehadastrokeandwashospitalized.Hisson,notknowingwhatthefateofhisfatherwouldbeandunwillingtofootthebillhimself,puttheprojectonholdindefinitely.Sethhasbeenfrustratedbythewholeordealandhascomplainedaboutitoften,whichiswhyIhaveallthedetailsmemorized.Iopenthedrapes,lettingdullyellowmoonlightstreamintothesmallentryspace.Thecarpetisoverworked,aonceroyalbluenowfadedtoapatchydenim.It’srolledupinplaceswherethecontractorshadstartedworkonthefloors.Igazeoutofthewindowandupatthenightsky.Ifthesunwereout,theskywouldbeagoosegray,thecloudsoppressivelyheavy.Time—thisplacehashadsomuchtimetocrack,curlandfade.Iwalkovertothetinyentrywaybathroomandriskturningonthelight.IsquatasIpee,scrunchingmynoseatthestalesmellcomingfromthedrain.ThereareruststainsintheoutdatedsinkandagratingnoisewhenIturnthetapoff.WhenIliftmyeyestothemirror,Iseepale,washed-outskin,darkmoonsinthescoopsbeneathmyeyes.NowonderHannahhadlookedsoalarmedwhensheopenedthedoor.
Iwanderupstairsandfindabedroom.Thereisfloralpaperonthewalls,peelingatthecorners,andanoldbedispushedagainstawall.Isitonthecornerofthebed,themattressslopingbeneathme.WhatamIdoinghere?WasIwrongincoming?ThewayHannahlookedatme,likeshedidn’tknowwhoIwas.HadSethwarnedher…?Threatenedher…?Or…God.Irunmyhandsthroughmyhair,catchthesnagsandflinchatthepainitcausesbehindmyeyes.Or—hadsheneverseenmebefore?Couldapersonmakeanentirerelationshipup?Inadifferentcase,I’dcallmydoctor,askhimwhathethinks,butIdon’ttrustmydoctor,ormyhusband,ormyself.Sethhasgottentoallofus.
Myheadstillaches.Ilowermyselfbackwardandrollontomyside,pullingmykneesuptomychest.Justashortnap.UntiltheheadachesubsidesandIcanthinkclearly.
WhenIwakeup,it’smorning.Idon’tknowwhattimeitis.Sleephasbecomeaconfusingthinginthelastmonths—amixture,I’msure,ofmychanginglocationsandmedications.Isitupandsearchtheroomforaclock,butthewallsarebareexceptforthewarpedfloralpaper.HasSethwokenupyet?Hashestartedmakingcallstofindme?Ihadn’tthoughtaboutatrackeronmycar,butthatseemsextreme.Sethwouldn’t…wouldhe?
Itakeashowerinthemasterbathroom,listeningtotheclankofthepipesastheyaccommodatethelukewarmwaterthatspraysthroughtheshowerhead.ThetowelIfindisroughandscratchy,andIdropitbeforeI’mfullydryandquicklypullmyclothesovermydampskin.Inmyhaste,I’donlybroughtjeansandasweater.Theonce-clingysweaternowdrapeslooselyonme.Oh,well,it’llhavetodo.Ishrugtheinsecurityaway,pullingonmyConverseandsnatchingupmykeysbeforeheadingforthedoor.
It’stimetotalktoRegina.
TWENTY-SIX
AdeleplaysontheradioasInavigatethroughtheearly-morningtraffic.Ifeelbettertoday,morelikemyself.IturnupthevolumeandatthesametimeIslamonthebreaks.TheworktruckIalmostcollidedwithsurgesforwardanotherfewfeetandIfollowmorecautiouslythistime.Adele’svoiceissomelancholythatIsuddenlyfeelthefulllonelinessofmysituation.WhatamIdoinghere?MaybeIamcrazy.Ipullintotheparkinglotabruptly,cuttingAdeleoffasIkilltheignition.No,SethisaliarandIhavetofindawaytoproveit.WhathappenedwithHannahhasbeenreplayinginmymindallmorning.Igetaknotinmystomachrememberingthevacancyinhereyeswhenshelookedatme.SomethingiswrongandIneedtogettothebottomofit.ReachingouttoReginaistheonlyoptionIcanthinkof.IthinkaboutthedatingprofileIsetupforWillMoffit.It’sbeenagessinceI’vecheckeditandIwonderifReginathinkshe’sblownheroff.
TheofficesofMarkel&Abelarelocatedinathree-storywhitestonebuildingthatfacesasmalllake.Theysharethebuildingwithatitlecompanyandapediatrician’soffice.Ipeerintocarwindowsastheydriveby,headingintotheundergroundgaragebeneaththebuilding.OneofthemcouldbeRegina.Iconsidercorneringherinthegarage,butthatwouldaccomplishlittleexceptmakingmeappearunhinged.No,Ineedtodothistherightway,thewayI’veplanned.Itellmyselfthis,butrightbeforeIgetoutofthecarIstarttocry.They’remostlynumbtears;Ican’tpinpointifI’mscared,orsad,orangry,buttheywon’tstopcoming.Icatchthemonthebackofmyhand,dryingitonmyjeans.
Somethingfeelswrong,butIdon’tknowwhat.Idrymyeyesforthefinaltimeandswipelipglossovermylips,apoorattempttolooklikeawomannotfallingapart.WhenIpushopenthedoorsofthebuildingIcanhearthesquealofatoddlerandthepoundingoflittlefeet.Asecondlater,atinyblondhumancomesbarrelingaroundthecorner,hisexhausted-lookingmotherinfastpursuit.
“Sorry,”shesays,scoopinghimupasheknocksintome.Hecuddlesintoherarms,lookingpleasedwithhimself,anddipshisheadtohershoulder.Apangofsomethinginmychest—butIpushitaway,smilingatherassheadjustshimonherhipandcarrieshimbacktowardthedoctor’soffice.
Ialmostfollowthemjusttoseewhatwillhappen,thenrememberwhyI’mhere.Iclimbthestairstothesecondfloor,slowingasIeyetheglassdoors.Behindthemisalargesittingareaflankedwithbrownleathercouches,elegantandmasculine.Totherearoftheroom,anddirectlyinmylineofsight,isthereceptionist’sdesk.Awomanwithatopknotandglasseshasaphonepressedtoherearasshetypessomethingintoacomputer.Ifeeloverlyconsciousaboutmytoo-bigsweaterandscruffyjeans.IwishI’dbroughtsomethingmoreappropriate.
Pushingthroughthedoors,Iwalkdirectlytoreceptionandgreetherwithasmilejustashercallends.
“Welcome,”shesayswithpracticedprofessionalism.“HowcanIhelpyou?”
“Ihaveanappointment,”Isay.“WithReginaCoele.”Ipause,tryingtorecallthenameIusedwhenmakingtheappointment.Itfeelslikeagesago,notjustweeks.“I’mLaurenBrian.”Iclaspmyhandsatmywaistandtrytolookbored.Shebrieflyglancesupatmebeforetypingsomethingintothecomputer.
“Iseethatyoumissedyourappointmentlastweek,Mrs.Brian.”Shefrowns.“Wedon’thaveanythingscheduledforyoutoday.”Shelooksatmeexpectantly.
IliftahandtomyforeheadandarrangemyfaceintowhatIhopeisaperplexedexpression.“I…I…”Istutter.TearsfillmyeyesasIlockmygazewithhers.I’dbeenlockedawayinQueenCounty,eatingmyJell-OandstaringatSusan’slackofeyelashesonthedayofmyappointment.Idon’thavetoactflustered,sinceIalreadyam.Liftingahandtomyface,Idropitabruptly.
“Thingshavejustbeenso…I’mgettingdivorced,”Isay.“Imusthavemixedthingsup…”
Iseehersoften.
“Givemeaminute.”Shestandsanddisappearsdownacorridor,presumablywherethelawyerskeeptheiroffices.Ilookaroundthewaitingarea,stillrelativelyemptythisearlyintheday.Anolderwomansitsinthefarcorner,aStarbuckscupinonehandandacopyofGoodHousekeepingintheother.Iperchontheedgeofachairclosesttothereceptiondesk,myfingerscrossedandmylegbouncinginsyncwithmynerves.
Shereturnsafewminuteslaterandslidesintoherseat.Ican’treadherexpression.
“Mrs.Brian,Ms.Coelehasofferedtoskipherlunchifyou’rewillingtocomebackattwelveo’clock.”
Agoodperson,aniceperson!IfeelaleapinmychestasIstandandapproachthedesk.“Iam,”Isayquickly.“Thankyoufordoingthatforme.”Imeanitwithallmyheart,thegratitudethickinmyvoice.
Shenodslikeit’snothing.Thephoneisringingagain;I’mgettinginherway.Ibackawayfromthedesk,glancingatthetimeonthewall.Fourhourstokill.
Ifindasmallclothingboutiqueinashoppingplazanearby.PrettyMissy.IflinchatthenameasIconsiderthewindowdisplay.Theruffledkneesocksandpositive-vibeT-shirtsareenoughtoturnmeaway,butIhavetimetokillandmyoptionsarelimited.IcatchsightofmyreflectionasIwalkintheshop.Myorangesweaterremindsmeofaprisonjumpsuit.IrifflethroughtheracksforthirtyminutesbeforeIfindabrownsuedejacketandwhitetoptowearunderneathit.Better,Ithink.Ihandmycashovertothesalesgirlandchangeinmycar,dumpingthesweaterinthebackseatbeforeredressing.ThenewclothesareitchyandIscratchatmyskinuntilitfeelsraw.
OnmydrivebacktothewhiteofficebuildingIseeabar,theOpensignflashingsporadicallyinthewindow.Icheckthetime:threemorehours.It’stooearlytodrink,butIpullintotheparkinglot,anyway.Thereareonlytwoothercarshere.Oneofthemprobablybelongstothebartender,theothertothetowndrunk.Ieyetheolder-modelMercedesasIheadforthedoor,myshoescrunchingonthegravel.Icanalreadytastetheliquoronthebackofmythroat.HowlonghasitbeensinceIhadadrink?
WhenIpushopenthedoor,thesmellofadivebargreetsme:amedleyofstaleair,spilledbeerandbodyodor.IbreatheinthesmellasIslideontoabarstoolandorderavodkasodafromaguywithtiredeyesandaVanHalenT-shirt.I’mthankfulhedoesn’tspeaktome,justslidesthedrinkacrossthecounterwithoutmakingeyecontactandmovesontosomethingelse.ThiswouldbethetimeI’dpulloutmyphone,scrollthroughtheupdatesmyfriendswerepostingonFacebook,maybecheckthesalesonmyfavoriteshoppingwebsites.Istareatmydrinkinstead,thetruebodylanguageofsomeonewho’ssittinginabarbeforelunchtime,andplanwhatI’mgoingtosaytoRegina.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I’mbuzzed.ThreevodkasodasandI’vehadnothingtoeatallmorning.Myvisionteeter-tottersandmylimbsfeellooseandundisciplined.IchidemyselfasIcombmyfingersthroughmyhairinthetinybarbathroom,grimacingatmyreflection.Ilooklikeadrunk:swollenface,redeyesandsplotchyskin.AtleastI’dlosttheorangesweater.IsplashwateronmyfaceinthelittlesinkbeforeIheadout.
IhaveexactlythirtyminutestopullmyselftogetherbeforeIseemyhusband’sfirstwife.Whatshethinksofmematters,whichiswhydrinkingwasabadidea.Iam—was—technicallyherreplacement.DespitethefluorescentgreenjealousyIfeeltowardher,Ialsofeelakinship.Iwanthertolikeme.Shecouldhelpme.I’mlikeaneagerpuppy,abusedandstillwaggingitstailforlove.Istopatagasstationandbuyeyedrops,gumandbodyspray.AtthelastminuteIasktheguybehindthecounterforoneoftheburnerphones.Thebodysprayisprobablyabadidea—it’svanillascented—butthebarwaswarmandIfeelthedampnessundermyarmsandonmylowerback.Ismelllikeasweet,sweatycupcake.I’mfiveminuteslatewhenIrunintotheoffice.Thesecretarygivesmeanannoyedlookwhensheseesme.Theleastyoucando,lady…
“Thisway,”shesays,standing.Ifollowherdownahallofdoors.It’sallwrong,thewaythey’vesetitup.I’mremindedofhighschool,thelongwalktotheprincipal’soffice.Icansmellvanillaandsweatcomingoffmeinamist.
Reginaisseatedbehindherdeskwhenthesecretaryknockslightlyandopensthedoor.Shestepsbackwithoutmeetingmyeyesandallowsmetowalkpasther.Reginastandsassoonassheseesme.She’stiny,asSethsaid,butmuchprettierthaninherphotos.I’mstaring;Irealizethiswhenit’sonlythetwoofusintheroom,thesecretaryhavingtakenherleave.Thisissurreal.Shemotionsformetositinoneofthetwoleatherchairsthatfaceherdesk.Insteadofreseatingherself,shewalksaroundthedeskandsitsintheemptychairnexttome,crossingherlegs.Ismellherperfumerightaway,thesleepyscentoflavender.Iwitherinmychair,asifbydoingsoIcouldpullbackthevanilla/sweatsmell.
“CanIofferyouwaterorcoffee?”sheasks.“Perhapstea?”
“I’mfine,thankyou.”Ipushmyhairbehindmyearsandstraightenupinmychair.Theprincipalmustn’tknowI’mafraid.
“Iunderstandyou’reconsideringdivorce.”Thecadenceofhervoiceismesmerizing—deep,yetfeminine,likeoneofthoseoldmoviestarsinblack-and-whitefilms.Puuurrrr.
“Notjustconsidering,”Isay.“Andbytheway,thankyouforgivinguplunchtoseeme.IrealizethatImissedmyappointment.Itwasverykindofyou.”Mymotheralwayssaidthatconfidentpeopledidn’toverthankoroverthink.
“It’sbusiness,”Reginasays.“Worknow,foodlater,right?”Shesmiles.“Sotellmeaboutyoursituation.”
Iclearmythroat.InthecuffonmysleeveIcanfeelthepricetagIforgottopulloff.Ithumbthecardboard,pushingitfartherupmysleeve.
“Myhusbandisapolygamist.”It’sastatementmeanttojaranaverageperson.I’doftenthoughtaboutblurtingitoutatothertimestostrangersormycolleaguesjusttoseethelookontheirfaces.
Regina’sface,however,remainsthesame.It’salmostasifshehasn’theardme.Shedoesn’taskmetoclarifyorexpoundandit’snotuntilshesays,“Carryon,”thatIdo.
“Iamhislegalwife.Hehastwoothers.”
Shestaresatme,hard.“Aretherechildreninvolved?”
Ipause,thinkingofHannah,howshe’dlookedatmelikeshe’dneverseenmebeforewhenIrangherdoorbelllastnight.TheconfusionandhurtinSeth’seyeswhenItoldthedoctorwhathewas.IfeelanigglingdoubtcreepintomymindYouarecrazy,youarecrazy,youarecrazy.
“Histhirdwifeispregnant,notveryfaralong.”
“Andtheseotherwives,dotheyallshareahomewithyour…husband?”
Ishakemyhead.“Twolivehere,inPortland.IliveinSeattle.”
Isearchherfaceforanysignofrecognition.DidsheknowaslittleaboutmeasIhadknownabouther?
“Dotheyknowaboutyou?”sheasks.
Ilooklongandhardatherface,thefulllipslinedandcoloredincherry,thesplatteringoffrecklesacrosshernoseshowingthroughhermakeup.It’snowornever,thisiswhatIcamefor.
“Doyouknow,Regina?Howmuchhashetoldyouaboutme?”
Herexpressionneverchanges.Shecrossesherlegsassheleansbackinherchair,blankeyesdrillingintomine.Forthelongesttimewestayjustlikethat,herwatchingmeandmewatchingher.ItfeelslikeI’mabouttofallofftheedgeofaprecipice.
“Thursday,”shesays.
AndIwanttoleapfromthechairandscream,thatonewordvalidatingeverythingIamherefor.Reginaknowsmyname,sheknowswhoIam.Self-doubtisslimeandglue,butReginasayingmynamehaswashedmeclean.
“Yes,”Isay,breathless…pathetic.
Herfaceisarrangedinundisguiseddisgust.Shesighs,uncrossesherlegsandleansforward,forearmsonthighs.Shedoesn’tlooksoputtogethernow,justtired.It’samazingwhatafacialexpressioncandotochangesomeone’slook.
“Sethcontactedme.Hesaidyoumightcomeby.”Shestaresatthegroundbetweenherheelsbeforestraighteningup.
SoSethalreadyknowswhereIam.HeknowsmebetterthanIrealized.ThereisasinkingfeelinginmystomachasIstareather.WhileI’vebeenimagininghimscramblingtocallmymotherandAnna,hewentstraighttoRegina.Iblinkhard,tryingtodisguisetheshockthatmustbeonmyface.IthoughtIhadbeensmart,butapparentlymyhusbandissmarter.Sillyme.Butthatisthethemeofmylifefortheselastyears:sillyme.Sethhadanticipatedthis,mybreakawayfromhisplan.He’dthoughtaboutallofthis,predictedmyactions.Perhapsonlyinthelastweeks,butmaybealways.
