The Golden Couple(40)

I study his body language, but it tells me nothing. One of his hands is down at his side, and he’s gesturing with the other.

Matthew claimed he’d forgotten that Marissa had a school meeting. Normally, at this time of day, she’d be just arriving here from the gym. I haven’t run into her during any of my workouts, so I assume she’s avoiding the place. But Matthew may not know that.

Was he trying to spring a trap on his wife, appearing at her shop unannounced to see if she’d resumed her routine at Pinnacle?

“When I rang the buzzer, no one answered. I started to unlock the door—I’ve got an extra key—thinking I’ll leave the flowers on her desk. Then I see Polly coming toward me, and after she let me in, we both saw the note on the floor.”

I stretch out my hand. “May I have it?”

He frowns, but gives it to me. I study the message again. The words could lend themselves to different meanings—romantic, passionate, committed—but given the circumstances, they feel ominous.

“Look, Matthew, even if this”—I shake the paper—“is from that guy, it doesn’t mean that Marissa is still interested in him. The note actually implies the opposite.”

Matthew nods. “Yeah, I suppose. I mean, Marissa does seem like she wants to work things out. I can’t see her stringing him along.”

It’s as if the crux of the Bishops’ problem—a seemingly straightforward infidelity—is growing tentacles that keep ensnaring new complications. There’s a lot I need to do, fast: talk to Polly one-on-one. Explore the exact nature of Matthew and Natalie’s relationship. Confront Marissa with my near certainty that the man she slept with was not just some guy from the gym.

“You told Polly not to say anything to Marissa. What are we supposed to do, just pretend this never happened? Because that’s not going to work for me.”

I hear a faint hitch in his voice. He sounds like a man who loves his wife and feels battered by emotions.

It’s a good thing the Bishops came to me. There’s no way they could have navigated this alone.

I’m about to answer Matthew when I catch a glimpse of Marissa hurrying down the block. Her head is down as she taps on her phone, so I take a moment to study her. With her oversize dark sunglasses and the silky floral scarf tied off-center around her neck, she looks effortlessly stylish. She passes a homeless man on the corner, then lifts her chin.

She stops in her tracks, her eyes widening, as she spots Matthew and me. Then she continues walking, at a slower pace, until she reaches us.

“Perfect timing,” I announce. “Our fourth session begins now.”



* * *



The gentle beauty of the March morning feels incongruous to the tense mood enveloping the three of us as we walk in silence up Connecticut Avenue, toward Chevy Chase Circle. The sun is warm and welcoming on my face, and the gentle breeze holds the smell of the hyacinths lining the window boxes of a café we pass. We reach the circle and carefully make our way through the crosswalk, entering the little plot of land straddling the line that divides D.C. and Maryland. The circle once held a majestic fountain that spouted water high into the air, but now it’s broken, and just the concrete base remains, surrounded by azalea bushes and trees. Cars and trucks whip through the triple lanes that surround the little oasis; it’s like being in the eye of a hurricane. Instead of sitting down on one of the benches, we remain standing in an asymmetrical triangle, facing one another.

“What’s going on?” Marissa asks.

I hand the note to Marissa with the briefest of explanations: “This was slid under the door of your shop sometime between eleven P.M. and nine thirty A.M.”

I take in her expression as she reads it: shock, then dread.

“Matthew.” She swallows hard and her fingertips begin to play with the scarf around her neck. “I don’t know what to say.”

“So you assume this is for you, and not Polly?” I ask.

Marissa flinches. “It could have been, of course. But Polly isn’t dating anyone and she hasn’t ever mentioned a man pursuing her.”

Her rationale for her assumption is smooth and logical. But Marissa’s reaction to the note was raw and unfiltered, and that told me more. She immediately knew it was meant for her, and not by a process of elimination.

“Marissa, you answered several important questions for me during our first session,” I say. “If there’s anything you haven’t revealed, we need to know it right now.”

She shakes her head. “I swear. It was just that one time. It’s over. I don’t know why he won’t—”

She cuts herself off. Was she going to say, Won’t leave me alone? I wonder. Which begs the question, What else has he done?

“Maybe it’s over for you, but obviously not for him,” Matthew interjects sharply. “Read what he wrote: He’s not letting you go!”

“Matthew, let’s—” I begin.

“C’mon, Avery, with all due respect, look at the facts here. This guy knows where my wife works. He probably knows where we live. He could be dangerous.”

“He’s not dangerous,” Marissa interrupts.

“How do you know that? He’s just some random guy, right? I mean, how well could you really know him?”

Matthew’s tone is sincere. I wonder how long it’ll be before he starts to suspect Marissa hasn’t told us the entire truth.