Page 52 of The Wives

There are expensive things in this inexpensive apartment. A leather sectional that once fit into a large living room, thick coffee table books stacked on top of a marble table. Everything is too big, which makes the room small and suffocating. I glance out of the window above the wrought iron dinette for escape, and see nothing but more rows of insipid gray buildings. It’s really warm in her apartment, the heat turned all the way up to feel like summer. She’s in total life denial, I think. Regina walks over to a section of the couch farthest from where I am standing, and sits down without inviting me to do the same. She curls up in the corner, a tiny ball of a woman. I take a seat, anyway, perching myself across from her on the edge of the leather so that I almost slide off. I try not to stare, but when you’ve wondered about a person for so long it’s hard not to.

“Well?” she says. “What do you want to know?”

So different from the How can I help you? attitude earlier, surrounded by her ferns and wood and educational plaques. Here, in her living room, her things surround me.

“I want to be told the truth,” I say.

“The truth?” she says, incredulous. “I don’t think you ever wanted the truth, Thursday. You wanted Seth. I know about all of it...”

“What does that even mean? And why did you say that you and Seth were only together for five years?”

“Because we were,” she says, exasperated. And then she adds, “Before you came along.”

“You mean when it was just you two?”

“No! Oh my God, you really are crazy...” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Thursday, you had an affair with Seth. You’re the reason we got divorced.”

The silence that follows is deafening. A searing pain stabs through my head, running from temple to temple.

“That’s not true,” I say. “Why would you say that?”

She stares at me, a blank expression on her face. “Because it’s the truth.”

I shake my head. My mouth is dry. I want something to drink but I’m too proud to ask for water.

“No. He told me that—”

“Stop it,” she says, cutting me off. Her eyes are wild. She closes them, suddenly shutting me out. “Just stop it.”

Normally I’d back down, but not this time. I’ve been sitting in the dark for too long and I need answers.

“When was the last time you saw Seth?” Right away she makes a sour face, her lips puckered.

“I told you that—”

She looks down—at her lap, or her hands, or the pattern on her pajama pants, but not at me. I see her shoulders lift and sink as she sighs.

“I saw Seth last week,” she says. “Here at the apartment.” When she sees the look on my face, she adds, “He owes me money.”

“For what?”

“For losing everything,” she snaps. “Do you think I actually belong in a place like this?”

Regina with the Louboutins? I want to laugh: no, probably not. I have the money to buy red-soled shoes, but I’m not the type. Regina, on the other hand, is used to lavishing luxury on herself. She wears designer and probably always used to drive the newest-model Mercedes rather than the beat-up junker parked in her spot downstairs.

“You’re going to have to catch me up on this, Regina. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I try to keep my voice patient, but it sounds like I’m talking through my teeth.

“His business. Things started going south a few years ago. Right before he married you,” she says pointedly.

“Seth took a second mortgage on the house we bought together to keep the business floating, but then he still couldn’t pay it. There was too much debt. Our house went into foreclosure. He promised to turn things around, make it right, but as you can see—” she lifts her eyes to the ceiling “—I’m here.”

Why didn’t I know any of this? Why hadn’t he said something? I had enough money to contribute... I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m thinking like this. Even now, sitting across from his other wife, after being institutionalized, I’m thinking about how I could have helped him.

“And did he give you money?” I ask.

I’m trying to imagine it all. Seth never spoke about his financial situation, especially with the others. We have separate accounts, though I’d given him a joint debit card to mine when we were first married. I’d always assumed it was the same for them.

She exhales, her cheeks puffing out. She looks like a child. How does anyone take her seriously?

---