“Allright,Thursday,youcameallthisway,sotellmewhyyouwantedtoseeme.Igatherit’snotaboutdivorce.”Herlipsaretuckedinatthecorners—resoluteanddisgusted.She’sverywrongaboutthedivorce,butIdon’ttellherthat.Letherthinkwhatshewants.AllIwantareanswersaboutthemanwebothmarried.
IlookaroundtheofficeforthepersonaltouchesofthewomanI’mspeakingto:pictureframes,rugs,anythingthatwilltellmemoreaboutwhosheis.Thedecorismasculine,whichcouldhaveverylittletodowithher;womendon’toptforthismuchcherrywood.Shehasapenchantforferns,astherearethreeintotal:onesitsontopofabookshelfwithitsleavesspillingoverthesides,theotherissmallerandonherdeskandthethirdrestsonthewindowsill—thehealthiestofthethree.They’rewell-tended,too,lush.
“I’mherebecauseIdon’tknowmyhusband.Iwashopingyoucouldgivemesomeclarity.”That’sthenicewayofputtingit,really.Myhusbandhitswomenandhadmeinstitutionalizedforaskingtoomanyquestions.Asitturnsout,Iamareallystupidwoman,andIneedReginatotellmethatshewasequallyasstupidfortrustinghim,andthenIcantellheraboutHannah.
“Yourhusband?”Herfaceisamused,eyebrowsraised.
Iwanttotellherthatnow’snotthetimetogetintoapissingmatchaboutwhoSethbelongsto,butIstayquiet.
“I’mnotsureIcanhelpyou—infact,I’mnotsureIwantto.”Shesmoothsoutherskirtandglancesatherwatch.It’ssubtle,butshemeantformetoseeit.I’mwastinghertime.Isuddenlydon’tfeelassureasIdidamomentago.Thetemperaturehasswitched.
“You’vebeenwithSethforeightyears—”Ibegin.
“Five,”sheinterrupts.“SethandIweretogetherforfiveyearsbeforethedivorce,butofcourseyouknowthatbecauseyou’rethereasonwegotdivorced.”
Istareatherblankly.OfcourseIwas,butshe’dagreedtoit.Thisisn’tgoingthewayIexpecteditto.Whyisshebeingsosouraboutsomethingsheagreedto?SethmetandmarriedReginafiveyearsbeforeme.Irememberthejealousyatalltheextratimethey’dhadtogether,howI’dneverbeabletocatchup.
“Andtheselastthree…?”
“Theselastthree,what?”Shesnapsthatpart,thepoisefallingawayforthebriefestofmomentsassomethingflashesinhereyes.
“That…you’vebeentogether.Thepluralmarriage…”
ReginalookslikeI’veslappedher.Herslenderneckjerksback.Icanseethestarburstpatternofpinkrisingaboveherneckline.I’vemadehernervous.Idon’tknowifthat’sgoodorbad,butit’ssomethingtobemakinghernervous.
“I’msorry,”shesays,“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
IknowthatifIjumpoutofmyseatandshakeherwhilescreaming,Tellmethetruth,youbitch!thepolicewillbecalled.Attheveryleast,I’dbeescortedoutofthebuildingandonemorepersonwouldthinkIwascrazy.
“Asidefromthebriefcontacthemadetotellmethatyouwouldbecomingtoseeme,Ihavenotseenorspokentomyex-husbandinyears,”shesays.
Herwordssevermynextquestion.MymouthhangsopenuntilIpressmylipstogether,frowning.
IstareatReginaandthenmyhands.Mythoughtsaredumb,thick.Idon’tmakesenseandneitherdoesRegina.Ihearwhitenoiseandthepoundingofmyownheart.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Imanagefinally.
“Ithinkyoushouldleave.”Herfaceisblanchedasshestandsupandheadsforthedoor.
Ifollowher,notknowingwhatelsetodo.MythoughtsaretangledbetweenReginaandHannah.
“Youneedhelp,Thursday,”shesays,lookingsquarelyatmyface.“You’redelusional.Sethsaidyouweresick,but—”
“Iamnotsick.”Isayitwithsuchforcethatwebothblinkateachotherforafewseconds.Irepeatitinacalmertone.“I’mnotsick,despitewhatSethhastoldyou.”
“Getout.”SheholdsthedooropenandIstarepasther,mythoughtsspinning.
“Justtellmeonething,”Isay.“Please…”
Herlipspullintoatightlinebutshedoesn’trefuse.
“Seth’sparents.Didyouevermeetthem?”
Shelooksconfused.“Seth’sparentsaredead,”shesays,shakingherhead.“Theydiedyearsago.”
“Thankyou,”Ibreathebeforewalkingout.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Hannah’scarisparkedinitsusualspotalongthecurb.IwalktowarditandbrieflylaymyhandonthehoodasIpass,checkingforheat.Cold.Shehasn’tdrivenitinafewhours.AtleastIknowshe’shome.Imovequicklyupthepath,pasttheplanterstothefrontdoor.
Ifeelskittish,likesomeoneiswatchingme,butinneighborhoodslikethis,thereisalwayssomeonewatching.It’sspecificallywhySethandIchosetheanonymityofacondoinsteadofaneighborhoodandahouse:neighborsbearingcasserolesindishestheywantyoutoreturn,walkingtheirdogspastyourhouseintheeveningsotheycanpeerintoyourwindows.Ilookovermyshoulder,scanningnearbywindowssuspiciously.“Youreallyarecrazy,Thursday,”Isayundermybreath.Newlevelofmadness:talkingtoyourselfinpublic.
ThepressureonmychestisalmosttoomuchtobearasInearthefrontdoor.IfeellikeIcan’tgetagoodbreath.MyfootcatchesapebbleandIslidealittle.Takeiteasy,takeiteasy.Istaredownatmyfeet,thewell-lovedflatsthatarebeginningtosmell.IfHannahinvitesmeinIdon’twanttotakethemoff.Hadshemademetakemyshoesoffbefore?Ican’tremember.Iringthebellandstepbacktowait.Whatifitisn’tHannahwhocomestothedoor?Whatifthereisindeedahusbandwhoislivingwithher?WhatwillIsay?MyheartisracingasIwait,fingernailspressingintomypalms.I’vebeguntosweat.Icanfeelmyselfgrowclammy.
Butthenoneminuteturnsintotwo,andtwoturnsintothree.Iringagainandpeerintothewindow.Nolightsareon,thoughthat’snotreallytellingsinceit’sthemiddleoftheday.Butstill,adarkday.Thesunhasbeenmakingshortappearanceseverythirtyminutesorsoasitsearchesforholesintheclouds.Iwalkaroundthesideofthehouse,pastthelargewindowsofthediningroomandthenthroughthegate,whichisrelativelyeasytounlatch.Ifsomeoneseesmethey’llsurelycallthecops—astrangewomanwholooksnothinglikeHannahcirclingahomeinthisupper-classneighborhood.
I’veneverbeeninthebackyard,neverevenglancedatitwhenIwasinsidethehouse.It’spretty,Hannah’slittlesecretgarden.Icanimagineinsummerhowtheflowersmustbloom,butfornowthebranchesarebare,andtherosetrellisisempty.Therearetwoempresstrees;onegrowsclosetothebackofthehouse,nearawindow.
Ipeerinside,scanningthehouseforanysignoflife,andnoticethatthewindowisopen,thescreentheonlythingthatseparatesmefromtheinside.“Hannah…?”Icall.“Areyouokay?I’mcomingin…”Iwait,listening.Nothing—notevenashuffle.Iconsiderthescreen—itwouldbeeasytopopout.I’ddoneitbeforeinmychildhoodhomewhenmymotheraccidentallylockedusoutwhilewateringthegarden.Thefactthatthewindowisopenmeansshehasn’tgonefar.Perhapsshetookaquickruntothegrocerystoreorpostoffice.Sincehercarisparkedoutfront,wasitSethwhopickedherup?IhavetomovequicklyifIreallywanttodothis.
BeforeIcanchangemymind,Iusemykeystoprythescreenoffandloweritgentlytothegrass.MyhandsareshakingasIpullmyselfovertheledgeandlowermyselfintothelivingroom.Iwaitforanalarmtosound,mywholebodytense,butafterafewsecondswhennothinghappens,Itakeafewcautiousstepsforward.Idon’trecalleverseeingHannahmesswithanalarm.
Thehousesmellslikesomeone’sbeencooking.Idon’tneedtopeekintothekitchentoknowthatHannahwasinthemiddleofsomethingbeforesheleft.Itakeoffrunning,aroundthecornerandupthestairs,myfeetpoundingloudlyonthewoodfloors.Thefirstdooratthetopofthestairsisthemasterbedroom.Ipushitopen,myeyesscanningtheroomfor…what?Iruntothenightstandclosesttothedoorandyankopenthedrawer.Aboxoftissues,afewpaperbacks,Tylenol—thenormaljunk.TherehastobeaphotographofHannahandherhusbandsomewhere.
Ilookinthedresserdrawers,buttheyaresterileintheirorganization:underwear—squarelyfoldedintidyrows.Tanktopsinvariousshadesofneutral,socks,lingerie—nothingformen.Wherearehisdrawers?Imovetothecloset,atinywalk-in,andeyethegem-tonedsweatersandrowofjeans.Nosuits,nodressshirts,nobrownloafersnexttothelineofpumpsandflats.Ifamansharesthisbedroom,onecouldn’ttell.
Thereisasmallbathroomnexttothecloset,asinglesink,asingletoothbrush,peony-scentedshowergelrestingonthelipofthetub.Themedicinecabinet:adiaphragminitsplasticcase,variousbottlesofheadachemedicine,TUMS.Noprenatalvitamins,noshavingcream.IscanthefloorforSeth’sdarkhairs,sodifferentthanHannah’sblond.Ifhe’dusedthisbathroomtherewouldbehair—Iwasalwayssweepingitupinmine.Nothing,nothing,nothing.Whatishappening?
Imovetothenextroom,anoffice.Adesksitsagainstthefarwall,sounlikeHannah.It’smodernandsquarewithhardlines—somethingcheapfromIKEA.Acupofpens,astapler…Isearchforabill—somethingwithhernameonitorevenhis.Itdoesn’tmatter,Ijustneedanswers.Onewayoranother,IhavetoknowifI’mcrazyorifSethiscrazy.
Nobills,nomail.Everythingissterile,staged.Oh,God,whyiseverythingsostaged?Thesingleclosetintheroomisemptyexceptforavacuum.Nophotosonthewalls.Hadn’tInoticedphotoswhenshegavemethetour?Abuffalo,perhaps—no,analpaca!She’dhadalargeframedphotographofanalpaca.I’dthoughtitstrange.
Irunmyhandsoverthespaceofwallwhereithadhung,searchingforaholeinthepaintwherethenailhadbeen.It’sthere,Ifindit,smoothedoverandrepaintedtoblend.
Onemorebedroomonthisfloor,andabathroom.Afloralcomforterfoldeddownonthebed,anantiquelamponthenightstand.Nothingpersonal,nothingasIremember.
WhathadIsmelleddownstairswhenIclimbedinthewindow?She’dbeencookingsomethingandleftabruptly.Ijogdownthestairsandstopinthedoorwaytothekitchen.Aplateoffreshlybakedcookies,plump,theirchipsstillsoftfromtheoven.Iwalkclosertotheisland;there’ssomethingelse…astackofpapers…applications.Ipickoneup,myhandshakingasIliftitfromthecounter.
“Excuseme…”Avoicebehindme.NotHannah.ClearlynotHannah.
“Howdidyougetinhere?Appointmentsdon’tstartforanotherhour.”
Awomanstandsinthedoorway,herbrowsdrawninsuspicion.ShehasthelookofaRealtororpropertymanager:hairinalowponytail,blackslacksandapinkbutton-down.Positivebutnotoverbearing.She’sshoeless,herfeetinpantyhose.Inherhandssheholdstheboxofsocksvisitorsaretoplaceovertheirshoeswhenviewingthehouse.
“I’msorry,”Isayquickly.“Mymistake.Icancomeback,ofcourse…letmegetoutofyourway.”MyheartishammeringinmychestasImovetowardthefrontdoor.ButwhenIgotopassher,shedoesn’tstepaside.
Shefrowns.“Howdidyougetinhere?”sherepeats,foldingherarmsacrossherchest.She’soneofthosetoughSallytypes.Herkidgetsshovedontheplaygroundandshe’stakingittotheschoolboard.Theneighbor’sdogkeepsbarkingandshestrong-armsthehomeowner’sassociationintofiningthem.Icouldtellherthetruth,butchancesareshe’dcallthecops.Ieyethephoneclippedtoherbelt.Suchaprofessional.
“Look,”Isay.“Ididn’tmeantobeabother.I’lljustletmyselfout.”
“Oh,no,youdon’t.”Shetakesupresidenceinthedoorframe,reachingforherphone.Icanseetheopenwindowbehindme,thetreebranchesoutsidetremblinginthewind.Ifsheturnsherheadtotheleft,she’llknow.Igetmyshittogether.Composemyface,squaremyshoulders.
“Move.Now.”
Shedoes,themilitarystanceshetookaminuteagomeltsaway.Herfacelookssuddenlycautiousasshewatchesmeunlockthefrontdoorandstepoutside.Ithinkaboutwalkingaroundbackandreplacingthescreen,butthatwillonlygivehertimetocallthepolice.
Largestridesgetmetomycar.Idon’tlookbackasIclimbinsideandturnontheignition.IdrivewithoutpurposeforseveralmilesbeforeIpullintotheparkinglotofadrugstore.Ipullouttheapplicationtuckedintothebackofmypantsandstareatthewords.Hannahhadnevermentionedanythingaboutmoving.Wherewasshe?Lastnightshe’dbeenthere,watchingTVwithsomeone,andtoday,thehouseisupforrent.
Withoutmyphone,there’snoonetocall,nothingtosearchonline.Icouldlookforalibrary,usetheircomputer.Butno,thereisstillonepersontofollow,onestorythatisn’taddingup.Idon’tknownearlyenoughaboutSeth’sfirstwife.Thereissomethingaboutherthatisnaggingatme,somethingIcan’tplace.IneedtoknowmoreaboutReginaCoele.Fornow,HannahandSethcanwait
TWENTY-NINE
Iamnotcrazy.
Sethisplayingdumb,andHannahhasconvenientlydisappeared,whichleavesmewithoneoption:ReginaCoele.Sheknowssomething.I’mconvincedofit.Shewouldn’thavebeensoeagertogetmeoutofherofficeifshedidn’t,claimingshehadn’tseenorspokentoSethinyears.ButIwastherethenightshetextedhimwhilewewereatthemarket.I’dseenhernameflashonhisphone.She’dclaimitwasacourtesycallabouttheirdog.
Therewassomethingaboutthecarefulwayshewordedeverything.Itwaspracticed,planned—they’dcomeupwithittogethertomakemelookcrazy.Butwhy?AndwhatwasHannah’sinvolvementinallofthis?MystomachclenchesatthethoughtofHannah.I’dknowinglydeceivedherbynottellingherwhoIreallywas.IfSethtoldherwhoIwasafterhefoundoutwhatI’ddone,Iwouldn’tblameherforbeingafraidofme.ButwouldshereallyputthehouseupforrentbecauseSeth’sotherwifehadfoundher?
MaybeSethmadeherpackupandputthehouseupforrentwhenhethoughtIwouldkeeptalkingabouthispolygamy.Butwhy?Heisn’tlegallymarriedtoeitherofthem,andinnodangerwiththelaw.Plentyofmenhaveaffairs;there’snopunishmentforfuckingwomenoutsideofone’smarriage.Hasitbeentoprotecthisreputation?Thebusiness?Sethhasneverbeenthetypeofmanwhocaredaboutwhatothersthoughtofhim,butthenpluralmarriagestruckupimagesofWarrenJeffsanddustyfundamentalistcompoundsinUtah—thingsnobusinessmanintheirrightmindwouldwanttobeassociatedwith.Wouldhegototheseextremesjusttoprotecthisreputation?That’swhatIneedtoknow.BeforeIcanmakemyplans,Ineedtoknowwhattheirsis.
I’mstrangelyoptimisticasIweavemycarthroughend-of-the-daytraffictowardthewhitestonebuildingwhereReginaiswrappingupherday.Iwillnotleavewithoutanswers.Iimagineshe’sonthelastofherclients,orsecond-to-last,sincesheworkslonghours.
“Shestayslater,worksharder,”Sethoncetoldme.
Theprideinhisvoicehadconfusedme.Shouldn’thebecomplaininginsteadofmakingitsoundlikeanadmirablequality?Itrytoimaginewhatshewilldowhensheleavestheoffice.Isshethetypewhograbsadrinkwithherfriendsafterwork?OrdoesshegohometoheatupaTVdinnerthatsheeatsinfrontoftheTV?Ipictureheroffice,thelackofanythingpersonaltospeakofwhosheis.No,she’snotthetypetowastehoursdrinkingcasuallyinabar.She’sthetypewhoworksathome.Everynightshetuckscreamfoldersunderherarms,whichshesetsonthefrontseatforherdrivehome.Sheeatsdinnerattheendofalongtable,thefilesopenaroundher,glassesperchedonhernose.ThatistheimageSethhadgivenme,theonethatcausedmetodislikeher.Toobusytomeetourhusband’sneeds.PerhapshefedmethatstorysoIwouldjumpintoaction,overcompensatingforwhatReginadidn’tdo.AndIdid,didn’tI?Alwayswantingtobemorethanenough.WhenSethfirstmarriedHannah,I’dbeensickwithjealousy.Ifeltsoguiltyaboutit,too;itwasmyfaultwewereunabletohaveababy,mybrokenbodythathadfailedmymarriage.Inanattempttounderstandmyrole,I’daskedhimwhathegotfromeachofus,howourrolesweredifferent.He’dtoldmetothinkofthesun.
