Page 32 of My Wife
When I get to the door, I spot my sneakers under the kid’s coat. He’s supposed to hang it up. My aggravation grows when a light knock comes again.
I tear it open and bellow, “What?”
A woman in a fitted dark green jacket over denim jeans stands outside the door. She wears ankle boots and dangly gold earrings. Her hair is freshly styled and her face is familiar. She greets me with a confident posture and a grin that’s full of playful flare.
Then I meet a pair of brown eyes splashed with amber. They sparkle and her smile deepens, revealing a dimple on her cheek. “Good morning. I’m Jessica Fuller, your new personal assistant, at your service.”
“What are you doing here, Witch?”
Her smile vanishes and the sparkle in her eyes dims. “What did you call me?”
“You’re the wedding witch from the bakery.”
She rocks back on her heels and lets out an exhale. “Oh, that was just Monday. No big deal. I’m back in the saddle, as they say.” Her voice is far too chipper for this early hour.
My eyes slide across her, but she doesn’t flinch.
“Let’s pretend the wedding dress thing didn’t happen. I was going to show up today dressed like a 1960s secretary. But the overall look was lessMad Menand more Old Mona—Grandma Dolly took a typist class in junior college. She still had her interview outfit. Oh, and Ella, Jack’s wife, has a maid uniform from her days working as a housekeeper at his resort that I could wear. Such a Cinderella story.” She sighs.
I hardly follow what she’s saying and am about to interject that she can leave now, but by some force of nature, she continues to speak.
“Back to Grandma Dolly’s wardrobe. She’s filled out a lot in recent years. The woman doesn’t throw anything away though. If I land a role, even a job as a 1970s disco queen, she’s got me covered.”
I envision a fitted gold jumpsuit and for some reason, seeing this woman in that is strangely intriguing.
I ask, “What are you doing here?”
She smiles with her full, peachy lips and then says, “As mentioned, I’m your new assistant.”
“No.” I slam the door.
I expect to hear her walking away. Instead, the loft is quiet. Too quiet. I tell myself the kid is just busy eating his cookie. He’s not tearing apart the furniture nor did he choke on an M&M. Wait. He’s not allergic, is he? I dash into the other room and find him holding the cookie and just staring at it.
Brushing my hand down my face, I say, “We’ve got to go.”
He doesn’t move. I need to sweat until the tightness in my chest and the rest of my muscles goes away, my thoughts still, and my life is like it was before.
Simple. Orderly. Focused.
With a grunt, I point at the kid and then the door. He slowly gets up and walks across the room toward the door. At least he hasn’t tried to make a break for it yet.
Oh good. Now I have a new thing to worry about.
The missing sneakers are on my feet and I open the door. Jessica Fuller, I think she said her name was, is still standing there.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ellis, I’m here from the Knights as your new assistant.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes. Are we playing some kind of repeating game? Is this like telephone—you know, like kids play in grade school?”
Before I can answer, she bounces on her toes and starts waving her arms wildly at the kid.
He brightens and then makes a motion with his hands.
