Page 29 of The Wives

As I’m waiting in the hotel valet for an attendant, tapping my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, something begins to nag at the back of my mind. Seth’s texts to me earlier had been strange—the tone of them. Was it possible that he’d seen me there with Hannah? I decide to take a quick spin past Hannah’s house. Just to see if her car is there. No harm in that. I wave off the attendant as he approaches my car and speed past, ignoring his look of disapproval. Twenty minutes. It would take me twenty minutes tops to spy on Hannah and my husband. Excitement whips through me as I rush through a yellow light, eager to reach their quaint home.

I can tell she’s not home even before I reach the house. The windows are dark and lifeless and her car is missing from its usual spot against the curb. I can’t see Seth’s anywhere, either. I consider creeping up to the house and taking a peek inside, but it’s still early enough that a neighbor could spot me.

Shit. Shit.

Could she have left the restaurant and gone straight to the hospital? There’s no finding out tonight. I head back to the hotel, feeling defeated. Something’s going on and I feel like I’m the only person in this marriage who doesn’t know what.

By the next morning, I’ve barely slept. My mind wouldn’t stop ticking and I had too many ugly thoughts. If I can’t find a way to sleep soon, I’ll have to see a doctor. It was torture lying awake half the night, being tired but not knowing how to shut off your brain. I fall into a fitful sleep around five and wake at seven to find a voice mail from Hannah on my phone. I roll onto my back, wondering why the phone didn’t ring, and remember that I’d put it on silent before we went into the restaurant. My two hours of sleep had been wrought with dreams—dark things about being chased and being caught. I don’t remember the details of the dreams, but the feelings they left behind linger in my mind. I listen to the message with half of my face hidden under the comforter, my eyes squinting against the light that sneaks in through a break in the curtains. Hannah’s voice shakes and I press the phone closer to my ear so I can make out what she’s saying.

“I’m really freaked out.” Her voice quavers, and it sounds like she’s blowing her nose. “We had a fight. I don’t feel safe. I just... I—” Her voice cuts off like she lost reception in the middle of the call.

I hold the phone away from my face and see that the voice mail is still playing. Pressing it back to my ear, I strain to hear, in case she’s said anything else.

“Leave...alone...he’s—” It cuts out for the final time. Damn my shitty reception.

I lie there frozen for a few minutes, her words ricocheting around in my head. Seth. She had a fight with Seth and now she is scared. What did he do to scare her? I throw my arm over my eyes. I was scared, too, wasn’t I? Ever since...his outburst, he’d seemed more unpredictable. If I said the wrong thing, would he do it again? If I call Hannah back I’ll be irrevocably involved in this...this thing. I wouldn’t be able to make any more excuses for him. I’d have to admit that what he’d done to me was deliberate. I’d been the one to seek Hannah out, to keep the truth about who I am from her. Perhaps it’s time to tell her that Seth is my husband, too. I roll back over onto my stomach and bury my face in the pillow. I call Anna.

“What’s up,” she says when she answers the phone. I’m not deterred by the briskness of her greeting; it’s Anna’s way.

“Hi,” I say. “I need moral guidance.”

“Are you facedown in a pillow?”

Anna knows my ways, too. I shift my head so she can hear me better.

“Not anymore,” I say.

“Oh, boy, are you sure I’m the one you should be asking for moral guidance?”

“No, but I don’t have anyone else, so moral-up and give the type of advice Melonie would give you.” Melonie is Anna’s mother, a psychologist who spent most of our teenage years observing us like we were science projects and then dissecting everything we did. As teens we thought it was terrifying and thrilling at the same time. At that age, most adults aren’t interested in the details of your thoughts, unless it’s to tell you those thought are wrong. But Melonie had been different. She’d validated us by saying we were on our own adventure, exploring the world. She made self-destruction seem normal and so we’d destructed without guilt. Nowadays, I wonder how healthy that had been: an adult egging us on. And here I am as an adult, seeking the same type of assurance, asking my best friend to validate me like her mother had.

“Okay,” Anna breathes. “Hit me with it, I’m in Melonie mode.”

“I have a new friend—I know her through someone else,” I add, because I know Anna will ask. “I’ve seen some bruises on her before but didn’t think much of it, but then today, she leaves a message on my phone, saying she got into a fight with her husband and she’s scared. Two things you should know—she’s pregnant, and I know her husband fairly well and he doesn’t seem like the type of guy who’d toss his wife around, you know?”

Anna sighs. I can picture her seated at her kitchen table, a cup of her nasty instant coffee cooling in front of her—she likes it lukewarm rather that hot. When she’s frustrated, the ankle of her crossed leg swishes from side to side, the ankle bracelet she wears glinting against her olive skin.

“First off,” she begins, “I don’t give a flying fuck how innocent a man appears, if a woman has the tits to come forward and say she’s scared, something is going the fuck on to make her scared. You don’t need to get too involved, but you can get involved enough to give her the push to leave. We’re all just waiting for someone to stand behind us, aren’t we? Even if it’s just one person, it gives you strength.”

I bite my lip. Anna is right. I sit up in bed, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. This is so fucked. I’m compartmentalizing without even realizing it.

“But what if she’s blowing things out of proportion? I mean, I know this guy. He’s a good man...”

“Don’t be dense. Parishioners think they know their priests, aunts think they know their husbands, and meanwhile they’re molesting little boys behind closed doors. Can we really know anyone?”

I think of myself and all of the things my best friend doesn’t know about me, and drop my head. Anna is spot-on, isn’t she? Maybe we’re all pretending everything is fine when it itsn’t. He pushed me, I think. I can try to rewrite that story, blame myself, excuse my husband, but he pushed me.

Anna and I chat for a few more minutes, and when there’s a break in the conversation, I thank her and say I have to go. She hesitates when she says goodbye, almost like she suspects I’m not telling her everything and she’s giving me the chance to ’fess up. She’s given me a lot to think about. I hang up quickly and head to the bathroom to take a shower.

I’m going to call Hannah back and tell her everything. Together we could... What? Leave Seth? Find Regina and ask if Seth had ever been aggressive with her? It doesn’t matter. We can approach the options together. Like a team. I plan what I’m going to say to her as I soap my hair and let the hot water ease some of the tension out of my shoulders.

Once I’m wrapped in my towel and sitting on the edge of the bed, I call her back. I’m nervous. I chew on my lip. It rings half a dozen times before I hear her voice. Hey, it’s Hannah. Leave a message!

“Hi, Hannah. It’s me. I’m worried about you so call me back as soon as you get this. I’ll be driving back to Seattle, so anytime in the next two hours and I can answer right away. Okay, bye.”

I move to get dressed and gather up my things, glancing at the phone every few minutes to see if I’ve missed her call, but my phone remains dark and silent. I call again and this time I’m sent straight to voice mail.

“Hannah, damn it! Call me back!” I make a noise of frustration as I pull the phone from my ear, and then realize I haven’t hung up the call yet. Great. I stuff my phone in my pocket and, snatching up my bag, I head for the lobby.

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