“Thesunprovideslight,warmthandenergy.”
“Soyou’re…what…earth?”I’dquippedback.“Seemslikewe’retheoneswhorevolvearoundyou,nottheotherwayaround.”
He’dtensedupatthat,evenashemovedhismouthintoasmile.“Don’tgettootechnical,Thursday.Youaskedmetoexplain.”
I’dshriveledback,afraidmysnarkwouldmakehimlovemeless.
“SowhatamI?”I’daskedinasaccharinevoice.Hisanalogyhadirritatedme.Itriedtohideitbybouncingmylegunderthetable.That’swhatIdid—Ihidthingswherehecouldn’tsee.Thethreeofusweretheretoprimarilymeethisneeds,sowhatexactlydidthesungetfromtheearth?Myparents’marriagewasfarfromperfect,buttheyneededeachothermutually.
“You’remyenergy,”he’dansweredquickly.AtthetimeI’dlikedthat,beingSeth’senergy.Iwastemporarilysatedinverbalorgasm.Iwastheonewhofilledhimwithmotivationanddrive,whokepthimgoing.Inmymind,I’dmadeitsoundmoreimportantthantheothertwo.Reginabeinglight,andHannahbeingwarmth.Imean,howcouldyouenjoywarmthandlightifyoudidn’thaveenergy?
Now,asIwaitintheparkinglotforRegina,IgrimaceatallthewaysIjustifiedwhatwashappening.HannahwasSeth’swarm,newpussy.Reginawashisfirstlove.Awomaninloveloseshersightfirstandthenhercourage.Itaponthesteeringwheelwithmyfinger.I’mnotcrazy…ormaybeIam…butthere’sreallyonlyonewaytofindout.
Reginawalksoutofthebuildinganhourandfortyminuteslater.ThisisexactlythewaySethdescribedher.Sheoutstayedthesecretary,wholeftoveranhourago,racingoutoftheparkinglotinherFordlikeshehadamillionbetterplacestobe.Iwatchasshewalksbrisklytoanolder-modelMercedes,herbriefcaseheldstifflyinherhand.Thecarhasseenbetterdays;Inotethewearonthepaintandthedentinthebumperassheclimbsintothefrontseat.It’sthetypeofcarthatisn’toldenoughtobevintage,butit’stoooldtobeconsidered“nice”bymostpeople’sstandards.SinceReginaisaprivateattorney,Iexpectedhertodriveaflashynewmodel.Iturnonmyignitionasshepullsoutofthelot,followingclosebehind.
Mystomachdropswhenshepullsontothefreeway.Iclutchthesteeringwheeltighterandfocusonherbumper.It’llbehardkeepingupwithherinthistraffic.Imanagetostayafewcarsbehind,andwhensheveersoffthehighway,I’mrightbehindher,myheartbeatinghard,severalpeoplehonkingatme.Tenminuteslater,aftertrailingherthroughadullsuburbanneighborhood,shepullsintoadingyapartmentcomplexcalledMarinaPoint.Thereisnomarinainsight,justblockybuildingswithhardedgespaintedprisongray.Themeaslyplotsofgrasssurroundingthemareyellowandpatchy.Everythinglooksjaundiced,andthefewpeoplewhoaremillingaboutoutsidearecongregatedonastaircase,smoking.IfIopenedmywindowI’dknowifitwaspotorcigarettes,butIdon’thavetime.Reginadrivesoverthespeedbumpslikethey’renoteventhere.Iwaitforhertozippastthebuildings,likemaybethisisashortcut,butshepullsintoanumberedspace—aresident.
Ilookaroundattheshabbydisarray,mycaridlingintheroad.Thisisn’tright.AwomanwithaLouboutincollectiondoesn’tdrivethatcar,orlivehere.Idecideshe’svisitingsomeone,aquickstoponherwayhome.Maybeshe’sdroppingpapersofftoaclient.Butwhenshegetsoutofthecarshetakesherbriefcaseandfolderswithher,strugglingtoholdontoeverythingwhileshelocksthecarmanually.Ihavetobeabletoseewhichunitshegoesinto.Iquicklyparkacrossthestreetandwaituntilshe’supthestairsbeforehoppingout.Jogging,Ireachthethirdfloorjustintimetoseeherdoorclose.ThesoundofthedeadboltechoesintheconcretecorridorasReginalocksherselfinside.Iglancearound.Therearenowelcomemats,noplantsdecoratingthedoorsteps,justfouremptydoors,theirnumbersdisplayedbesidethemoncheapplasticplaques.Aplaceoflastresort.Istaresolidlyatherdoorforseveralminutes,4L.AndthenIknock.
Herfaceisbarewhensheopensthedoor.Inthefewminutesshe’sbeenhomeshe’salreadywashedoffhermakeup.It’sinterestingthatshe’sthetypewhoimmediatelywashesoffherdaywhileIfallasleepinmine.
Shedoesn’teventrytohidehershock;shemovesquickly,shovingthedoorclosed.Itswingstowardmewithforce,butIamtoofast.Iwedgemyfootinthegapandflinchwhenitsqueezespainfullyagainstmytoes.
Reginayanksitopen,glaringatme.Withouthermakeup,shelookslikeachild.Anangry,insolentchildwhoisn’tgettingherway.
“What?Whatdoyouwant?”Sheholdsthedoortryingtokeepmeout,rednailssharpagainstthepeelinggray.
“YouknowwhatIwant,”Isay.AndthenIdosomethingIamevensurprisedby:Ipushpastherandenterherhomewithoutinvitation.
Sheturnsherbodytofaceme,hermouthslightlyopen.Iseehereyessearcharoundtheroom,lookingforherphone.Whowillshecall—Sethorthepolice?Ifinditbeforeshedoes,lungingtowarditonthediningtable.Ipocketitbeforeshecanstopmeandstareathersolemnly.
“Ijustwanttotalk,”Isay.“That’sallI’mherefor.”
Sheconsidersthehallwayoutsideforamoment.Icanfeelherdecisionintheair.Ifshescreamsforhelpwhowillcome?
Shemustdecidethatherchancesarebetterwithmebecausesheclosesthedoor,allrigidnessgonefromherbody.Thereisafeverishnervousnessaboutherasshewalkspastme.It’ssmellandenergy,awomantrappedinaroomwithsomeoneshe’dratheravoid.I’mcontemptuousaboutthefactthatshe’snotasinterestedinmeasIaminher.Isn’titthemarkofawomantowanttoknowthingsaboutotherwomen?Weabusetheinformation…compareourselvesratherthankeepingitallseparate.EvenasIstudyhercleanfaceandthickhair,I’mcomparing.
“Allright,Thursday,”shesays.“Let’stalk.”
THIRTY
Thereareexpensivethingsinthisinexpensiveapartment.Aleathersectionalthatoncefitintoalargelivingroom,thickcoffeetablebooksstackedontopofamarbletable.Everythingistoobig,whichmakestheroomsmallandsuffocating.Iglanceoutofthewindowabovethewroughtirondinetteforescape,andseenothingbutmorerowsofinsipidgraybuildings.It’sreallywarminherapartment,theheatturnedallthewayuptofeellikesummer.She’sintotallifedenial,Ithink.ReginawalksovertoasectionofthecouchfarthestfromwhereIamstanding,andsitsdownwithoutinvitingmetodothesame.Shecurlsupinthecorner,atinyballofawoman.Itakeaseat,anyway,perchingmyselfacrossfromherontheedgeoftheleathersothatIalmostslideoff.Itrynottostare,butwhenyou’vewonderedaboutapersonforsolongit’shardnotto.
“Well?”shesays.“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
SodifferentfromtheHowcanIhelpyou?attitudeearlier,surroundedbyherfernsandwoodandeducationalplaques.Here,inherlivingroom,herthingssurroundme.
“Iwanttobetoldthetruth,”Isay.
“Thetruth?”shesays,incredulous.“Idon’tthinkyoueverwantedthetruth,Thursday.YouwantedSeth.Iknowaboutallofit…”
“Whatdoesthatevenmean?AndwhydidyousaythatyouandSethwereonlytogetherforfiveyears?”
“Becausewewere,”shesays,exasperated.Andthensheadds,“Beforeyoucamealong.”
“Youmeanwhenitwasjustyoutwo?”
“No!OhmyGod,youreallyarecrazy…”Sheshakesherheadindisbelief.“Thursday,youhadanaffairwithSeth.You’rethereasonwegotdivorced.”
Thesilencethatfollowsisdeafening.Asearingpainstabsthroughmyhead,runningfromtempletotemple.
“That’snottrue,”Isay.“Whywouldyousaythat?”
Shestaresatme,ablankexpressiononherface.“Becauseit’sthetruth.”
Ishakemyhead.Mymouthisdry.IwantsomethingtodrinkbutI’mtooproudtoaskforwater.
“No.Hetoldmethat—”
“Stopit,”shesays,cuttingmeoff.Hereyesarewild.Sheclosesthem,suddenlyshuttingmeout.“Juststopit.”
NormallyI’dbackdown,butnotthistime.I’vebeensittinginthedarkfortoolongandIneedanswers.
“WhenwasthelasttimeyousawSeth?”Rightawayshemakesasourface,herlipspuckered.
“Itoldyouthat—”
Shelooksdown—atherlap,orherhands,orthepatternonherpajamapants,butnotatme.Iseehershouldersliftandsinkasshesighs.
“IsawSethlastweek,”shesays.“Hereattheapartment.”Whensheseesthelookonmyface,sheadds,“Heowesmemoney.”
“Forwhat?”
“Forlosingeverything,”shesnaps.“DoyouthinkIactuallybelonginaplacelikethis?”
ReginawiththeLouboutins?Iwanttolaugh:no,probablynot.Ihavethemoneytobuyred-soledshoes,butI’mnotthetype.Regina,ontheotherhand,isusedtolavishingluxuryonherself.Shewearsdesignerandprobablyalwaysusedtodrivethenewest-modelMercedesratherthanthebeat-upjunkerparkedinherspotdownstairs.
“You’regoingtohavetocatchmeuponthis,Regina.Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout.”Itrytokeepmyvoicepatient,butitsoundslikeI’mtalkingthroughmyteeth.
“Hisbusiness.Thingsstartedgoingsouthafewyearsago.Rightbeforehemarriedyou,”shesayspointedly.
“Sethtookasecondmortgageonthehouseweboughttogethertokeepthebusinessfloating,butthenhestillcouldn’tpayit.Therewastoomuchdebt.Ourhousewentintoforeclosure.Hepromisedtoturnthingsaround,makeitright,butasyoucansee—”sheliftshereyestotheceiling“—I’mhere.”
Whydidn’tIknowanyofthis?Whyhadn’thesaidsomething?Ihadenoughmoneytocontribute…Ishakemyhead.Ican’tbelieveI’mthinkinglikethis.Evennow,sittingacrossfromhisotherwife,afterbeinginstitutionalized,I’mthinkingabouthowIcouldhavehelpedhim
“Anddidhegiveyoumoney?”Iask.
I’mtryingtoimagineitall.Sethneverspokeabouthisfinancialsituation,especiallywiththeothers.Wehaveseparateaccounts,thoughI’dgivenhimajointdebitcardtominewhenwewerefirstmarried.I’dalwaysassumeditwasthesameforthem.
Sheexhales,hercheekspuffingout.Shelookslikeachild.Howdoesanyonetakeherseriously?
“Yes,alittlebit.Notenough.Ihavebillcollectorsknockingdownmydoor.It’sstressful.”
“Ifyou’renotinarelationship,whydidn’thejustsendyouthemoney?Whydidhehavetocomehere?”
Hermouthtightens,aflesh-coloredslashonherface.Irealizethenthatshe’salonely,bitterwoman,notthepictureofpowerandgracethatI’dimagined.Oh,whenouridolsfall,Ithinktomyself.IprefertheversionofherthatImadeupinmyhead,theonethatmademefeelinsecure.
“Ourdogdied,”shesays.“Andhewantedtotellmeinpersonthathe’dhavemoreformesoon.Abusinesstransactionthat’sgoingtopayoutinafewweeks.”
Sohewasn’tlyingaboutthedog.Iwonderifhe’slyingaboutthebusinesstransaction.Sethclosesonaccountsallthetime.Hisclientscallhimefficientandhardworking.HehasonebadreviewonYelp,whichhestressesaboutweekly.Hispayoutsonjobsaresufficientbutnotlargeenoughtopayoffbigdebts—orbuybackbighouses.
Itestoutthenameoftheirdog.“Smidge?”
Reginalooksatmeinhorror.“Howdidyouknowthat?”
“Sethtoldme,”Isay,shrugging.Hetoldmethings,too,Ithink.Ijustneverknowwhat’strueandwhat’snot.
Sheblinksrapidlyasshelooksaway,likeshecan’tbelievehe’ddosuchathing.
“Ihaven’tbeenabletothrowherthingsawayyet.”ShenodstoaspacebetweentheTVstandandthekitchenwhereabasketofdogtoysstillsits.It’soverflowingwithbrightballsandstuffedtoys—aspoileddog.
“Didyouhavesexwhenhecamehere?”
Regina’sheadsnapstowardme,herfaceamaskofoutrage.“Howdareyou,”shesays.Butthere’ssomethingthere,concealedbehindtheanger…admission.
“Youdid.”Iswipemyhairbehindmyears.Idon’tfeelanything;ofcourseIdon’t.IknowSethhasbeenhavingsexwithhisothertwowivesthisentiretime.Ijustmadesurethesexwithmewasbetterthananythingtheycouldoffer.Iwasmorewaxed,moreflexible,moreresponsivetohistouch.Reginaisbacktojustblinking.
“Whyareyoupretendingwithme?SethisactinglikeI’mcrazy,makinguptheentirestoryabouthisrelationshipswithyouandHannah.Ijustwantthetruth.”
“Idon’tknowHannah,”Reginasays.“AndI’vealreadytoldyouthatwe’vebeenoverforalongtime.”Herlegsarefoldedupunderneathher,andIcan’thelpbutthinkit’stomakeherappeartaller,likethoseheelsshewears.
Ishakemyhead.I’mnotcrazy.I’mnot.
HernostrilsflareandIcanseeherchestrisingandfallingasshetakesinshortburstsofair.She’stryingtokeepcontrol.Butforwhatreason?ShestandsupandmovestowardthedoorandIknowshe’sabouttotellmetoleave.Ihavetodosomething,makehertalktome.
“Ilostababy…”Thewordstumblefrommymouthandendwithadraggingpainacrossmychest.
Reginafreezes,herbacktome.
ItallstartedwhenIlostmybaby.Mylifebegantounravel,stringbystring.Imayhavebeentooconsumedwithgrieftoseethesignsthen,butIseethemallnow.Seth’sdetachment,hiswantinganotherwoman,hispreoccupationwithsexwhenweweretogether.Iwasnolongerthewomanhewantedtotalkto,Iwasthewomanhewantedtofuck.That’swhatmyusefulnessboileddowntointheend.
“Iwasfivemonthspregnant.Ihadto…”Iswallowthewellingofemotion.Ineedtogetthisout.“Ihadtogivebirthtohim.”
OutofthecornerofmyeyeIseeherturnaroundtofaceme.Ilookupather;herfaceishorrified,hermouthslackandhereyeslarge.Henevertoldher.Ibitetheinsideofmycheekandforcemyselftokeeptalking.
“Hehadredhair…justalittlebit…butitwasred.Idon’tevenknowwherethatcamefrom.Nooneinmyfamilyhasredhair…”
Talkingaboutmybabyvalidateshisexistencehere,evenifitwasbrief.Hewassotinyandhisredhairwasmorejustadustingoforange.Thenurseshadmarveledatit,whichonlymademesadder.AtthetimeI’dheldontothatlittledetail,hisbodysosmallitwaslostintheblanketthey’dwrappedhimin.Iwasallowedtoholdhimforafewminutes,mymindjumpingbetweenwonderandgrief.Imadethis.He’sdead.Imadethis.He’sdead.I’dnotnamedhim,thoughSethwantedto.NaminghimmadehisdeathrealandI’dwantedtoforget.
EverythingIkeepsocarefullyguardediswellingupinsideofme,mytearductsburning.
“Seth’smother,”Reginasayssoftly.
Iswallowhard.I’dneverevenseenapictureofhisparents.Sethtoldmethattheydidn’tcareforhavingtheirphototaken.
“Shedid?”Iwanthertosaymore.Ineedherto.
“Yes.Longandbeautiful.”
Iswallowthelumpinmythroat.“Whathappenedtothem?Howdidtheydie?”
Reginaclaspsherhandsinherlap,shakesherheadsadly.
“Hisfathershothismother,andthenturnedthegunonhimself.Itwastragic,ahugeblowtothefamily.”
Mymouthfallsopen.“Idon’tunderstand.Whendidtheydie?Whatabouttheotherwives?Theirotherchildren?”
