Page 138 of Woman on the Verge

“Log in to the Verizon account. You’ll see his number. We’ve called, texted ... for weeks now.”

I never thought I’d be here, not trying to hide my affair but instead trying to prove its existence.

Kyle takes back his phone, taps the Verizon app, logs in, humors me.

“Here,” he says, handing it back to me.

I tap the link to the records associated with my phone number. I’ve worried about Kyle doing this, about him sensing my distance and investigating, coming face to face with the reality of my betrayal. I knew if it got to that point, I would have no defense. I would have only weak apologies, perhaps relief.

I look for Elijah’s number, his 415 area code.

It’s not there, though.

There is one 415 number, repeated a few times. Merry.

I look up, and Kyle is staring down at me. “Well?”

“Something’s wrong,” I say.

“I agree.”

“No, I mean ... something’s really wrong.”

“Again, I agree.”

He seems suddenly exhausted.

“You have LinkedIn, right? Message him there. See if he’s okay. Tell him I’m in the hospital.”

There’s a knock at the door. It opens to reveal a woman bringing me a tray of plastic-wrapped food.

“Lunch!” she says.

As she arranges the tray in front of me, I feel Kyle’s eyes boring into me. He thinks I am deranged.

Am I deranged?

“I’m going to the nurses’ station,” he says. “I think we should talk to your doctor.”

Completely deranged, that’s what he thinks.

He leaves, and I unwrap the turkey sandwich. It’s the saddest sandwich I’ve ever seen—dry deli meat accompanied by a single piece of wilted lettuce and a mealy tomato slice. It makes me think of my dad again, of the rubbery chicken they served him that day I took him to the hospital.

I take a bite of the sandwich because I’m starving, wash it down with a sip of apple juice. The apple juice makes me think of the girls. What has Kyle told them? Are they worried? Scared? When they are older, will Kyle tell them the truth?Mommy was having an affair with a man named Elijah Baker, and they got in an accident ...

I guess he would have to come to terms with that truth first.

Maybe I’ll have to be the one to tell them. Or not. Maybe my dad had it right. Maybe there are certain things children should never know.

My head still cotton-candy-like, I doze off after lunch despite all efforts to stay awake and figure out this Elijah thing. When I wake, the light around the window is gone. The clock on the wall says seven o’clock. Somehow, I have slept seven hours.

“Hey,” Kyle says.

I startle, had no idea he was here. He is sitting in a chair just out of my peripheral vision. I turn to him.

“Hi,” I say.

“How you feeling?”

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