Page 17 of Such a Good Wife

Just then my phone hums, and I can tell by the happy percussion chime that it’s FaceTime. I carry my shoes in my hand as I pull away from Luke and dart through the muddy stretch of field toward my car. I duck under a low-hanging arm of a bald cypress tree and catch my shoulder on a firethorn as I try to slip through a spread of wild pyracantha bushes along a sagging wooden fence at the edge of the property.

“Shit!” I try to cover my shoulder with my hand so blood doesn’t drip down onto my dress. When I reach the street, I put my shoes on and try to walk casually. The last thing I need is for someone to see me running out of the bushes, bleeding, barefoot and muddy. I text Collin saying I’ll call back in just a second. I try to wipe up the cut on my arm and clean my muddy feet with the only thing I can find, a box of Kleenex rolling around on the backseat floor. The wispy pieces only stick to the cut, so I give up and toss all the damp, muddy tissue into a soggy pile on the passenger seat. I check my face, smooth my hair in place and FaceTime Collin back.

When he answers, I see they are at Morty’s, a restaurant we all love going to. Ben is in the back, trying to push himself into the frame so I see him. I wave to him as Collin tries to refocus him back on his crayons and kids’ coloring menu.

“Hey there. We’re at Morty’s, so Ben wanted to call to tell you.”

I hear Ben yell, “It’s her favorite!” from the background.

“Oh, how sweet. Sorry I missed you. I was just finishing up a conversation and didn’t hear my phone.”

“It’s fine. We actually just sat down. Rachel’s practice went late. But Ben got you...” He has a singsong tone in his voice, then he pauses and pans the phone quickly over to Bennett for dramatic effect.

“Look, Mom. It’s lemon meringue!” Ben holds up a small take-out box and beams.

“He saw it in the pastry case on the way in and said we had to get it for you,” Collin says, giving Ben a high five. “Sweet kid.”

“Sweeeet kid,” I repeat in agreement. “Thanks, Benny!”

“Did you eat? Anything else you want us to bring home?”

“Oh, I’m fine. But thanks.”

“You can stop by if you’re done and meet us if you want.” I wonder if he can see the lie as it quickly shapes in my mind. I can’t show up like this, obviously.

“You know what, I actually—I cut myself,” I say, angling my phone for him to see. It works out well to use this now instead of explaining it later, which I’d have to do anyway.

“Oh my gosh, hon. What happened?”

“That bookstore is about a thousand years old. It was just a nail sticking out of the wood—I leaned against the wrong ancient wall and snagged it.”

“Sheesh. You should sue.”

We both laugh because he always says we should sue when any unfortunate little occurrence happens.

“I’m fine. I’ll head home and clean it up. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Okay. Say bye, kids,” he says, maneuvering the phone to show Rachel and Ben behind him, but they don’t look up. Rachel stays glued to her phone and Ben is now scratching in the ear of a cartoon cat with a purple crayon. Collin blows me a kiss and we hang up.

I sit a moment, the sudden silence humming in my ears. The evening sun sits like a red mountain on the horizon just before it gives way to dusk. It’s getting dark early. It’s not even eight yet, and I’m grateful they’ve just sat down to dinner and that I have time.

I can smell him on my clothes. I’ll wrap my dress in a plastic hanging bag left over from the cleaners when I get home—say some blood from my cut got on it and bring it in to get dry-cleaned. My lies are coming too quick, too easily. What am I becoming?

***

7

I DRIVE THROUGH THE darkness with the windows down. The air is earthy and heavy; katydid and cricket songs fizz in my ears as I pass the thickets along these otherwise empty roads. My phone startles me. I see Collin’s name pop up on the square of light in the passenger seat. When I answer, there is silence.

“Collin?” I say, wondering why he’d call back so soon if they’re at dinner. He doesn’t respond. I can actually see my heartbeat, it thumps so hard. It pulsates the fabric of my dress.

“Collin. Hello?”

Last time I freaked out over his silence it was a brief bad connection. So I wait, listening. Pinpricks of heat pass between my breastbone and down my spine. He says nothing. I only hear breathing and murmurs of distant conversation in the background. He knows.

“Collin,” I say again, shakily. He can’t even bring himself to speak. Then the call cuts off. I pull over at the next turn, and drive into the parking lot of Bourbon and Spirits; the I and the R in the word “Spirits” has been burned out so long that everyone calls the place Bourbon and Spits. I’m shaking uncontrollably. I pull to the back of the broad dirt lot against a towering wall of switchgrass and dandelions. I turn off the engine and stare down at the phone in my lap, hunched over in a miserable curve. I try to calm my quivering hands so I can dial him back. I start to hyperventilate, I force myself to take a deep breath. But before I can tap his name on my screen, a text pops up.

Butt dial. Sorry! An emoji shaped like a little butt and another emoji slapping its face in embarrassment follows. The rush of relief is dizzying. I can’t force myself to move or text back. I let the phone slip out of my hand and I sob into the steering wheel.

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