Sheshrugs.“Wewerealreadymarriedwhenithappened.Hisfatherwasn’twell.He’dbeendiagnosedwithschizophreniawhenhewasaboy,saidGodtoldhimtodothings.Theywerevery…religious.”
“Didyouevermeetthem?”Ithinkaboutthecards,theonesthatsupposedlycamefromthem,writteninhismother’shandwriting.No,Reginacan’tberight.Seth’sparentshadsentusaweddingpresent.Hadn’tthey?No,itwasallSeth’sperfectlyconstructedlie.
“Idid.Theywereoddpeople.Iwasgladtomoveaway.Theydidn’tevencometoourwedding.”
Iwanttotellherthattheymissedours,too,butshe’sonarollandIdon’twanttointerrupther.
“Sethwassomewhatobsessedwithhisfather.”
“Inwhatway?”
SheseemsrelievedtobetalkingaboutsomethingotherthanherrelationshipwithSeth.
“Idon’tknow.Isupposeinjustthewayboysarewiththeirdads.Theywereclose.Hisfatherwasreallyunhappywhenweleft.SaidSethwasabandoninghisfamily.”
“Didyouevertrytohavechildren?”Iask.Asuddenchangeofsubject.
Reginadoesn’tlikethisquestion.
“YouknowIdidn’twantchildren.”
“Why?”
“Doesawomanstillhavetoexplainherselfwhenshedoesn’twantchildren?”shesnaps.
“No…Imean…youmarriedthesonofapolygamist.Hemusthavetoldyouthathewantedafamily.”
Shelooksaway.“HeassumedI’dchangemymind,andIassumedhelovedmeenoughtodropit.”
Somethingnagsatthebackofmymind,it’ssofamiliar—asongyoucanalmosthearthetunetobutdon’tknowthenameof.
Thedefensivenesshasreturnedinhervoice,herguarduponceagain.“I’veansweredallofyourquestions,Thursday.Please.”Sheglancesatthedoor.“I’dliketobealonenow.”Itakeherphonefrommypocketandsetitgentlyonthetablebeforewalkingaway.BeforeIleave,Iturnbacktowhereshe’sstandingstaringoutofthewindow,unseeing,andplaceaslipofpaperontopofthemagazineswiththenumbertotheburnerphoneIbought.
“SethhitHannah.Youneedtoknowthat.WhenIfoundoutandconfrontedhimaboutithegotroughwithme,too.”
Amuscletwitchesinhertemple,atinypulse.
“Goodbye,Regina.”
THIRTY-ONE
WhenIleaveRegina’sapartment,myheadisspinning.Ipauseatthetopofthestairs,myhandontherailing.Someonehasscratchedthewordcuntintothemetalwiththeirkeys.Reginacouldbelyingabouteverything.Ican’tactuallytrustmyhusband’sotherwife,canI?CoulditbethatSethliedtoher,too?Liedaboutmeandourrelationship?Ithoughtthatperhapshewaskeepingthingsfromhisshinynewwife,Hannah,butmaybehekeptReginainthedark,too.Hadheliedtousall?Whowasthisman?HadIlovedhimsounconditionallythatI’dgougedoutmyowneyes?Seth,whotoldmethatReginadidn’twantchildren,andthat’swhyhesoughtoutasecondwife.Seth,whonevertoldReginathatI’dmiscarriedourbaby.Therearesomanysecrets,andI’vebeenblindfortoolong.ItmakesmefeelsickthatI’veallowedallofthistohappen.IneedtospeaktoHannah,makehertellmewhat’sgoingon.WherehashehiddenHannah?
IdrivebacktotheCottonmouthhouse,feelingworsebytheminute.Mystomachmakesaloudappealforfood.WhenwasthelasttimeIate?Ipullintoadrive-throughandorderasandwichandasoda,butwhenIunwrapthefoil,thesightofitmakesmefeelill.Ithrowitaway,sippingdelicatelyontheCoke.I’mfeverish,myfaceclammyandwarm.Istumbleintothehouse,myheadspinning.Theemptywallsswimaroundme,andthesmellofpaintandrotmakesmegag.Suddenly,Idon’twanttobehere.I’llsleepjustafewminutes,enoughtomakemefeelbetter.Iduckintotheroomandlockthedoorbehindme.It’sonlyeighto’clock,butmybodyachesfromexhaustion.Icrawlintothestale-smellingbed,myeyesheavy,andIsleep.
“Thursday?”
Isitupinbed,groggy,andreachformycell.It’snotthere.Ican’tfindthetime.I’mholdingaphonetomyearandsomeoneissayingmyname.That’sright.I’minPortland.Ileftmycellphoneinthecornerofanelevator.Thisisaburner.
“Yeah…”Isay,strugglingtountanglethesheetsandsitup.“Who’sthis?”
Awomansaysmynameagain.“Thursday—”Andthen,“It’sRegina.”
Suddenly,I’mwideawake,mysensesonfullalert.Ithrowmylegsoverthesideofthebedandstandup.
“What’swrong?Hassomethinghappened?”
“No…”Hervoiceisuncertain.
Ipacethetinyspacetothewindowandbacktothebed,thestrangephoneclumsyinmyhand.
“Sethknowsyou’rehere.Itoldhimyoucametothefirm.He’slookingforyou.”
Isitdownabruptly.I’mnotsurprised.Buthowlonguntilhetracksmedown?
“Whyareyoutellingme?”
There’salongpauseonherend.Icanhearherbreathingintothephone,cloggedbreathlikeshe’sbeencrying.
“Canwemeetsomewheretotalk?”
“When?”
“Now,”shesays.“There’sanall-nightdinertwoblocksfrommyapartment.It’scalledLarry’s.Icanbethereinthirtyminutes.”
“Allright,”Isaycautiously.“HowdoIknowIcantrustyou?”
“Idon’tthinkyouhaveanyotherchoice.”Shehangsup.She’sanattorney;she’susedtogettingthelastword.
Ihangupthephoneandbeginsearchingformyclothes.Theonlythingrelativelycleanismyorangesweater.Ipullitonandslideintomyjeans.Myhairisadirtymess.Ibrushitintoaquickponytail,splashwateronmyface,andI’moutthedoorfiveminutesafterRegina’scallended.It’sonlywhenIturnontheignitiontomycarthatthedashboardlightsupandIseethatit’s4:30inthemorning.Whatwouldpossesshertocallinthemiddleofthenight?
I’mseatedinaboothinthenearlyemptyLarry’swithacupofcoffeeinfrontofmewhenReginawalksthroughthedoors.She’swearingjeansandasweatshirt,herhairinaknotontopofherhead.Shecouldbemistakenforacollegestudent.Shehasabackpackslungoverashoulder—notthekindyourunawaywith,justthekindyouuseasapurse.Iwatchasshesurveysthediner,lookingforme.Mybreathisjagged.Iliftahandasherheadturnsmywayandshecatchesmyeye.ShetakeshertimeworkingherwayovertowhereIam,andIhavethefeelingshe’squestioningherdecisiontocomehere.Sheslidesintotheseatacrossfromme,slippingherarmsoutofthebackpack.Inoticerightawaythathereyesareswollenandred.Shetakesaminutetosettlein,fussingwithnothing,beforelookingup.Sheishere,Irealize,tounloadaburden.
“Sameasher,”shebarkswhentheserverapproachesourtable.
Ismileathimapologeticallyashehurriesoff.Itmakesherangrytobehonest.Ahazardofherjob.Sheremindsmealittleofmysister,bossyandsosureofherselfthatshecomesacrossasirritatedwitheveryoneelse.MysisterandIaresodifferent;ourrelationshiphasalwaysfelttepid,somethingwecouldbothdowithout.Soforthesakeofourmother,wetrytoseeeachotheratleastonceamonth,whichusuallyendsupbeinganawkwarddinner.Wedocumentthenightwithanoverlyenthusiasticselfiethatwethentexttoourmother.Shegetssoexcitedthatwe’rehangingoutthatitmakesthewholeritualmorebearable.
Idecidetokeeptheupperhandandbeirritatedwithherforbeingirritatedwithme.
“Well?”Isay,myvoiceterse.“WhyamIhere?”
Sheswipesherfingersunderhereyesandthenchecksthemformascara.Youwasheditalloffthisafternoon,Iwanttoremindher.Thenshelooksatmesquarelyandsays,“ThefirstyearSethandIweremarried,Ihadamiscarriage.”
Myheartsinks.Iwanttoreachoutandtouchherhand,butthere’ssomethingsostonyaboutherfacethatIholdback.Reginadoesn’tseemlikethetypewhowantscomfort.Idon’tdothetypicalI’msorrys,either.Wearen’ttwogirlfriendssharingheartacheovercoffee.
“Okay…”Isay.Myhandswraparoundmyemptymugforlackofanythingbettertodo.Thecaffeineisalreadyinmysystemandmakingmejittery.
Plentyofwomenhavemiscarriages,mostofthemearlyinthepregnancy.Maybeshe’stryingtofindcommonground.
“Iwastwenty-oneweeks,”shesays.“Ididn’tknowabout…yours.Seth…Henevertoldme.”
Iletgoofmycoffeemugandsitback.“Okay,”Isayagain.“Whatdidhetellyou?”
Sheglancesatme,unsure.“Hesaidthatyoujusthadn’tgottenpregnantyet.Thatyouweretrying.”
“Youtoldmethatyouhaven’tspokentoSethuntilrecently,thatyou’vebeenoverforyears,sowhywouldhetellhisex-wifesomethinglikethat?”
Theserverappearsatourtablewithafreshpotofcoffeeandamug.ShefillstheemptymugwithoutawordandsetsitinfrontofRegina,thenleansovertotopmineoff.Whenshe’sgone,Reginapullshermugtowardher,cradlingit,butdoesn’ttakeasip.
Istareatherwithoutspeaking,waitingforhertocontinue.
“Whatdoyourememberaboutyourmiscarriage?”sheasks.
Ibristleunderherquestion.Idon’tremembermuch,Itrynotto;thedetailsofmymiscarriagearepainful.
“Thursday…”ReginareachesoutahandtotouchmineandIstareatit,shocked.“Please,”shesays.“Thisisimportant.”
“Allright…”Ilickmylipsandshutmyeyes,tryingtorememberthedetailsofthemostpainfuldayofmylife.“Irememberalotofpain…andblood.Beingrushedtothehospital…”
“Whataboutbeforethat?Wherewereyou?”
“I…Wewereaway.Aweekendtripnorth.”
Sheleansforward,elbowsonthetable.Hereyebrowsdrawtogether,theslashbetweenthemdeep.“Whatdidyoueat…drink…?Didhegiveyouanything?”
Ishakemyhead.“Ofcourseweate.Sethwasn’tdrinkingalcoholbecauseIcouldn’t.Ihadtea…”
“Whattypeoftea?”
Idon’tmisstheurgencyinhervoice.Itlookslikeshewantstoleapacrossthetableandshakeme.
“Itwasateahesaidhismothersentforme.Tohelpwiththenausea.”ThemomentthewordsareoutofmymouthIfeeltheblooddrainfrommyface.I’mlight-headed.Igriptheedgeofthetableforsupportandclosemyeyes.ReginahadsaidthatSeth’sparentsweredead.Wheredidthatteareallycomefromandwhywouldhetellmehismothersentit?
“Ihadterriblesickness,allday…”Icanfeelmyselfswaying;Itakeafewdeepbreathstocalmmyself.
“Herbaltea,”Reginasayssoftly.“Inalittlebrownsack.”
Inod.“Yes.”
“Wasitthefirsttimehegaveittoyou?”
Ithinkback.I’dbeencomplainingaboutit;mydoctorhadprescribedsomethingforthenauseabutithadn’tworked,soSethsuggestedItryhismother’stea
“She’shadquiteafewpregnancies,Thursday,”he’dsaidwithasmilewhenI’daskedhimifitwassafe.“Allofmymothersusedit.”
I’dlaughedatthat,andhe’dwinkedatme.Intheend,hemademethetea,boilingwaterintheroom’slittlekettle.IthadtastedlikelicoriceandcorianderandonceIaddedsomesugarIhadn’tmindeditatall.
“Youdrankitallweekend?”Reginaasked.
Inodded.
“Allright,”shesays.“Okay…”
Herfaceispale,hereyelashesfluttering.Andthensheopensherrosebudmouthandtellsmeastory.AndIwishshecouldtakeitallback,swallowitintoherselfsothatIcanpretendit’snotso.I’mnotthatstupid.I’mnotthatgullible.I’mnotsoeasilyused.
THIRTY-TWO
Ileavethedineranhourlaterwithnowheretogo.Idon’twanttogobacktotheCottonmouthhousewithitspeelingwallpaperandmustysmell.AfterReginatoldSethIwasinPortland,he’dwastenotimedrivinghere.Towhat—reasonwithme?DragmebacktoSeattle?I’mnotreadytoseehim.Icouldgohome,drivethetwohoursandbeathimtoit.I’dhaveenoughtimetograbsomeofmythingsandgostaywithmyparents.ButmymotherhadnotbelievedmewhenIwasinthehospitalandItriedtotellherthetruth.Ihavenoideawhattheircommunicationhasbeenlikeoverthelastfewdays.Mostlikely,Sethhadtoldherapartialtruth:thatIdisappearedinthemiddleofthenight,andthattheyneedtofindmebeforeIhurtmyself.I’monmyown.TheconfrontationwithSethinevitable,I’mgoingtohavetofacehimsoon,butReginahasaskedformoretime,andI’mgoingtogivehermoretime.WhatshetoldmewhilesittingunderthefluorescentlightsofLarry’shadgivenmechills,rolledmystomach,mademedoubtmyself.Mycoffeehadgrowncold,afilmappearingoverthetopasIslouchedintheboothandlistenedtothedryrecountingofherexperience.
IdriveuntilIseeashoppingplazathathousesalargechaingrocerystore.Itdoesn’topenforanotherfewhours.Iparkinthebackofthebuilding,outofsightofthestreet,whereIdon’tfeelexposed,andreclinemyseatallthewaybacksoIcansleep.Justafewhours.
Iwakewithastarttosomeonepoundingonmycarwindow.Iboltupright,groggyanddisoriented.
“Youcan’tparkhere,”amanbarks,peeringthroughthewindow.
He’swearinganorangeandyellowvest,andwhilehepoundsagainhelooksoverhisshoulder,distracted.Iflinchashisfisthitsthewindowclosetomyface.Hisfistisbigandtan;itmatcheshisshoulders,whicharewide.
Whenhelooksbackatme,hesays,“You’reblockingtheway.”
Ilookbehindhimandseeagarbagetruckidlinginthealley,waitingtogettothedumpsterthatmycarisblocking.Withoutraisingmyseat,Iturnontheignitionandhitthegas,drivingaroundtothefrontofthestore.Ipullintoanotherspot,thrownoffbythesuddenwake-upandthebruteofamanwhodidit.Scrubbingthesleepfrommyeyes,Iyawn.Ineedtogosomewhereprivate,whereIcanthinkwithoutgarbagemenscreamingatme.Idecideonthepubliclibrary;they’llhavecomputersIcoulduse.I’ddrivenpastitthelasttimeIwasinthecityhavingdinnerwithSeth;theelegantbrick-and-stonestructurecaughtmyeyewithitsold-schoolbeauty.
Ican’trememberthestreetit’sonorthenameofthebranch,Ihavetorelyonmymemorytofindit.Ihavetorelyonmyinstinctstofindit.IttakesmefortyminutesofweavingupanddownthebusyPortlandstreets,tryingtorememberexactlywhereI’dseenit.WhenIfinallycatchsightofthebuilding,agroupofhomelessmenarepackinguptheirbelongings,gettingreadytotraversethecityfortheday.Sinceit’sstillearly,thelotusedforparkingisrelativelyempty,andIfindaspotclosetothebuilding.ThesmellofurinehitsmeassoonasIstepoutofthecar.Also,it’sfreezingwithoutajacket.Ihurrytowardthebuildingandfindthedoorsunlocked.Breathingasighofrelief,Iduckinside,shivering,clutchingmyorangesweateraroundmyfingerslikegloves.Theinteriorofthelibraryisallopenspaceunderneathadomedskylight.Iwalkquicklythroughthelobbyandtowardthecomputers.
“Twohours,”shesays.“Noeatingordrinking.”Hervoiceisdry,brittleandunsympathetic.She’smorerecordingthanperson.WhenInodcompliantly,sheeyesmesuspiciously,likeImightbehidingmybreakfastunderneathmysweater,butI’mallowedintotheroom.
Thereisanelderlymanalreadyseatedatoneofthecomputers,wearingafedoraandjabbingintentlyatthekeyboardwithtwopointerfingers.Hedoesn’tlookupwhenIpasshimandsoIhavetimetostareathisscreen.Adatingwebsite.He’swritingmessagestoaprospectivepartner.Goodforyou!Ithink.Sethwouldhavecalledmenosy,madefunofmy“all-seeingeye”ashecalledit.IhavetoremindmyselfthatSeth’sopinionnolongercounts,andthatifitweren’tformynosinessI’dstillbeinthedark,marriedtoamanIonlythoughtIknew.
