Page 53 of Such a Good Wife

My mind, on the other hand, is fixated on Luke’s sheets in that ancient rented house. Had his wife been there with him in that bed? Why was he renting? Did he tell her he had to go away to work and needed to be alone, and she was so naive and blindly in love with him she just accepted it? Surely she wasn’t living in town while he was sleeping with other people. The town’s too small to easily get away with that. My God. What if there are children involved? If he lied about being married, could he have kids he didn’t tell me about? I’m sickened now by the thought that I was a part of this.

Collin nudges me, standing over me with the bottle of wine, offering me a refill. I didn’t even notice him get up to go inside and get it. So much for being present. I nod and hold up my glass. He meets my eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yes. I was just thinking about Gillian’s book club,” I lie. “Now that the writing group is on a break, I wonder if it might be worth going back to for a while.”

It’s the first thing I could think of. Liz mentioned it to me at the Halloween party, and it may actually be nice to be in such vapid company right now.

“Sounds like a good idea,” he says, sitting across from me, topping off his glass, as well. “You’re in the house too much.”

“Well, you know those girls though. They actually don’t even read the books,” I admit. “It’s just an excuse to get away from the husbands and drink.” He laughs, and I add, “I’m the only lucky one who doesn’t feel the need to do that, apparently.” He laughs again at this and raises his glass.

“Good answer.”

“I’m serious,” I say, laughing back and playfully tossing a tea towel at him from the messy dinner table. “But maybe I could get them to actually read the books. I’m not sure how, but probably not by starting with The Catcher in the Rye.”

“Suggest smut. Everyone likes smut.”

“Oh, do they?” I smile.

“Discussing Fifty Shades of Grey over cocktails is better than discussing Karen and Bob’s fabulous new boat. Gag.”

“They got a boat?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Everyone needs a boat that sleeps six. I gotta golf with these guys.”

“Gotta, huh?” I joke. “You’re forced to.”

“I’m just saying, why do we have friends we don’t like that much?” he asks, not really seeking an answer. We both give something between a scoff and a chuckle.

“’Cause that’s the part of being an adult they never tell you about.” I stand and start to clear plates. He offers to help, but I tell him I have it.

By ten, Ben is in bed, and I can hear Rachel on her phone, talking to Katie, no doubt, considering the giggles and “whatevers” I can hear muffled from down the hall. Collin is asleep on the couch next to me. His laptop open on the coffee table and half a glass of wine left. His head is rolled back and resting on the back of the couch. His mouth is wide-open; he’s snoring lightly, so I can tell he’s out. I flip the channel quietly from some show about living in Alaska over to the news. I turn down the volume a bit so the change doesn’t startle him awake.

I can’t get away with recording it, but I have the remote ready to push the back button if I need to, and if he does wake up suddenly and I don’t have time to switch it, it’s just the news. I was catching the weather and this popped on. It can be dismissed. I can’t help what pops up on the news, after all.

There she is, as promised. Valerie Ellison. A woman roughly my age. Chestnut hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. She has wide-set green eyes and olive skin. She’s pretty in her own way. Not the beauty queen I imagined him with. But I guess it’s only after success that men trade up, so maybe she was on her way out. Maybe he had a slew of twentysomethings, and he made them all feel like they were the only ones he asked to accompany him in Italy. So why me? I quietly chide myself for being so cynical. I know Collin would never do that to me. He gives me the “a woman is like a fine wine” crap and I eat it up every time. But he means it.

“My husband was a good man,” she starts. She uses all the clichés you’d expect to hear family say after someone passes away. “He made everyone smile. He didn’t have an enemy in the world.” There are no tears, I notice. He must have had at least one enemy, I think to myself.

This is telling me very little. There is no mention of their life together, where she lives, how long they were married. It’s just a plea for anyone who knows something to come forward. She’s “just heartsick about the whole thing.” It’s not a sit-down interview with lighting and multiple cameras in a studio like they made it sound. It’s just her in front of her house it looks like, where they caught her for a statement. I guess that’s what constitutes an “exclusive interview” these days. I switch back to the Alaska show, a little deflated.

They must be questioning her. They always look at the spouse first. Maybe they are and it’s too early to disclose any information. I resist the urge to look her up online. I still fear that if they ever really suspect me and search my computer, that sort of thing could look really bad. Talking to her at all is probably a terrible idea, but I can’t help but wonder if she found out about me, and maybe that’s the reason Luke is dead. She wasn’t shedding a tear during that interview.

I kiss Collin on the forehead to wake him up. He starts with a snort and looks around groggily.

“Huh?” He blinks and rubs his eyes.

“Come to bed. You have an early morning,” I say, softly. He shakes his head like a dog shaking out its fur, waking himself up.

“Right.” He clicks off the TV and brings his glass to the kitchen to wash. I take the opportunity to beat him upstairs. I pad lightly past the kids’ rooms and quickly look in on them, I make sure Claire is asleep and close her door. Then, I go into the bathroom to pull out the disposable phone and respond to the blackmailer. I don’t expect a new message when I pick it up, I only expect to send a reply.

You love your kids, don’t you? You can make this go away, the message says, and my hands flutter to my mouth. They know who my children are. I know this already because I have been followed and I’m certain I was being watched at the restaurant that night, but to have it written this way—as a threat—I feel nauseous. It’s infuriating and terrifying at the same time.

How much do you want? I type and push Send urgently, then tuck the phone away again before Collin comes up. I lie awake, anguished, wondering what sort of amount they will demand. If they know me—if they’ve looked into my family, my life—they’ll know we are comfortable, but not rich. If they ask for some insane number, I’m screwed. If they ask for something they know I can get, which would be the smarter, more reasonable move, I need to find a way to get it. I will do whatever I need to do to get it.

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