Page 87 of The Wife

Steve. Right, Steve.

“Yes, of course, it’s so great to see you.” I searched the recesses of my memory for the local Steves. Clerk at IGA. Bartender at Wolfie’s. Trisha’s cousin. Yep, Trisha’s cousin, that was the one. “How are your parents?”

Steve’s father was the least horrible brother among the Faulkner men. He was a mechanic at the shop on Springs Fireplace. His mother used to sew tablecloths and napkins to sell at the farmer’s market.

“Dad passed last year—a stroke. Same with yours, right?”

“Five years ago. I’m so sorry.”

“Mom, she’s okay. Needs a walker already because of swelling in her legs, but otherwise, she’s doing good.”

Jason was looking at me, obviously wishing we had taken Mom up on her offer to meet us at the train station.

“Well, it’s real nice seeing you. We’re only out for the weekend.” For some reason, I needed him to know we didn’t own a house here. “My son’s been out, staying with his grandmom. We’re here to pick him up.”

“Don’t suppose you heard from Trisha this summer?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t talked to her since—wow, high school, I guess.”

“I figured. I thought maybe with you being in the news and everything, she might have reached out—”

He was looking at Jason, not me, in the rearview mirror.

“Nope,” I said. “She may not even know I got married. How’s she doing?”

“No one knows. She always said she was going to get away from here and never speak to another member of the family. I guess she meant it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“The two of you were always the same—wanting to get as far away as possible. Hell, if she had stuck around, you probably wouldn’t give her a second thought, the way you’ve moved on.”

Next to me, Jason nudged my leg with his knee. Instead of ending the conversation, though, I leaned forward to make sure Steve could hear me. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah, well, I guess there’s no way to know.”

Jason rolled his eyes and began reciting a turn-by-turn guide to Mom’s place to fill the silence.

The house was empty, a note left on the laminate-topped breakfast table: “Went to IGA. Back soon. I’ll cook!”

“I thought you told her we wanted to take her to the Grill tonight.”

I had. She responded by saying she’d rather eat corn flakes than put up with the “crowds of summer sewage.”

“I figured she was less likely to give me the riot act in public,” Jason said.

This would be the first time my mother had seen Jason since I found out about his affair. “She promised to be on good behavior.” In reality, her only assurance was that she wouldn’t run Jason down in front of Spencer. “Do you still think about her?” I asked.

“Your mom?”

“No. Abouther.” Kerry, I thought. “I asked you once, in our room, if you loved her. You never answered me.”

The kitchen was so quiet, I didn’t want to breathe. The only sound was a lawn mower in the distance.

“Yes, but not the way I love you. And she obviously didn’t love me back, or she never could have done what she did.”

The next morning, I woke up thinking I had heard a phone ring.

I opened my eyes to see Jason in the twin bed three feet from mine, ear already to phone. I heard muffled voices and dishes clanking in the kitchen and fumbled to find my own phone in the blankets wrapped around my legs. It was nearly nine. Jason never slept in this late. I suspected he had been waiting for me to get up before venturing anywhere near my mother.

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