Ifindacomputernearthebackandslideintotheplasticchair.Mymouthisgrittyfromthedinercoffeeandnapinthecar,myhairagreasymess.ThelibrarianonthisfloorkeepsshootingglancesatmelikeImightrunoffatanyminutewithoneoftheoutdatedcomputerstuckedunderneathmyarm.ItapmyfingerimpatientlyonthedeskasIwaitfortheinternettoload,glancingaroundeveryfewminuteslikeSethmightwalkinandcatchmehere.ThescreenfinallypopsupandItypeinmyfirstsearch,chinrestingonmypalm.TherearethreethingsIhavecomeheretolearnabout,andSeth’sparentsarefirstup:MamaandPapaPolygamy!Itypetheirnamesintothesearchbar,thenamesthatReginagaveme:PerryandPhyllisEllington,alongwithmurder/suicide.Therearenoarticles,nonewspapercoverage.TheonlythingIcanfindisanobituarydatingtheirbirthsanddeaths,theirsurvivingchildlistedasSethArnoldEllington.AccordingtoSeth,therewereothersiblingsfromhisothermothers,siblingsmuchyoungerthanhim,sincehisfathermarriedhisotherwiveswhenSethwasateenager.ButsincePerryandPhyllislivedoutsideofthenormsofsociety,thereislittleinformationonhowtofindSeth’shalfsiblings,whoarenowbarelyteenagersthemselves.Perry’slegalmarriagewastoSeth’smother,whonowsharedagravewithhim.TheonlypeoplewhoknewwhattrulyhappenedtoPerryandPhyllisweretheotherwives…andmyhusband.
Abandoningthatsearch,IthinkaboutthedrugReginahadmentionedatthediner:misoprostol.Adrugusedtostartlabor,usedinconjunctionwithmifepristone,itissaidtobeeffectiveinbringingaboutabortioninthesecondtrimesterofpregnancy.Takenbymouth,itissafetouseuntiltheforty-ninthdayofpregnancy,afterwhichitprovestobringonseriousrisksinthemother.MyhandsshakeasIthinkbacktothedaymybabydied.Imovethemousefromlinktolink.Ifeelcoldfromtheinsideout,likemyinternalwarmthhasbeensnuffedoutbytheinformationinfrontofme.Usedlaterinpregnancyit’smoredangerousforthemother,causinglowbloodpressure,lossofconsciousnessandinfectionsaftertheabortionhasoccurred.Iletgoofthemouseandleanbackinmychair,coveringmyeyeswithmypalms.Thedayofmymiscarriage,Sethhadstoppedatthegasstationforsnacks.Irememberthepapercupsofteahecarriedouttothecar,howgratefulI’dbeenforsuchacaringhusband.Thetea,theteahesaidwassentbyhisdeadmother.OhmyGod.IfReginawasright,itwasSethwhocausedthemiscarriage.
ThepainIfeelisalmostunbearable.Atthetimeofmymiscarriage,I’dnotseenthemedicalreportfromthehospital;Ihadn’twantedto.Sethhadbeenmyprotectorduringthosedays:grievingwithme,shelteringmefromthethingsIdidn’twanttohear.Iwouldn’thavemanagedtogetthroughthattimewithouthim.He’dtoldmethathisdecisionforasecondwifecamewhenReginadecidedthatshedidn’twantchildren.Whythenwouldheendthelifeofhisunbornchild,endangeringmylife,too?Nothingmakessense.Iwanttopullatmyownhair,screamfromfrustration.TherecanbenoanswersuntilSethgivesthemtome.Iwanttoseemymedicalfiles.Iwanttohearitall.
Mylastsearchisthemostpainful,promptedbyRegina’slastwordsbeforewepartedwaysoutsideofthediner:
“Ithinkthere’ssomethingwrongwithhim.”
THIRTY-THREE
DespitehowhardItry,Ican’tstopthinkingaboutwhatReginatoldme.Realizationisaslowboil,butonceyou’rethere,theangerishotandspitting.Myhusbandissick—notjustcontrolling,butdisgustinglysick.WhyhadIneverpressedhimabouthishomelife?Hehidhistrauma,blowingoffmyquestionsabouthischildhood,redirectingeverythingtome.AndnowI’mhorriblyafraidforHannah—forherunbornbaby.
Ihadn’talwaysbeensotrusting,hadI?TherewasatimewhenIwouldn’tallownewcomersintomylife,lesttheydistractmefrommygoals.WhathaditbeenaboutSeththatdrewmein?Sure,hewashandsome,butlotsofmenwere.Andheflirtedwithme,butthatwasn’tafirst,either.Thereweremenallaroundmewhospoke,andoffered,andproddedformyattention.Ihadreceivedtheirinterestwithadetachedpoliteness.SometimesIwentouttodinnerwiththem,orgrabbedabeer,ordidthethingsthatgirlsmyageweresupposedtodo,butnoneofiteverfeltgood—thewayIimagineditwassupposedtofeel.NotuntilSeth.
WhenItrytopinpointwhyI’dbeensodrawntohim,wooedbyhisadvances,italwaysboileddowntoonething:he’dbeensointerestedineverythingIwas.Heaskedquestionsandseemedfascinatedbymyanswers.IrememberthewayheraisedhiseyebrowswhenIsaidsomethingwitty,thesoft,amusedcurlofhislipsashelistenedtomespeak.Ithadseemedatthetimethathedidn’thaveanyulteriormotive,hewasjustasdrawntomeasIwastohim:purechemistry.He’dquizzedmeformyexamonthatveryfirstnightinthecoffeeshop,andaskedmedetailedquestionsaboutwhyIwantedtobeanurse.Noonehadeveraskedmethosequestionsbefore,notevenmyparents.Butthatwasit,wasn’tit?He’dhadacarefullyconcealedplan,astrategy.Awomanlikeme,detachedfromherfamily,devotedtoherstudies,wassecretlylongingforaconnection.Idon’tthinkIcaredwhoitwouldbe:aman,awoman,afriendoralong-lostaunt.Iwaswaitingforsomeonetoseeme.Idon’tknowifI’mangrierwithmyselfmoreforfallingforitinthefirstplace,orfornotseeingitsooner.ButIknowthatashumanswewanttobeheard,andsowhensomeonedoesthehearing,wefeelaconnectiontothem.Iwasnodifferentthananyotherwomanwho’dbeenmadetofeelspecialandthen,overthecourseoftime,abandonedbythemanshe’dgiveneverythingupfor.Sethwasacharlatan,acharmer.Heusedhispersonalitytomanipulatewomen’semotions.BythetimehetoldmeaboutRegina,Iwasalreadyinlovewithhim.Iwaswillingtoacceptanythinghehadtoofferjusttobelovedbyhim.I’mashamedtothinkaboutit.
RightnowHannahispressedsomewhereunderhisthumb,blindlytrusting,daydreamingofthelifethey’dhavewiththeirchild.IfwhatReginahadskirtedaroundiscorrect,Sethisplanningtodotoherwhathehaddonetous.
Isitonarandombenchinthecity,alineoffoodtrucksinfrontofme.AmaninaDodgershatstandscloseby,lookinglonginglyatthetacotruckacrossthestreet.Iwonderwhyhedoesn’tjustgetatacoandmakehimselfhappy.ItstartstodrizzlebutIdon’tmove.Thereissomethingbotheringmeaboutallofthis,somethingthatisn’taddingup.Iclosemyeyesandtrytofitallofthepiecestogether.Regina,Thursday,HannahandSeth:whatdoweallhaveincommon?WhatpartsareweplayinginSeth’sgame?Somepeoplehavemomentsofabsoluteclarity;mymomentcomeslikeaslouchedlurker.Ientertainitonlyforafewmomentsbeforedecidingwhattodo.IstandupjustasthemanintheDodgershatjogsacrossthestreet.Insteadofjoiningthetacoline,heheadsforasaladtruck.Ismiletomyselfaswebothmakeourchoices.
I’vebeenhomeforaweek.Homesweethome,whichtookthegoodpartofthreehourstotidyupafterthewaySethleftit.ThenightIgotback,Ifoundthecondoamess,likeSethhadthoughtthrowingallofthepillowsandcontentsofmydrawersonthefloorwouldaffordhimanswerstomywhereabouts.Thewholeplacesmelledlikerot,anduponinspection,Ifoundthetrashinthekitchenoverflowing,thelidproppedonemptycontainersoftakeoutandhalf-eatenfruit.Myhomefeltstrange…foreign.ThefirstthingIdidwasfindthe9mmmyfatherhadgiftedmeinmycloset.ThenIopenedallofthewindowsandburnedacandleforhoursuntilthesmellwentaway.SethhadfoundmyphonewhereIdroppeditintheelevator;itsatonthekitchencounternexttothebottlesofmedicationI’dleftbehind,thescreensmashed.Ipickeditupandturneditoverinmyhand.Itfeltlikeawarning,oneIwouldbecarefultoheed.I’dleftthephonewhereitwasandcarriedthebottlesofmedicinetothebathroom,poppingtheircapsonebyone,dumpingtheircontentsintothetoilet.Theflushofwater,thewhirringofthetankrefilling,weresatisfyingasIwatchedmyprisondisappear.Mycomputerwasgone,thoughhe’dgraciouslyleftbehindmywalletandkeys.Icalledalocksmith,offeringtopaythemextratocomethatafternoon,andwhileIwaitedIchangedthealarmcode.
Afterthelocksmithchangedbothlocksonthefrontdoor,Iwalkeddowntown,myshinynewkeysinmypocket,toreplacemyphoneandcomputer.SinceI’dbeengoneforfivedays,theweekaheadheldappointmentsandphonecalls.Ineededtobeabletocheckmyemailsandvoicemessages,mylittleburnerphoneuselessexcepttomakecallsandsendtexts.AsIwaitedtocrossthestreet,thesamestreetwhereI’dbumpedintoLaurenwhatseemedlikealifetimeago,Iwatchedthefacesofthepeoplearoundme.Whenyouremovedyourselffromyourownthoughtsandstoppedtolookatpeople—reallylookatthem—yousawsomethingsurprising.Eachofthem—fromthebusinessmen,phonespressedtotheirears,loaferssidesteppingpuddles,tothetouristswholingeredonstreetcornerswonderingwhichdirectiontowalk—heldacertainvulnerabilityaboutthem.Didtheirparentslovethem?Didaman—awoman?Andifthepersonwholovedthemleft,howimmensewouldtheirpainbe?Webusyourselvestryingnottobelonely,tryingtofindpurposeincareers,andlovers,andchildren,butatanymoment,thosethingsweworksohardtopossesscouldbetakenfromus.IfeelbetterknowingI’mnotalone,thatthewholeworldisasfragileandlonelyasIam.
Withthelockandalarmcodechangedandthegunsittingonmynightstand,Imanagetosleepthatfirstnight.Butnotwithoutbaddreams.
Sethhasnottriedtocontactme,thoughontheMondayaftermyreturnhome,Reginacallsmyburnerphone,whichI’veleftonthecharger,forgotteninthecornerofmybedroom.Atfirst,thenoisestartlesme,theunfamiliartinklingoftheringer.WhenIseeit’shernumberIpickuprightaway,pressingthephonetomyearandusingmyfreehandtoblockoutthenoiseoftheTV.
“Hello…Thursday?”
“Yes,”Isay.
“Ifoundher.IknowwherehehasHannah.”
IleaveforPortlandanhourlater.TheonlythingsItakearemycellphoneandthegun,whichIdropintomypurserightbeforewalkingoutthedoor.Ihavetohurry.IreplayRegina’swordsoverandoverinmyhead.
Thatdayinthediner,Reginahadtoldmeastoryofmanipulationandabuse.Nottheobviouskind;itwasthetypeshedidn’tseecoming.She’dmarriedthecharmingandlivelySeth,andtheirfirstyeartogetherhadbeenmagical.ButsoonaftertheymovedtoSeattle,he’dchanged.Shedescribedhimassullenandmoody.Mostnightshe’dnotcometobedatall,andinthemorningshe’dgetupandfindhimwhereshe’dlefthimthenightbefore:sittinginfrontoftheTVwithglassyeyes.Herefusedtobatheandonlyateonceaday.Itbegantoscareherandsheencouragedhimtogethelp.Sethtoldherhewasstrugglingwithdepressionandpromisedthatthingswouldgetbettersoon.HestartedworkingwithAlex,buildingthecompany,andthingsdidseemtogetbetterforawhile.
Itwasbyaccidentthatshesawtheemailsfromhisfather.SethhadforgottentocloseoutthewindowandwhenReginasatdownatthecomputershewasabletoseethemall.ShesaidtheemailsweresentbeforeSeth’sfatherhadkilledhiswifeandthenhimself.Theemailswereconvoluted.Hisfatherravedaboutconspiraciesthegovernmenthadtokillhimandhiswivesandtakehischildren.HesuspectedSeth’smotherofslippingmedicationintohisfoodtomakehimtiredandfoggy.Theverylastemailhe’dsentSethwasthedaybeforehedied,wherehe’doutlinedhisplantokillhiswifeandthenhimself.Itwouldonlybethetwoofthem—hewouldsparehisotherwives.ReginahadsearchedSeth’sin-boxforhisreplies,surehe’dtriedtotalkhisfatherdown,convincehimtogethelp,buttherewasnothingofthesort.She’dconfrontedSethaboutitandhe’dgottenangry.ItwastheonlytimeI’dseenReginashowanyemotionotherthanherhardcoldness.Hereyeshadfilledwithtearsasshetoldmehowhe’dsmashedeverythingaroundhim:vases,plates,he’deventossedthetelevisionontothefloor.Heaccusedherofsnoopingwhereshedidn’tbelong.Thenhe’dthreatenedher.Grabbingherbytheneck,he’dpushedherupagainstawalluntilReginahadscreamedoutthatshewaspregnant.
Sethhaddroppedhishandsimmediatelyandsmiledlikethelasttenminuteshadn’thappened.Andthenhe’dcried.Wrappinghisarmsaroundherwaist,he’dsobbeduncontrollably,sayingthathewassorry,andthattalkingabouthisparents’deathshadtriggeredsomethinginhim.AsReginastoodnumblywithhisarmswrappedaroundherwaist,Sethhadpromisedtogethelp,sayingthingswouldchange.They’dmovedonfromthereandforthefirstmonthsofherpregnancy,everythinghadbeenperfect:Seth,thedotingfather-to-be.She’dalmostforgottenabouttheincident.Andthen,suddenly,she’dmiscarriedattwenty-oneweeksalong.She’dhadabump,andshe’dalreadyfeltthebabymove.Shehadtogivebirthtoit—agirl.Sethhadacteddevastated,promisingtheycouldtryagain.ButReginarefused.Frightenedofexperiencingthesamething,shegotonbirthcontrol—thekindtheyinsertintoyourarm—andfocusedonhercareerinstead.He’dpleadedwithhertakeitoutandwhensherefused,they’dgrownapart.Eventually,Sethsuggestedapluralmarriage,becausehewantedchildren.WhenReginasaidno,he’daskedforadivorceandshe’dgivenittohim,thoughhedidn’tstopcomingaround.Hewaspayinghalfofherbills,asthathadbeentheagreementwhenshe’dgivenhimthedivorce.SowhenhecametoPortlandforwork,hestayedattheiroldhouse,firstintheguestroom,andthenbackintheirbed.I’dalmostseenshameonherfacewhenshetoldmethey’dstillhavesexwhenhevisited,eventhoughhewasmarriedtoanotherwoman.Shetoldmethatshe’dneverknownaboutHannah,andIbelievedher.
“Theweekbeforemymiscarriage,he’dstartedmakingmetea,”she’dsaid.“Ithoughtitwasstrangebecausehe’dneverbeenonetodomuchinthekitchen.Hedidn’tevenmakecoffeeinthemornings,andthenallofasudden,he’sboilingwaterandseepingleaveslikeanexpert.Itdidn’toccurtomeuntilyoumentionedit.”
“Itcouldbeacoincidence,”I’dsaid.
Reginahadshakenherhead.“Hewastheoldestofhissiblings,andheresentedthem.Thoughttheytookattentionawayfromhim.Hetoldmethathehatedhavingtosharespacewithabunchoftoddlers…”
“Whatareyousaying?”
She’djuststaredatmelikesheexpectedmetogetitandthenshe’dfinallysaid,“Ithinkhe’sgoingtodothesamethingtothisothergirl,Hannah.Wehavetostophim.Ineedafewdaystofindoutwheresheis.”
THIRTY-FOUR
ReginasendsmeanaddressinthePearlDistrictandIpunchitintomyphoneasIwaitatthelighttoturnonto5.Icanfeelmyheartbeating;itfeelslikeit’slodgedinmythroat.Itrytoquellthepanicrisinginmychest.Ihavetohurry.IhavetohelpHannah.I’donlyeverbeentothePearlDistrictinpassing,drivingthroughwhatwasoncethewarehousedistrict,nowknownforitsartgalleriesandupscaleresidences.SethandIhadeatenlunchthereatarestaurantthatsatontheWillametteRiver,suckingoystersfromtheirshells,andthenheldhandsaswewalkedbacktoourcar.Itwasaperfectday.Notlongafter,I’dfoundoutIwaspregnant,andwonderedifourbabyhadbeenconceivedthatnightunderthecrisphotelsheets.
