The Wife Between Us(26)

Nellie bent over the toilet, her stomach heaving, then slumped down on the marble floor in Richard’s bathroom.

Images from the previous night began to surface: The shots. The smoking. The kiss. And the look on Richard’s face in the taxi as they made their way back to his apartment. She couldn’t believe she’d nearly sabotaged her future with him.

Across from her, a full-length mirror reflected her image: mascara smeared under her eyes, silver glitter from the veil dotting her hair—and a crisp New York City Marathon T-shirt, courtesy of Richard.

She struggled to her feet and reached for a towel to wipe her mouth, then hesitated. They were all snow-white with royal-blue trim. Like everything else in Richard’s apartment, they were starkly elegant—everything but her, Nellie thought. She grabbed a Kleenex instead, then tossed it in the toilet. Richard never seemed to have garbage in his trash bins; she wasn’t going to leave her soiled tissue behind.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face in icy water that left her skin pale and blotchy. Then, even though she craved a retreat back under Richard’s luxurious down comforter, she steadied herself to find him and endure whatever he had to say to her.

Instead of her fiancé, she discovered a bottle of Evian and a container of Advil on the gleaming granite kitchen counter. Beside them rested a note on thick ecru paper embossed with his initials: I didn’t want to wake you. I’m off to Atlanta. Back tomorrow. Feel better. Love you, R.

The clock on the oven read 11:43. How had she slept so late?

And how could she have forgotten Richard’s travel schedule? She didn’t even recall his mentioning Atlanta.

As she shook out two tablets and downed the still-cool water, she studied Richard’s neat block letters and tried to gauge his mood. Last night’s images were jagged and incomplete, but she recalled him tucking her in, then leaving the room and shutting the door. If he’d eventually returned and climbed into bed beside her, she hadn’t noticed.

She picked up the cordless phone on his counter and dialed his cell, but it went straight to voice mail. “I’ll get right back to you,” he promised.

Hearing his voice made her feel the ache of missing him.

“Hi, honey.” She fumbled for words. “Um . . . just wanted to say I love you.”

She headed back to the bedroom, passing a few large framed photographs lining the hallway. Her favorite was of Richard as a boy, his small hand clasped in Maureen’s, as they stood at the ocean’s edge. Maureen had towered over him. Richard was five feet eleven inches now, but he hadn’t had a growth spurt until he was sixteen, he’d told Nellie. The next photograph was a posed shot of Richard and Maureen with their parents. Nellie could see that Richard had inherited his piercing eyes from his mother and full lips from his father. At the end was a black-and-white picture of his mom and dad on their wedding day.

It said so much about Richard that he decorated his walls with images of family, that these were the faces he wanted to see every day. She wished his parents were still alive, but at least Richard had his sister. Nellie would get to meet Maureen tomorrow at dinner at one of Richard’s favorite restaurants.

Her reverie was interrupted by the house phone ringing. Richard, she thought, feeling a rush of joy as she ran back into the kitchen and grabbed the receiver.

But the voice that greeted her was feminine: “Is Richard there?”

“Um, no.” Nellie hesitated. “Is this Maureen?”

Silence. Then the woman replied, “No. I’ll call him back.” Then came the dull, unbroken note of the dial tone.

Who would phone Richard on a Sunday and not want to leave a message?

Nellie hesitated, then checked caller ID. The number was blocked.

She had come to Richard’s apartment on many occasions. But this was the first time she’d ever been here alone.

Behind her, in the living room, a wall of windows afforded a stunning view of Central Park as well as several other residential buildings. She walked over and looked out, her eyes sweeping over the apartments. Many were dark or shuttered by blinds or curtains. But others had nothing covering the panes of clear glass.

From certain angles, she thought she could see the shadowy outlines of furniture or figures inside.

Which meant anyone in those buildings also had a view into Richard’s apartment.

She’d seen Richard close the blinds before at night—a complicated electronic system on that wall wired his lighting and shades. She jabbed at a button and the recessed overhead lights turned off. It was so gloomy outside that the apartment was plunged into shadows.

She pushed the button again and the bulbs flashed on. She exhaled slowly, then tried another button. This time she managed to do it correctly and the blinds glided down. Even though a doorman was stationed in the lobby, Nellie quickly walked to the front door to check the lock. It was engaged. Richard would never leave her unprotected, no matter how annoyed he might be, she thought.

Nellie took a shower, washing her body with Richard’s citrus-scented L’Occitane soap and shampooing the smell of stale smoke out of her hair. She tilted back her head and closed her eyes to rinse the suds, then shut off the water and wrapped herself in Richard’s robe, thinking of the soft voice on the phone.

The woman had no accent. It was impossible to discern her age.

Nellie opened Richard’s medicine cabinet and took out gel, combing a bit through her damp hair and securing it in a ponytail. She changed into the exercise clothes she kept at the apartment since she occasionally used the gym in the building, then found her crumpled top and leather pants neatly folded on top of a small canvas tote by the foot of the bed. She tucked her belongings into the bag and left the apartment, rattling the door to make sure the lock clicked into place.