Page 118 of The New Couple in 5B

It’s risqué, complete with pictures and raunchy talk. I shamelessly read, face burning, hand shaking, until I get to the missives at the end.

At midnight last night:Good night. Sweet dreams.

There’s no answer from Olivia.

This morning at 9:03:Hey, good morning. Late night last night? See you for lunch.

12:40: Hey, I’m here. Running late?

1:00: Okay, I’m officially worried. Call me?

I see a few attempts at calls. And then the most recent text.

Are you ghosting me?There’s a ghost emoji.Was it something I said?With the quizzical face emoji.

I put the phone down, look out at her expansive view, the Brooklyn Bridge off in the distance. I am buffeted by a rush of complicated emotions.

It’s not Chad who’s been having an affair with Olivia.

It’s Max.

thirty-eight

It’s not a betrayal, not at all, but it feels like one. It’s a secret kept by a friend, and I wonder why he never told me. It hurts. From the text chain it looks as if this has been going on for weeks. Maybe it’s new, maybe they agreed not to share unless they were sure things were going to get serious. But things seem pretty serious to me. I think about calling Max, confronting him, but what right do I have? I am an intruder, rifling through Olivia’s things, looking in her private spaces. I’m in the wrong here, not them. They’re adults and what they do is up to them.

Still, something stings.

When my phone pings, I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart lurches with hope but it’s Detective Crowe.

Where did you go, Ms. Lowan?

I don’t answer.

I still have questions.

I stare at the little pulsing dots that tell me he’s still typing.

People around your husband turn up dead. You’re not safe, Ms. Lowan. Rosie. Let me help you.

I still don’t answer, my hand shaking, my eyes filling.

Come to the station with your lawyer tomorrow at 9 a.m. It’s not a request. I don’t want to have to issue a warrant for your arrest, too.

Truman leaps nimbly into my lap, settles in. I put my hand on his back and stroke his soft fur. Outside, the sky is growing dark, a gray cloud cover blocking out the sun.

“What are we going to do, buddy?”

He starts to purr. I lie back on her bed, keeping my shoes off the snowy-white comforter and cuddle with Truman for a while, waiting. I must doze off, because I wake with a start and Truman is gone. I’m guessing that Olivia is not coming home.

Okay. Okay. What are my options here? Go back to the Windermere? Face my apartment being torn apart by the police, confront Abi—again, try to talk my way into that secret room? Go to Max, ask him about his affair with Chad’s ex? Go upstate to try to track down my husband, who could be anywhere, his location services still off, my calls to him unreturned?

I linger awhile longer, make sure Truman has enough food and water, then leave, no idea where I’m going.

thirty-nine

But the truth is that I have no place else to go. So I return home.

Abi is not at his station as I let myself in through the locked front door. The lobby is silent, smelling of furniture polish and wood.

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