ImakeafewnecessarycallsasIdrive,myvoicecalmdespitethelevelofmaniaI’mfeelingontheinside.I’dtriedcallingReginaaftershesentthetext,butmycallhadgonestraighttovoicemail.Shewillbethere,Itellmyself.We’reworkingasateam.SomethinglingersinthebackofmymindbutIpushitaway.She’sallIhaveandI’mgoingtohavetotrusther.I’mjitterythroughthedrive,leaningforwardinmyseatandtalkingtothecarsthatgetinmyway.WasHannahallrightorwasSethkeepingherprisoner?Willsheberelievedtoseemeoractlikeshedoesn’tknowwhoIam?
It’sallsounsettling,thetypeofwanderingthoughtsthatcouldmakeyouquestionyourownsanity.I’vecertainlydoneenoughofthatinthelastweeks.Ipushdownontheacceleratorandmycarlurchesforward,almostrear-endingatruck.Iridehisbumperuntilhemovesoutofthefastlane.HegivesmethefingerasIspeedby,yellingsomethingintothewind.Iignorehimandmoveontothenextcar,almostslammingintothebackofit,too.ThiscontinuesforseveralmilesuntilIseetheflashingredandbluelightsinmyrearviewmirror;thebriefshrillofthesirensoundsbehindme,andI’mforcedtomoveovertwolanestoreachtheshoulder.Iwaitfortheofficertowalkuptomywindow,mystomachclenchinginknots.
“Ma’am,licenseandregistration,please.”
I’mready.Ipassthemthroughthewindow,willinghimtolookintomyeyes.Hedoes,thoughIcan’tseehishiddenbehindreflectiveglasses—thetypeyouseethepolicewearinmovies.Hedisappearsbacktohiscruiser,mypaperheldinhishand.Afterafewminuteshecomesback.
“DoyouknowwhyIpulledyouover?”
“Iwasspeeding,”Isaywithouthesitation.
Hisfacedoesn’tbetrayanything;hestaresfrombehindhisglasses,stonyandexpectant.
“I’mlate.Myfault,Itotallydeserveaticket.”
Stillnothing.Itapmyfingeronthewheel,wishinghe’dhurryupandgetonwiththings.Hehandsmemypapers.
“Bemorecarefulnexttime.”
That’sall?Ilookathisbadge:OfficerMorales.
“Um…thankyou,”Isay.
“You’reallset,”hesays.“Haveagoodone.”
Ittakesmetenminutestomergebackontothehighway,myheartstillringinginmychest.ButonceIamonmywayIalmostfeelgood—betterthanIhadbefore.Ieaseuponthegasandfollowbehindasemi,keepingtothespeedlimitthistime.
Icrossthebridgeintothecityjustasthesunismakingitsdescent.Warmorangelightilluminatesthebuildings,andforamoment,Igettheimpressionthatit’ssummer—alongtimefromnow.Thisisallsortedout,abigmisunderstanding,andmylifeisbacktonormal.ThefeelingissopowerfulthatIhavetofightitback,pushitaway.Awoman’sgreatestfoeissometimesherhopethatshe’simagineditall.Thatsheherselfiscrazyratherthanthecircumstancesofherlife.Funnytheemotionalresponsibilityawomaniswillingtotakeonjusttomaintainanillusion.Ithinkaboutwhatitfeelslikeoutside:theaircoldenoughtoshowmybreath.Mylifeatwisted,frighteningmessofdeceit,mymindeasilybeguiled…that’smylessonasoflate:thingsarenotalwayswhattheyseem.Ishakeoffthelastofthefeeling,myresolvereturningasIdriveoffthebridgeandturnintothebustleofdowntownPortland.Sethandhislittleharem.I’dcheckedmybankaccountbeforeIleftandfoundapatternofcashwithdrawals:twoaweekforthepastsixmonths.HowhadInotnoticedbefore?SethwassyphoningmoneyfrommyaccounttopayReginaback.Iwonderifsheknowswherehe’sgettingthemoneyfrom,ifitwouldhavemadeadifference?Heisgoingtoanswerforallofit.Ipushdownonthegaspedal.
MyGPSdirectsmetoabuildingthatisstillunderconstruction.Condominiums,fourfloorsofthem,brandnew;therearesignsalongthestreetadvertisingtheirprices.VisitOurSalesOffice!Thewestsideisinhabited,whilescaffoldingstillhangsontotheeastside,plasticsheetscoveringtheemptyunitsthathaveyettogettheirwalls.Iparkandhesitantlystepout.HowcouldSethaffordthisforHannahwhileReginalivesinthatdump?HewasstilltryingtoimpressHannah,Ithink.He’dhavemadeawaytogivehispregnantwifesecurity.IcallReginaasIstandnexttomycar,butitgoesstraighttohervoicemail.Ileaveamessage,myvoiceshaking.
“Regina…I’mhereatHannah’s…Iwashopingyou’dbehere…I’mgoingin.Ijust…Ihavetostopwhat’shappening…”IhangupbeforeIstarttocry.
Thedoorsintothebuildingdon’trequireacardforentrylikeminedoes.ThewholeprocessofgettingtoHannah’sfloorisrelativelyeasyduetothelaxrulessurroundingtheconstruction.Ilookatalaminatedmapofthebuildingtapedtothelobbywallandfindthatherunitislocatedonthesecondfloor.Astheelevatorclimbsupward,Ireachbehindme,lightlytouchingthecoldmetalofthe9mm.I’dmoveditfrommypursetothewaistbandofmypantsbeforeIgotoutofthecar.
IhavenoideawhatSeth’sstateofmindis,howhe’llreacttomebeinghere.He’ssick,asortofserialbabyabortionist,endinghisownchildren’slivesbyendangeringthelivesofhismultiplewives.God,whatiswrongwithme,gettingcaughtupinallofthis?WhatIdorememberisthelookonhisfacethatafternoonIattackedhim,thecruelcoldnessIsawrightbeforeIblackedout.Andblackedoutistoogeneralofadescription.Iamsurehewrestledmetotheground,slammedmyheadagainstthekitchenfloor,butmymemoryisshifty.
MyheartisracingasIstepofftheelevatorandontoHannah’sfloor.WillSethbewithherorwillshebealone?Herdooristhefarthestfromtheelevator.Willanyonehearmeifsomethinggoeswrong?Ipausehalfwaydownthehallway,placingmyhandonthewall,asItakeafewdeepbreaths.ThenIsurgeforward,walkingfasterthanInormallywould.
“Let’sgetthisoverwith,”Isayquietlytomyself.ThenI’minfrontofherdoor,palmssweating.Iliftmyhandandknock.Myfistmakesaloudwhamp-whampnoisethatechoesdownthelonghallway.ThesmelloffreshpaintandnewlylaidcarpetfillsmynoseasIglancebehindmetoseeifanyoftheotherdoorswillopen.Ihearalatchclickandthenthedoorswingswide.I’vecaughtherbysurprise.Hannahstandsinthedoorwaywithhermouthslightlyajar,adishtowelhanginglimplyfromherhand.
“Ineedtotalktoyou,”Isaybeforeshecansayanything.“It’sveryimportant…”Whenshedoesn’tlookconvinced,Iadd,“It’saboutSeth.”
Herlipspresstogetherandherforeheadcreasesassheconsidersme.HerprettyfaceistwistedinworryassheglancesintotheapartmentbehindherandforthefirsttimeithitsmehowyoungHannahis.She’sjustababy,Ithink.ThesameageasIwaswhenIstartednursingschool.I’dfallenforSeththen,too,trustedhimwholeheartedly.WhatwouldIhavedoneifReginahadshownupatmyhomesayingthesamething?Ittakesheraminutetodecidewhattodo.Iforcemyselfnottolookatherbelly,tokeepmyeyeslockedonherface.Idon’twanttoknow,doI?WhatifI’mtoolate?Iwouldn’tbeabletolivewithmyself
Sheturnsintotheapartment,leavingthedooropen.ItakethatasmycuethatI’mbeingpermittedentry.HannahwalksovertothelivingroomwherethecouchI’dseeninherformerhousesits.Shecrossesherarmsoverherchestasshestaresatme.Shelooksuncomfortable.Iclosethedoorgentlybehindmeandtakeafewstepstowardher.Thereareboxesstackedagainstwalls,unpackedandunmarked.Shemovedinahurry.ThroughthebedroomdoorIcanseeanunmadebed,sheetsheapedintoapile.IlookforSeth,asismyhabit:apairofshoes,orthewaterglasshealwayssetsonthebedsidetable.ButIdon’tknowhishabitshere,withHannah,andforallIknow,theycouldbeverydifferentfromtheonesIamfamiliarwith.Imoveclosertoherandshelooksup,startled.
“Howareyoufeeling?”Iaskgently.
Herhandautomaticallymovestocupherbelly.Irememberthatgesturesowell,alwaysconsciousofthelifeyourbodywasnurturing.Somethingloosensinmychest:relief.She’sstillpregnant.
“Youtoldmehehityou,Hannah,”Isay.“Wasthattrue?”
“No,youtoldmehehitme,Thursday,”shesays.“Itriedtotellyouitwasn’ttrueandyouwouldn’thearme.”
“That’snottrue,”Isay.“Isawthebruises…”
Hannahlooksstricken.Sheglancesaroundtheroomlikeshe’slookingforanescape.
“HewasangrythatIfoundyouandthatIcametoseeyou,”Isay.“WhenIgothomeafterthelasttimeyouandIsaweachother,Iconfrontedhimaboutyou.”
Hereyesgowidebutherlipsstaystubbornlyclosed,likeshe’safraidtosayawordaboutit.
“Wefought,itturnedphysicalandthenextthingIknewIwasinthehospital.”
Hannahshakesherheadlikeshecan’tbelieveit.
“Youknowsomethingiswrongwithhim.Howhewasraised…thewayhe’saskedustolive…”
“Askedustolive?”sheasks.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
Thereisthesoundofakeyinalockandthefrontdoorswingsopen.MythroatclosesupandsuddenlyIfeellikeIcanbarelybreatheinthistinyapartment.Iclawatmyneck.Idon’tknowwhatI’mhopingtofindthere,anecklace,perhaps,somethingtoholdontoanddistractmyself.
Sethwalksthroughthedoor,plasticbagshookedonallhisfingers.Atfirsthedoesn’tseeme.HewalkstowardHannah,arelaxedsmileonhisface,andleansdowntokissher.
“Igotthecannedtypeofpearsyoulike,”hesays,andthenhestopsabruptlywhenheseestheexpressiononherface.“Whatisit,Han?”
HerheadswivelsinmydirectionandSethfollowshergazetowhereI’mstanding.Thelookonhisfaceisincredulous,likehecan’tbelieveIfoundthemhere.Hesetsthebagsdownandacanofpearsrollsoutandacrossthefloor.
Hannah’spixiefaceisashen,herlipsaflourywhiteasshestaresbetweenus.
“I’mhereforHannah,”Isay.“Towarnheraboutyou.”
THIRTY-FIVE
SethmarchesovertowhereI’mstandingandgrabsmebythearmbeforeIcanmoveaway.Thesurpriseheworeonhisfacejustamomentagoisgone,replacedbysomethingelse.I’mafraidtolooktoocarefully,soIkeepmyeyesonHannahashesteersmetowardthecouch.HeshovesmedownandmykneesbuckleasIfallintotheloveseat.It’ssoft,thecushionswideandplush,andIsinkintothem.AndthenI’mstrugglingtostraightenup,feelingclumsyandstupid.IgrappleawkwardlywithmybodyuntilI’mperchedontheedge,pressingmykneestogether,readytospringtomyfeetagain.Hannahwon’tlookatme.HereyesaredowncastasshestandsnearSeth.Iwonderwhathe’stoldher,whoshethinksIam.
“Howdidyoufindus?”heasks.
Iclampmymouthshut.I’mnotabouttotellhimthatReginahelpedme.
“Thursday,”Sethsays,takingasteptowardme.
IflinchbackandIimmediatelyfeelashamed.Surelyhewouldn’tdoanythingtomeinfrontofhisHannah.
“I’mcallingthepolice,”hesays,pullinghisphonefromhispocket.“You’restalkingus.You’readangertoyourselfandHannah.”
Mymouthopensandclosesinprotest,butI’mtooshockedtoreallysayanything.Stalking?HowcouldheactlikeI’mthedangertoHannahwhenhe’stheonewho’sbeenhittingher?
“You’vegonetoofar,”hecontinues.“It’sover,it’sbeenoverforawhile.”HeplacesanarmaroundHannah’sshoulders.AmIimaginingthatshe’sstiffened?“I’vetoldHannaheverything.Sheknowsaboutus.”
Knowsaboutus?Knowswhat?ApainshootsthroughmyforeheadandInarrowmyeyes,blinkingagainstit.
Idon’tlookatSeth,Ipretendhe’snotthere;IlookatHannah,onlyher,theyounggirlwhoselifehe’sgoingtoruin.Shelookstiny,somuchyoungerthanSeth;hisarmaroundheralmostseemspaternal.
“Hannah,”Isaygently.“WhathasSethtoldyouaboutme?”
Herheadsnapsupasshemeetsmygaze,andSeth’sshouldersgorigid.SheglancesatSeth,whoseeyesareboringintome.
“Itoldherthetruth,”hesays.“It’sover,Thursday.”
“Ididn’taskyou,IaskedHannah.”Ilookoverather.“WhenIwenttothehouse,youpretendednottoknowme…”
Shebitesherbottomlip,hereyesblinkingfuriously.“YouknewwhoIwas,”shesays.“Youcametoourhouse,pretendingtobesomeoneelse.Youwerestalkingus…”Hervoicerisesincrescendo.
Ineedhertobecalmandlogical,toreallylistentome.Inod.“You’reright.Ididcometoyourhouse.Iwascuriousaboutwhoyouwere.IknewthatSethhadrelationshipswithtwootherwomenoutsideofourmarriageandIwantedtosee…you.”
HerheadjerkslikeI’veslappedher.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”SheglancesatSeth,thenbackatme.
“SethandIarestillmarried,”Isay.
“You’reinsane.”Hervoiceshakes.
IlookatSeth,strainingmyeyessowideitfeelslikethey’regoingtopopoutoftheirsockets.
“Thisiswhatyoutoldher?”Iaskhim.“Sheneverknewanythingaboutapluralmarriage.Sowasthatstoryjustforme,then?”
Amusclejumpsinhisjaw.IcanseebythelookinhiseyesthatI’mright.
“Wewerelivingtogetherashusbandandwife,ineveryway,”Isay,turningtoHannah.
Hannahstartstocry.Sethreachesforher,butshepusheshimaway,hersobsfillingtheapartment.
“Lookwhatyou’vedone,”shesaystohim.“Lookwhatyoubroughtintoourlives.”
Ilookathimforthefirsttime.Hismouthopeningandclosing.Broughtintotheirlives?SethbroughtHannahintomine.Iwasherefirst.
ForaminuteI’minshock.Ipicturehimasmyhusbandandnotthismonster.ThemanIloved,whowouldkissmegentlyonthelipsandrubmyneckafteralongdayofwork.Icookedhimmealsandhepraisedmyability;whensomethingbrokeinthecondohe’dgetthetoolboxandfixitwithmestandingoverhim,feelingprideathowgoodhewasateverything.Thehurtrushesthroughmeandthenallofasuddenit’sgone,replacedbyanger.Howdarehe.Howdarehelovemeoneminuteanddiscardmethenext.
Seth’sattentionisn’tfocusedonme.It’sfocusedonHannah.
“She’snotwell,”hesays.“Shejustgotoutofamentalhospital.I’msorry,Hannah…Iloveyou,onlyyou.”
“Notwell?”Isay.“Iwastherebecauseyouputmethere,becauseyouwereafraidofwhatIcouldsayaboutyou.”Iturnmyattentionbacktohistremblinggirlfriend.“Hewasgoodtome—orsoIthought—andIbelievedeverythinghetoldme.WhenIlostthebaby,Ibecameuselesstohim.Isthatthetypeofmanyouwanttobewith,Hannah?Someonewholiestoyou,whohitsyou,whofindsotherwomentomeethissick,insatiableneeds.Itwasn’tonlyme,”Isay.“He’sbeenwithRegina,too.”
“That’swhyyoucamehere?”Sethhisses.“ToaccusemeofhittingthewomanIlove?Areyouinsane?You’retheviolentone.YouattackedmewhenItriedtoendthingswithyou.Wehadtomovetogetawayfromyou.”
“Therewerebruisesonherarms,”Iyellathim.“Isawthem!”
“Itoldyouwhatthosebruiseswerefrom,”Hannahinterjects.“Ibruiseeasily.”
Ishakemyhead.“Youreye…youhadablackeyethatday…”
ShelookstoSeth,uncertain,andforamomentIthinkIhaveher,thatshe’sgoingtoadmitwhathappened.Butthenshesayssomethingthatshocksme.
“Wewerehavingsexwhenithappened.Ididn’twanttosaythatatthetime.YouandIhadjustmet,anditwasembarrassingtosay.Sethaccidentallyelbowedmeintheeye.”
Istareatherindisbelief.Whyisshestilllying?“Heshovedmeonce,whenwewerefighting.Ihitmyear.Maybehedidn’tdirectlyhityoubut—”
“Thursday,youcameatme,poundingatmychest.Itriedtoholdyouoff…youfell…”
Seth’svoiceisexasperated,adeeplineslicedbetweenhiseyebrows.Whatanactor!Hannahislookingfrommetohimlikeshedoesn’tknowwhotobelieve.Ilatchontothat,knowinggettinghertobelievemeistheonlywaytogetherawayfromhim.
