“Why would he lie like that?” I ask. Because Chad had asked me the same question.
Dr. Black has this way of looking up at the ceiling when he’s considering options. “You said yourself that he’s overworked. It’s a building full of wealthy people with demands they expect to be met quickly. Maybe he screwed up. Didn’t put the box in the trunk. He put it back in your apartment to spare himself the dressing down he expected.”
Abi hadn’t seemed flustered or embarrassed. He seemed, very convincingly, to believe that he’d never seen the box. I tell the doctor as much.
“He’s learned to navigate the world of service. Maybe he’s become very skilled at covering his errors.”
Something releases in my shoulders; that makes sense. Abi lied because he’s afraid for his job, is good at covering his errors because he has to be. He’s not just another villain gaslighting me, trying to make me weak so that he can be strong. He’s not my father.
“Chad and I fought last night,” I tell Dr. Black. That is a complete understatement.
We fought about the apartment, his initial omission of Ivan’s wishes, how betrayed and angry I felt about that. More so than I had even realized.
Then, we fought about Dana. What was their relationship? Why was she obsessed with him? What did she want to tell me? Why had he never told me about the posing? That there was a lifetime of animosity between them?
We fought about Max. Why am I always with him when it’s known that he has a secret crush on me? Why do I spend more time with Max than I do with Chad?
Which led us to fighting about Chad’s comings and goings. Where hashe been, my husband—so often unreachable, location services turned off on his phone?
The thing is never just the thing.
All the strain of the past few weeks, months, reached an ugly crescendo, culminating in the fact that he seemed to believe Abi’s versions of events.
It was probably the worst fight of our marriage. We have rarely argued over our years together—a fight or two about money, maybe, some annoyance on his part about my closeness to Max. But last night was a throw-down. I’m still vibrating.
But I underplay it for the doctor. After all, marriage is a secret arrangement, private to the two people involved. Start spilling all your intimacies, and you invite the world into that bubble.
“I could tell he wasconcerned, worried that I’d had an episode concerning the box. I wanted him to believe me. He said he did, but I could see that he wasn’t sure.”
“You’ve both been through a lot.”
“You mean he’s been through a lot with me.”
Dr. Black raises a palm. “Your depression while you were finishing your last book was challenging for both of you.”
I nod. I can admit that, how I went down the rabbit hole after the murdered women I was chasing in my book. Therewereepisodes. Visual hallucinations—I kept seeing Mara Granta being strangled in front of her children. I heard Julia Dole, the recording artist, singing the song that would release and become a hit only after she was raped and stabbed fifty times by her killer. And Matthew Pantel, their murderer, he was everywhere—lingering in doorways, disappearing around corners. Once I saw his face while I was making love to Chad.
“So now he doesn’t, can’t, believe my accounts of what I’ve seen or what’s happened?”
That doesn’t seem fair. But maybe it is.
“Maybe he knows now how anxiety can manifest with you,” offers Dr. Black, always the mediator. “Don’t be too hard on him. But it’s also important that you feel heard, seen and believed by your husband. Maybe bring him in for a session so we can discuss—if you want.”
I nod, weary. Chad and I have come in together over the years so that Dr. Black could coach him about dealing with my depression. It always helps.
“So what do I do? About Abi.”
Dr. Black tilts his head from side to side thoughtfully. “Have you tried again to reach your neighbor?”
“I don’t have his number.” I know there’s a website with a building directory, but I haven’t looked there. Part of me is scared. What if Xavierdidn’tsee the box? Or says he didn’t? I stop short of saying this out loud. Because it sounds like I doubt myself. And if I doubt myself, how can I expect anyone else to believe me?
“Maybe you can reach him through your neighbors—the Aldridges, right?”
I nod, though something in me hesitates. I keep hearing Dana’s warning.You can’t trust the people closest to you.“I’ll do that.”
I remember then that I didn’t go to game night. I wonder if they heard Chad and me fighting before Chad left for his performance. If Abi did.
“At this point, it’s just your word against his. But confront him if you feel you need to. Assert your narrative, assure him that it’s not about his competence, and maybe he’ll come clean. It sounds to me like he’s operating from a place of fear.”