Page 60 of In a Haze

First, though, we need to put things back where we found them. As I hand a box to Joe, he asks, “Did you try the computer?”

“Oh, no. I got distracted.”

“I’ll get these. Go see if you can get in.”

I nod and go to the desk. The monitor’s gone to sleep, so I wiggle the mouse to wake it up, and it pops up a photo of an American flag. In front of the picture are large white letters that sayDonand a campaign photo of him above that. Below is aSign inbutton which I click—but I have no idea what the password might be.

It’s then that I notice the corner of a piece of paper peeking out from under the base of the monitor. I tilt the monitor a bit and pull it out.

It’s a newspaper clipping.

It’s small, but Don’s picture is there. The headline readsUS Rep’s wife attempts suicide.

The computer can wait. I’m about to learn a little history.

Scanning through the article, I find that what my husband told me is true. I tried to kill myself a couple of years ago by overdosing on pills. My husband actually told the truth about all of it.

The rest of the tiny article just talks about how my husband and children were holding up and, since congress was on hiatus, he was going to spend time with the kids to help them process. It also explained that I was going to be under observation by professionals to keep me from harming myself. Joe told me Don had said I was a danger to myselfandothers, but the article doesn’t mention that. Maybe it wouldn’t, even if it’s true.

This computer wants a password. Before I was committed, I might have had a chance figuring it out, but now my husband seems like a stranger.

Heisa stranger.

Maybe it’s time to look through the tiny drawers on the desk again. It’s possible that I missed something. I lift the pencil tray, hoping to find a piece of paper, but there’s nothing. I push things around, hoping to spot a little notepad or anything that might be useful—but then my pinkie finger touches something I didn’t see the first time: a small black phone. As I pull it out, my mind gives me the wordburner.

An extra—andanonymous—phone used for questionable activities.

I see movement out of the corner of my eye just as my ear registers the sound of the doorknob turning. Joe is coming out of the closet just as someone is opening the office door, and I wrap my hand around the phone. I have nowhere to hide it, but I’m going to hold onto it just the same as the door begins swinging open.

Not completely surprising, it’s Donald Clawson, my husband, politician and lawyer—and he’s holding a baseball bat.

As soon as he sees me, though, he drops his arms instead of brandishing the bat as a weapon. “Anna. What the hell are you doing here?” Behind me, he sees my partner in crime exiting the closet. “Joe? Would you care to explain this to me?”

I stand up. “This wasmyidea, Don. For some reason, this guy feels the need to follow me everywhere.”

“So why are you here, Anna? You’re not going to heal properly if you’re gallivanting all over the city and not taking your medication.”

“Who was the blonde girl named Claudia, Don?”

“Claudia?”

“She’s in my dreams.” And I know my husband has something to do with it—something bad.

“Look…I’m getting ready to have a cup of coffee. Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen and I’ll tell you everything I know?”

Joe nods and I’m following, but this reminds me of something else.

A memory.

“Put the phone down, Anna.”

“I need to call the police.”

“Put the phone down. Before you call the police, I need to explain.”

“What the hell could there be to explain about a girl tied up in the basement?”

“Let’s discuss this over a drink. If you still want to call the authorities after I explain, then I won’t stop you.”

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