“No,that’snotthewayIrememberit.”
Helaughsbitterly.“Thereseemstobequitealotyou’renotremembering,”hesaysthroughgrittedteeth.
“Whyismynameonyourhouse?”Iask.IturntoHannah.“Thehouseyouwerelivinginbelongstome.”
Hannahturnsherfaceaway,butSeth’seyesbug.
“Becauseit’syourhouse,Thursday!Yourgrandmotherleftittoyou.”
“No!”Iscream.Butsomewhere,deepinmymind,Iknowit’strue.I’dalreadyownedthecondowhenmygrandmotherpassedaway,andI’dofferedSethuseofthehousewhilehecommutedbackandforthfromPortlandtoSeattle.Hetoldmehe’ddotherenovationsIwantedforfree,inexchangeforstayingtherewhileinPortland.Acryescapesmythroat.Iliftmyhandtomyneck.Mybreathiscomingoutinjaggedgasps.HowhadInotknownitwasmyhouse—mygrandmother’s?HannahhadgivenmeatourandI’dfollowedheraroundtheroomslikeastranger.
“Yourestatemanagerputitupforrent,”hesays.
Ihatethewayhe’slookingatme:pityanddisgustmarhisfeatures.
“You’recrazy,”hesays.It’sdismissive,ashakeofhishead.He’sgladtobedonewithme,heseesmeassomethingtogetridof;healwayshas.
“No,I’mnot.”I’mshiveringsohardIcanhearmyteethrattle.
HelaughsasIstareathim.“Ofcourseyouare.You’vealwaysbeencrazy.Youwereobsessedwithmyex-wife,justlikeyou’reobsessedwithHannah.Wewereamistake,Thursday,that’sall.Ilikedfuckingyou,areyouhearingme?That’sallyouweretome.”
HeturnstoHannahjustasIgripthesideofthesofawithoneofmyhands.Thepainisfrightening;Icanfeelitinmytoes…mychest…myeyes.
“Baby,”hesaystoher,“Imadeamistake.Please…”
“Whydidn’tyoutellmeitwasherhouse?”Hannahisbackingawayslowly,shakingherhead.
“Iwasgoingto…afterIendeditwithThursday.Ididn’twanttoupsetyou.Thebaby…Please,Hannah,itwasallamistake.I’msosorry.”He’sbeencaughtinanotherlie.ItakeahopefulsteptowardHannahandSethscreamsatme.“Don’tyoucomenearher!”
“Amistakewithwhat?”Iscream.“I’myourwife!”
TheroomgoesquietasbothSethandHannahstareatmeinhorror.
“No,Thursday,”Ihearfrombehindme.“You’rehismistress.”
Ifreeze,mybloodrunningcold.Turningaround,IseeReginastandinginthedoorway,herpurseslungoverhershoulderasshelooksarounduncertainly.OureyesmeetforasecondbeforeshelocatesHannahcryingnearthekitchen.Shestepsinside.
“Youwerehismistressandyouofferedtolethimliveinyourhousewithhisnewwife.”
“That’snottrue.”Butitistrue.Iremembernow.WhenSethmarriedHannah,myrentershadjustmovedout;thehousewasopen.I’dofferedittothem.IthoughtitwouldbuymefavorwithSeth;I’dbethegiving,selflesswife.IstareatRegina,tearsfillingmyeyes.
“Youwerethereasonourmarriageended,”shesays.“YouhadanaffairwithSeth.”
Ihearroaringinmyears.Thetipsofmyfingerstingle.
“Reginatoldmeeverything,Thursday,”Sethsays.“Thatyoucametoherofficepretendingtobesomeoneelse,andthatyouforcedyourwayintoherhome.YourcrazytheoriesabouthowIcausedyourmiscarriage,andhowyouinsistedmyparentsarealive…”
“Youtoldmeyourparentswerealive!Theydidn’tcometoourwedding—yousaiditwasbecauseyourfatherwasinthehospital…”
“No,”hesays,shakinghisheadslowly.“That’swhytheydidn’tcometomyweddingwithRegina.Itoldyouthatstory.”
“No.”
“Yes,Thursday.OhmyGod,ohmyGod,”hesays.
WhenReginalooksatmethereisnothingonherface;it’sbeenwipedofexpression.Istareatherandshestaresback.
“Whywouldyoudothis?”Iask.
“Everyoneallright?”sheasks,lookingfromSethtoHannah.
“Regina—”Isay.
Shecutsmeoff.“Sheleftamessageonmyphone.Saidshewascominghere.Ididn’tknow…Iwasworried.”
Achillwashesoverme;itstartsatthebackofmyneckandcreepsdownmybodylikeaninvisiblehand.Itrytocatchhereye.Whatisshedoing?Surelyshecameheretobackmeup.Iwanttoaskherwhat’sgoingon,whyshewon’tlookatme,butmytongueisgluedtotheroofofmymouthandmyheartpoundssteadily.
“Icalledthepolice,”shesaystome.“ItoldthemyouwerecomingherewiththeintenttoharmSethorHannah,thatyou’dthreatenedtodoso.”
Mywholebodyistremblingnow.It’sasetup,itwasallasetup.Whenshe’dtoldmeshe’dfoundoutwhereHannahwas,I’dbeentoopreoccupiedtoaskherhow.She’dknownallalongwheretheywere,andI’dplayedrightintoherhand.
IlookatHannah,whoiscryingfattears.IthinkofRegina’sdingyapartment,herbitterness,thethingsshetoldmeaboutSeth.Shewantstomakemelookcrazy.
“Youfuckingbitch,”Isay,walkingtowardher.Idon’tknowwhatIintendtodo,butthenshe’sinfrontofmeandmyhandsarearoundherneck.Itwasamistake;Sethisonmeinaflash,grabbingmywristsandpullingmeaway.Istruggleagainsthim,kickingout,andfeelmyfootcatchhimintheknee.Hegruntsinpainandfallstowardme,pushingmetotheground.Ireachforthegun,theoneItuckedintomywaistbandjustincase.Myhandistrapped,myfingerstouchingthecoldmetal;Seth’sweightisonmyupperbody.IhearHannahscreaming,Reginaisyellingmyname.Ican’tlethimhurtHannah’sbaby.Istruggletopullthegunfree,yankingitfromtheconfinesofmyjeans.Myfingerfindsthetrigger.AsSeth’skneecomesdownhardonmystomachIpullthetrigger.IhearaloudpopandthenReginascreamingout,tellingHannahtocall911.TheairwhooshesoutofmeatthesametimeIfeelbloodonmyhands.Sethcollapsesontopofme,theguntrappedbetweenus.Hisbloodpoolswarmonmybelly.Icanbarelybreathe.Andit’sinthatlossofbreaththatIremember.Sethapproachingmeatthecoffeeshop,himtellingmethathewasmarried,myinitialanger,andthenouraffair,gettingpregnant…andhiswife,Regina,leavinghim.Irememberthinkinghe’dmarrymenowthatReginawasoutofthepicture,thatwe’dbeafamily.ButthenIlostthebaby…OhGod,ohGod.WakingupinthehospitalandthedoctortellingmethatI’dneverbeabletohaveanotherchild.ThelookonSeth’sface…
Andthenhe’dleftme.ForHannah.Somesluthemetwhowasyoungenoughandfertileenoughtohavehisbabies.TheywerebothfromUtah;shewastenyearshisjunior.ButI’dbeggedhimtocomebacktome;I’dtoldhimthatIdidn’tcareifhemarriedHannah,thatIstillwantedhim.Andsobeganoursecondaffair
THIRTY-SIX
It’sdifferentthistime;Iammorerelaxed,lessanxious.ThestaffknowsmebynameandInolongerfeellikeafacelessvictim.Dr.Steinbridgeseesmethreetimesaweek.Hesayswearemakingprogress.
Iwanderthelong,stale-smellingcorridors,thinkingaboutmychoices,itemizingmyweaknesses.TherearesomanymomentsinmylifewhenIshouldhavebeenawakeandinsteadwasinasleepy,emotionaltrance.Iallowedthingstohappentome.
Itakealloftheclassesandgroups:myfavoriteisholisticyoga,whereweallgatherinawindowlessroomandperchfluidlyonpurplemats,breathingdeeplyandemptyingourmindsofourtroubles.Somanytroubleswehave,somanydisorders.Laurenbringsmedinnertwiceaweekfrommyfavoritetake-outplaces,andmymothervisits,wearingaguiltyexpressionandbearinghugeplasticcontainersofhomemadecookies.
“Enoughforeveryone,”shesays.
I’veneveraskedherwhatshethinksofthesituationwithSeth,orifshe’sincontactwithhim.Idon’tthinkIwanttoknow.Once,whenIsaidhisname,asourexpressionappearedonherfacebeforeitwasquicklyreplacedbywhatIcallhereverythingisallright!smile.
Annahasflownintwicetoseeme.Thefirsttimeshecame,shemarchedintoQueenCountywithplentytosayaboutSeth,andloudenoughforeveryoneinthevicinitytohear.Blessher.Myfatherhasnotcome.Idon’texpecthimto.Iamhisbrokenchild,anembarrassment.IliedtomyparentsaboutSethandnowtheyknowthetruth:Iamamistress,notworthyofmarriage.
DuringmylastweekinQueenCounty,Isitaloneatdinnernearthewindow,mytrayofshepherd’spiecongealinginfrontofme.Jell-O,too,ofcourse—alwaysJell-O.Thewaterheretastesmetallicanddirty,butIsipitslowly,staringoutatthegrassylawnbelow.ThewindowfogsfrommybreathandIbreatheharderjusttowatchthepatchofcondensationgrowandretract,growandretract.
Thetherapyhasbeenabreeze,really—helpful,even.AfterthepolicecametoHannahandSeth’stemporaryhomeandfoundSethbleedingontopofme,Iwastakentothehospital.Ispentthreedaysthererecoveringfromminorwoundsbeforetheytransferredmetojailtoawaitmyarraignment.
Reginahadsetmeup,ofcourse,gettingmetobelieveandaccuseSethofcausingbothofourmiscarriages.Butthisturnedouttohelpmycase.MylawyergotmeoffoninsanityandtheysentmebacktoQueenCounty,thistimeforamuchlongerstay.Iwasrelievedactually,afraidthey’dsendmesomewherenew.
DuringmyfirstmeetingwithDr.Steinbridge,justadayafterIarrived,hetoldmethatI’dbeenstalkingSethandhisnewwifeforquitesometime.HealsotoldmethatSeth’sex-wife,Regina,hadcorroboratedthestorybysayingthatI’dshownupatherworkandherhome,forcingmyselfinsideanddemandinginformationaboutthem.ReginaproducedthevoicemailI’dleftherrightbeforeI’dchargedintoSethandHannah’scondo.ThedoctorplayeditformeasIsatintheleatherarmchairacrossfromhim.Ididn’tmovealimbasIlistened,mybodytensewithanticipation.Eventomyownears,Isoundedcrazy.ItwasthenthatDr.Steinbridgepausedthevoicemail,waitingformetoeitherdenyorowntheseclaims.Ididneither.Nopointindenyingthestalkingpart—thatwastrue,regardlessofhowReginahadplayedme.Isatinsilence,listeningtohim,theexcusesdyingonmytongue.
“Youdonotbearfullresponsibilityforwhathappened,”Dr.Steinbridgetoldme.“Sethisatroubledindividual,thewayhegrewup,theabuseheclaimshesuffered.Hecheatedonbothofhiswivesandemotionallymanipulatedyou.Heusedyouandplayedintoyourdenial.Butwearen’theretodealwithSeth’sissues,we’reheretodealwithyours.Whenyourealizedwhatwashappeninginyourrelationshipwithhim,yourmindcreatedanalternaterealitytodealwithboththedeathofyourunbornbabyandthefactthatSethwasmovingonwithsomeoneelse.”
“Buthenevertriedtoendthingswithme,”Isaid.
AndthenthegooddoctorproducedhalfadozenemailsbetweenSethandme,allofwhichcamedirectlyfrommyemailaccount.Heletmereadthem.Seth,alwayslogical,pleadingwithmetoacceptthefactthatwewereoverandthathewassorryforcheatingonHannah.Ihadnomemoryofreadingthoseemails,nomemoryofansweringthem.Dr.SteinbridgesaidthatIdeletedtheminmydesperationtopretenditwasn’thappening.
“ThepolicealsofoundtheaccountyoucreatedunderthenameWillMoffit,theoneyouusedtogetaccesstoRegina…”
“Yes,butIonlydidthatbecauseIthoughtshewascheatingonhim…”
He’dlookedatmesympathetically.
“WhataboutSeth’sparents?Theysentmecards…Ihavethem.”
“Thecardswerepartofyourcase.Yourattorneypresentedthemtothejuryasevidencewhenyoupleadedguiltybyreasonofinsanity.Youwrotethem.Theybroughtinahandwritinganalysttoproveit.”
Isawmyselfinlineatthegrocerystore,astackofcardsontheconveyorbelt.I’dwhimpered,pressingtheheelsofmyhandstomyeyes.
“It’srightthere,Thursday,rightinfrontofyou,”he’dsaid,tappingthepaperswithafinger.Hisfingersweregloriouslybent,likeknobbytreebranches.Iwatchedthempokeattheprintedpagesinfascination.“YouandSethwerenevermarried.Hehadanaffairwithyouwhenhewasmarriedtohisfirstwife,Regina.Reginalefthimwhenshefoundoutthathegotyoupregnant.”He’dpausedtoletthatsinkin.“Butyoulostthebaby,andthatcausedyoutoenterapsychoticepisode.”
Sethhadnotcausedourmiscarriages,butReginamademebelievethathehad.Why?Reginahadlostababy—thatallcameoutinthetrial—butmuchearlierthanmine,ateightweeks.ShetestifiedthatshecaughtSethtamperingwithherbirthcontrol.I’dlookedbackatReginaatthatverymoment,asshesatontheothersideofthecourtroom,rememberingherconfessioninthedinerthatday,andI’dseenherfacepale.
OnceImadeSeththeenemyinmymind,itwassoeasytobelievewhatReginafedme.Mybabyhadbeenhealthyoneday,movingandkicking,andthenhe’djuststopped.Therewasnomedicalreasonfound.Sometimesthosethingsjusthappen,babiesstopliving.
“Dr.Steinbridge,”Isayduringonesession.“Isn’titfunnythatSethnevermentionedanyofthisthelasttimeIwashere?”
“Heneverclaimedtobeyourhusband,Thursday.Whenyoucameinlasttimeit’sbecauseSethtriedtoendthingswithyou.HeadmittedasmuchtomewhenIspoketohimprivately,thathewasmarriedtosomeoneelse,andthatyouwerehismistress.Hiswife,Hannah,figuredoutwhoyouwereonthelastnightyousawher.Doyouremember?”
Irememberhavingdinnerwithher,goingtothebathroomandcomingouttofindhergone.Itellthedoctorthis.
“Sethfiguredoutwhereyouwereandtextedher.Hetoldhertoleaverightaway.”
“ButwhenIgotbacktomyapartment,hewasthere.Hishandwasbeatup…”
“Yes,well,heclaimshepunchedawallwhenhefoundoutyouwerestalkinghiswife.Youattackedhimwhenhetoldyouitwasover.Iimaginehefeltasenseofdutyinvisitingyouhereafterthat.”
“Buthecametopickmeup,takemehome.”
“No,”thedoctorsays.“Yourfatherpickedyouupandtookyouhome.”
Ilaughatthat.“Areyoukiddingme?MyfathercametoseemeonceafterIgotoutofhere.Hedoesn’tcareaboutme.”
“Thursday,”Dr.Steinbridgesays.“Iwasthere.Yourfathercame,broughtyouclothes,stayedwithyouforaweekuntilyoucrushedAmbienintohisdinnerandsnuckouttodrivetoPortland.”
“No,”Isay.Mylimbsfeelodd,likethey’renotapartofme.Thedoctorhasitwrong,orhe’slying.MaybeSethgottohim,paidhimofftokeepquiet…
“Youwereonheavymedicationandstillsufferingfromdelusions.”
Iwanttolaugh.HowcrazydotheythinkIam,mistakingmyfatherforSeth?
Istandupsuddenly,mymovementsoabruptmychairfallsbackwardandhitsthegroundwithametallicsmack.Dr.Steinbridgestaresupatmefromwherehe’ssitting,hishandsfoldedcalmlyonthedesk.Hiseyes,shadedbythosecaterpillareyebrowsofhis,looksad.IfeelasifI’mevaporating,slowlybeingsuckedawayintooblivion.
“Closeyoureyes,Thursday.Seeitagainasitreallywas.”
Idon’thaveto,Idon’thavetoclosemyeyes—becauseit’splayingoutlikeareelinmymind.
Iseethosedaysinmycondo,exceptthistimeIseeittherightway:myfatherhoveringandhandingmemypills,myfatherreadingthrillersfrommybookshelf,myfatherwatchingFriendswithmeonthecouch.
“No,”Isayagain,myeyesfillingwithtears.
Sethhadn’tcometogetmebecausehetoldmeouraffairwasoverandhe’dgonebacktohiswife.Sethhadabandonedmeforthesecondtime.Iwasn’tenough.Iwasn’tenough.Ideservedtobealone.Mywailisasiren,loudandshrill.Iclawatmyface,myarms,anythingIcanreach.Iwanttoscrapeoffallofmyskin,scrapeuntilthereisnothingleftbutmuscleandblood,untilIammerelyathingandnotahumanbeing.Thereiswarmthonmyfingertipswhentheychargeinandgrabme;mybloodleavesstainsontheirscrubs.
Inmyfirstyearasanurse,amancameintotheERtwoweeksbeforeChristmaswithacrushedskull.HisnamewasRobbieClemminsandIsworeI’dneverforgethisname,sotragicwashisaccident.Arooferwhovolunteeredinhissparetimeatanursinghome,he’dbeenhangingChristmaslightsontheoutsideofthebuildingwhenhe’dfallentwostoriesandlandedonhisback,smackinghisheadonthepavement.Whensomeonefoundhim,hewasconscious,lyingonhisbackandspeakinginacalm,normalvoice.Hewasrecitinganoralreporthe’dgiveninthefifthgradeabouthowtoproperlyskinasquirrel.WhentheywheeledhimintotheERhewassobbing,mutteringsomethingabouthiswife,thoughhewasn’tmarried.Irememberseeingtheconcaveinhisheadandwantingtothrowup,andthenlatertheX-raysinwhichhisskulllookedlikeacrackedegg.Theimpacthadjarredhisbrain;chipsofhisskullenteredthebraintissueandhadtoberemovedduringasurgerythatlastedeighthours.Thoughwesavedhislife,wewereunabletosavewhohewasbeforetheaccident.Irememberthinkinghowfragilewewereashumans,soulscoveredintenderfleshandbrittlebone;onewrongstepandwebecamesomeoneelseentirely.
Mybrainisintactinthetraditionalway;Ididnotfallfromaroof,thoughitseemsIfellatsomeheightfromreality.Dr.SteinbridgehasdiagnosedmewithalistofthingsI’dbeembarrassedtorepeat;thebottomlineisthatIhaveanunhealthybrain.Ioftensitinmyroomandpicturemybrainenflamedandoozingwithmyvariousdiagnoses.TherearedayswhereIwanttocrackmyownheadopenandremovemybrain,andIfindmyselffantasizingaboutallthewaysIcandoit.Iwanttogetbetter,butsometimesIcan’tevenrememberwhat’swrongwithme.IaminmyroomoneafternoonwhenIlookupandseeDr.Steinbridgestandinginthedoorway.Theseriouslookonhisfacetellsmehehasnews.
“ReginaCoelehasrequestedavisitwithyou,”hetellsme.“Youdon’thavetoseeherifyoudon’twantto.”
I’mtouched;hisinterestinmycasehasbecomemoretenderthanthestiff,formalwayourrelationshipstarted.
“Iwanttotalktoher,”Isay.Andit’strue—I’vebeenwaitingforthisforayear,wadingthroughthedaysuntilIcouldcomeface-to-facewiththeanswersSeth’sfirstwifeholds.
“I’llputintheapprovalform.Ithinkthismayreallyhelpyou,Thursday.Toputthingsintoperspectiveandtomoveforward.”
It’stwoweeksbeforeanursecomestotellmethatReginaisheretoseeme.MyheartpoundsasIwalktotherecroom,wearingsweatsandatanktop,myhairpiledontopofmyheadinamessyknot.WhenIglancedatmyselfinthemirrorbeforeleavingmyroomIlookedrelaxed…pretty,even.
Reginaisdressedsmartlyinabutton-downshirtanddresspants,herhairpulledawayfromherfaceinachignon.Imakemywayovertowhereshesits,smilingatsomeofthenursesasIpassthem.
“Hello,Thursday,”shesays.
Sheeyesmeupanddown,alookofsurpriseonherface.Shewasexpectingamess.Iamnotamess.Idoyogaeveryday,andIeatmyfruitsandveggies—I’veevenbeensleepingwell.Mybodyishealthyevenifmymindisnot.Islideintotheseatoppositeherandofferasmile.Iimagineit’sapeacefulsmilebecauseI’mnolongertwistingandturningwithapprehension.
“Hi,”Isay.
I’vethoughtaboutReginaalmosteverydaysincecomingbacktoQueenCounty.Thethoughtsaren’tangryormean;it’smoreofadistantcuriosity.Iamtoomedicatedtobeangryatthispoint.
Hernostrilsflareasshewatchesme,bothofussocarefullywaitingfortheothertospeak.
“Howhaveyoubeen?”Icebreakerwords!
Idivert.“Whyareyouhere?”
“Idon’treallyknow,”shesays.“IguessIwantedtoseehowyouwere.”
“Tomakeyourselffeelbetterorworse?”
Herpaleskinflushes,strawberry-redpatchesappearingonhercheeksandchin.Regina’sgamehadasteepprice;shemayhavemeanttopunishme,butSethandHannahwillbepayingfortherestoftheirlives.
“Both,Isuppose.Ineverintendedforthingstogoasfarastheydid…”
“Thenwhy?”Iask.
“Youruinedmylife.Iwantedyoutopayforthat.”
Mythoughtsrunahead,spiralbackandthensinkintoamireofremorseandguilt.Ihadn’tknownIwasruiningherlife…orhadI?TherealityImadeupruinedeveryone’slives,butReginawasn’tasinnocentasHannahhadbeen.She’dusedmyweaknessagainstme;she’dsetmeup.
“Well,yougotwhatyouwanted,didn’tyou?”
“Yes,”shesaysfinally.“IsupposeIdid.”
I’dbeensoeagertoblamesomeoneforthedeathofmybabythatI’dneverquestionedherstory,andRegina,soeagertopunishme,hadneverimaginedtheoutcomeitwouldhave.
“Iknewyouhadissueswithmentalhealth,butIhadnoideathestoriesyoumadeupinyourownhead—aboutthepolygamy.”
Ilookaway,ashamed.Shameisapowerfulrealitycheck.Dr.Steinbridgesaidthatitwasshamethatcausedmetocreatemyalternatestateofreality.IwasgoodenoughforSethtofuck,hismistressforbothofhismarriages,butnotgoodenoughtolove.
Thedoctoristeachingmetocopewithmyshame,todealwithit.“Makedecisionsyoucanlivewith…”hesaystome.
“Iwantedtomakeyoulookcrazy.Ididn’tknowyouwerecrazy.”
Ibristleatthat.“Youthinkyou’renot?”Ishootback.“Youthinkit’snormaltodowhatyoudid?Imaybetheoneinhere,butatleastIcanadmitwhatIdid.YoutoldmehescaredyoutogetmetofurtherbelievehewasabusingHannah.Youmademebelievehe’dcausedyourmiscarriageandmine.Alltogetmetogotherethatnight.”
Shestaresatme,hermouththinningintoastraightlineofdenial.Ofcourseshedidn’twanttothinkshewasasbadasme.Ididn’twanttothinkofmyselfastheotherwoman;denialisatwisted,pervertedsoul-thinner.
“You’retheonewhobroughtthegun.YoushotSeth,”shehisses.“Iwantedyoupunishedforruiningmylife—Ididn’twantSethtogethurt.”
I’menragedbythedisgustIhearinhervoice.Iclosemyeyes,willingmyselfnottobeangry.IhearDr.Steinbridge’swords:“Youareonlyresponsibleforyourself.”
“Yes.Butyoucouldhavehelpedmeandyouchosetousemeinstead.Youhandedmethedelusion.”
Regina’sfaceisamaskofself-righteousness.Myinsidesignite,fingertipstingling.SethandHannahdidnotdeservewhathappenedtothem.Sethwasacheater;he’dhadanaffairwithmewhenhewasmarriedtoRegina,andthen,whenIcouldn’thavehischildren,he’dmovedontosomeoneelse:Hannah.Buthe’dcontinuedhisaffairwithmeevenafterhe’dmarriedHannah.Therejectionhadcausedmetolosetouchwithreality.Sethwouldneverwalkagain;mybulletpassedthroughhisspine.Hewouldneverchasetheirchildacrossapark,walkherdowntheaisle…Iamresponsibleforthat.Thepainofrealizationhurtsmystomach.
“WereyoulyingwhenyoutoldmethatSethwasviolentwithyou?Yousaidhepushedyouagainstawall…”
“No,thatwasn’talie,”shesays.“Sethhasatemper.”
Myearstings;italwaysstingswhenIthinkofSeth.IthinkofHannahandherbruises,onceagainwonderingifshewaslyingtoprotecthim.IsupposeI’llneverknowthetruth.There’scomfortinknowinghe’sinawheelchair.He’dnotbeabletohurtawomanphysicallyagain,andhisdaysofcheatingareover.
“I’mgladwebothgotawayfromhim,”Isay.
“No,no,no,”Reginasays.“Thisisn’talittleclub.I’mnotlikeyou.”Shelaughs.“You’recrazy.”
Andthat’swhenIthinkofRobbieClemminsandhisbrokenbrain,hisskullsmashedtopieces,hislifealteredforever.HewasadifferentkindofbrokenthanIam,justlikeRegina.ExceptIhavebeensentheretopayandsheisstilllying.Herlaughterhurtsmyears.Icoverthemwithmypalms,pressinghard,tryingtoblockoutthesound.It’sthesameasthatdayinmykitchen,Sethcallingmecrazy,lookingatmewithdisgustinhiseyes.I’mshakingwhenIrearback,slammingmyheadintoRegina’snose.Theforceslamsmyjawtogether.Ibitethroughmybottomlipandfeeltheshardsofabrokentooth.Shescreams,ahandreachingouttotouchthesprayofbloodrushingfromhernose.Ijumpoverthetable,knockinghertoherback.HerheadhitsthefloorandIseetheshockandpanicinhereyes—eyeswidewithfear.Robbiedidn’tknowwhatwashappeningtohimwhenhelayonhisback,hisbraindying,butReginawill.Icradleherheadbetweenmyhandsandslamitintothefloor.Icanhearshouting,somuchshouting.
“Help!”someonescreams.“She’sgoingtokillher!”
Iamhelping.I’mhelpingmyself.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Gratitudetomyeditor,BrittanyLavery,andallofhercolleaguesatHarperCollins.Myagent,Jane,you’reasoulsaver.Iwasfeelingverydeflatedbeforeyoufoundme.Miriam,yourdirectioninhelpingmeshineupthisbookwasinvaluable.
RhondaReynolds,you’vecalledmemanythingsovertheyears:wildchildandcreativegenius.Butmyfavoritethingyou’vecalledmeisdaughter-in-law.Thankyouforansweringallofmyquestionsaboutnursingandhospitalsandpsychwards.Iloveyou.
TraciFinlay,thisjourneystartedwithyou.Thankyouforalwaysbeingwillingtoread,helpandfixaplothole.Yourdirectionandthoughtsonthisstorywerewhatpushedmetofinishit.You’recoolerthanme,butnotonetorubitinmyface.
CaitNorman,theothernurseinmylife.Iknowsomeofmyquestionsscareyou.You’reagoodsister.
ThePLNs!Thebestgirlgang.
ColleenHoover,LoriSabin,SerenaKnautz,EricaRusikoff,AmyHolloway,AlessandraTorre,ChristineEstevezandJaimeIwatsuru.CindyandJeffCapshaw.Scarlet,RyderAtticusandAvettRowlingKing—Mamalovesyou.Joshua,forcarryingmeoutofeverybadplaceandnevercomplainingaboutit.You’rethebesthumanI’veeverknown.
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TarrynFisher
Reader’sGuide
DiscussionQuestions
Thursdayhasacomplicatedmaritalsituation,onethatdiffersfromtypicalpluralmarriages.Doyouthinkyoucouldevershareyourspousewithtwootherpartnersthisway?
Howtemptedwouldyoubetofindoutabouttheotherspouses,evenifyou’dpromisednotto?Wouldyoubreakthatpromise?
WhatkindsofthingsdoesThursdaysacrificeinordertobewithSeth?
Discussthisstoryinlightofcurrentnewsstoriesaboutwomen’srightsandthecurrentfeministmoment.
HowmuchofThursday’sonlinesnoopingdoyouthinkisjustified?
HowmuchsympathydidyouhaveforSeth?Why?Didyourfeelingschangeasthestorydeveloped?
Whatdidyoumakeoftherelationshipsbetweenthewomeninthisstory—notjustthewives,particularlyThursdayandHannah,butbetweenThursdayandherfriendsLoandAnna?WhydoyouthinkThursdaydoesn’thavemorefemalefriends?
HowdoyouthinkThursday’srelationshipwithherparentsinformedherownmarriage?WhatdoyouthinkaboutSeth’srelationshipwithhisparents?
Whatdidyoumakeoftheending?
AQ&AwithTarrynFisher
Authorsoftengetaskedabouttheirinspirationfortheirbooks,butthisissuchauniquethriller!Howdidyoucomeupwiththeideaforit?MyhusbandandIusedtowatchthisshowonNetflixaboutamanwhosewifecomesbacktolifefiveyearsafterdyingofcancer.Exceptshecomesbacktofindoutthathe’smarriedtoherbestfriend,andherbestfriendisninemonths’pregnant.Ijusthavetotellyouhowstressfulthisshowwastowatch.Ifoundmyselfrewritingthestoryinmymind,askingmyselfwhatIwoulddo.AndsoforweeksI’dpoundmyhusbandrelentlesslywithquestions.WhatwouldhedoifIdiedandcamebacktolife,andhewasremarried?Whowouldhelovemore?Wouldheleaveherforme?Andyouknowwhathesaid?“I’djuststaymarriedtoyouboth.”Wronganswer.Iwantedhimtochooseme,butwhatifhecouldn’t?Whatifitwasmorecomplicatedthanthat?WhenIgetthatobsessedaboutanideaIknowIhavetofindawaytowriteaboutit.That’sallIneed:ascenario,andarushofemotion,andIhaveabookidea.Thursdayhasasingularvoice.Whatwasitliketodevelopthat?It’salwaysbeenmyprioritytolistenverycloselytowhatwomenhavetosay.ForThursdayIassembledtheirstoriesintoonevoice.Wesuffersimilarly.You’vepublishedalotofromanceintheindiespace,butthisisyourfirstthriller!Howwasitdifferenttoconstructthiskindofstory?Didyoufinditeasier?Moredifficult?Iamacharacter-centeredwriter,soIcreateapersonalityandthenIdropthatpersonalityintoasituation.Itdoesn’treallymatterifyou’rewritingabouthowlovekillspeople,orhowotherpeoplekillpeople;awell-developedcharacterwilldrivetheplot.Speakingoftheindiespace,you’vehadquitealotofsuccessinthatsphere.Whatmadeyougowithatraditionalpublisherthistime,andhowdothesetwoexperiencesdiffer?IthinkasanartistI’munhinged,andsoIwriteaboutunhingedpeople.Sevenyearsago“chicklit”wasathing.Womenwantedtoread“light”booksandthat’swhatpublisherswerelookingfor.Asaresultmyrejectionlettersallsaidthesamething:yourprotagonististoovillainous,womenwon’trelate.IlaughedandthenIself-publishedtoprovethemwrong.Intheindieworldwomenembracedmymorallycorruptcharacters;theyleanedintotheunreliablenarrator.MeanwhileGillianFlynn,PaulaHawkins,CarolineKepnesandahandfulofotherfemalewriterswerestartingthetrendintraditionalpublishing.Therewasn’tspaceforawriterlikemetenyearsago,andnowthereis.SohereIam.Whatorwhoaresomeofyourinfluencesasawriter?StephenKing.Theliterarymajesty.ThethingaboutStephenKingisthathecouldwriteinanygenre.Any.He’sanintellect;hehasahawk’seyeforhumannature.IfhewantedtowriteaPulitzerPrize—winningnovelhecould.Hewritesaboutthethingswedon’twanttoacknowledgeinourselves:therawuglythings.Hewritesaboutitwithsucheaseit’sexciting.Youcan’tsitatbetterkneeswhenlearninghowtowrite.Allhail.Howdidyourfeminisminformthewritingofthisstory?There’sdefiniteallegoryinThursday’sstory.I’mshowingyouawomanbreastfedintothepatriarchalmodel.That’sallofus,isn’tit?Justnowwe’restartingtomakenoiseaboutit.Butinordertocollectivelygatherourfemalevoiceswehadtobepushedtoabreakingpoint.Iwantedtowriteaboutawomanwhowaspushedtoofar,becausewe’vebeenpushedtoofar.Thatendingissuchashock!Didthatcometoyourightaway,orwasitsomethingthatdevelopedorganicallyasyouwrotethestory?ItdevelopedwithThursday.Shewasonethingatthestartofthebookandanotherbytheend.Situationschangeus,pushusintouncomfortablerealities.ThemoreIpushedThursday,themorerecklessshebecame.TheWivesissetinSeattleandPortland.YoualsoliveinthePacificNorthwest,thoughyougrewupinFlorida.Whatdrewyoutosuchadifferentclimate?Heatandsunlightmakememiserable.I’mmybestinmoodyweather.WashingtonStateisveryexpressive:thepeople,thelandscape,theweather.I’malwaysinspiredhere.Whatbooksareonyournightstand?AlltheUglyandWonderfulThingsbyBrynGreenwood,FollowersbyMeganAngelo,Angela’sAshesbyFrankMcCourt.Whatareyouworkingonnext?It’scalledCrawlspace,andI’llleaveitatthat!ISBN-13:9781488054358
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Copyright?2019byTarrynFisher
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