The Wife Between Us(43)

“Totally normal. Thin, dark hair, a little older than us, but she said she was newly single and was starting over. It was so dumb, but I had to pee desperately and she kept asking all these questions, like she really wanted it. She was only alone in the kitchen for two seconds.”

Nellie cut her off. “Are you by yourself now?”

“Yeah, but I’m going to have Cooper come over and stay the night just in case. I’ll have him drag something over to block the door. Shit, it’s going to cost a fortune to get a locksmith here. . . .”

“What is it?” Richard whispered.

“Hang on,” Nellie told Sam.

Richard pulled out his cell phone before Nellie had even finished recounting the story. “Diane?” Nellie recognized the name of his long-time secretary, a competent woman in her sixties whom she’d met on several occasions. “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour. . . . I know, I know, you always tell me that. . . . Yeah, a personal one—can you get an emergency locksmith over to re-key an apartment as soon as possible tonight? . . . No, not mine. . . . Sure, let me give you the address. . . . Whatever it costs. Thank you. Come in late tomorrow if you’d like.”

He hung up and tucked the phone back into his pocket.

“Sam?” Nellie said into her receiver.

“I heard him. Wow . . . that was really nice. Please tell him thanks.”

“I will. Call me when the locksmith comes.” Nellie hung up.

“There are a lot of crazy people in New York,” Richard said.

“I know,” Nellie whispered.

“But odds are Sam misplaced them again.” Richard’s voice had the same soothing cadence as when they’d first met on the airplane. “Why would she have taken the keys and not Sam’s wallet?”

“You’re right.” Nellie hesitated. “But Richard . . . all those hang-ups I’ve been getting?”

“Only three.”

“There was another one. Not exactly the same, but a woman called your apartment after you left for Atlanta. I thought it was you, so I answered without thinking. . . . She wouldn’t leave her name, and I—”

“Sweetheart, that was just Ellen from the office. She reached me on my cell phone.”

“Oh.” Nellie’s body sagged with the release of tension. “I thought—I mean, it was a Sunday, so . . .”

Richard kissed the tip of her nose. “Gelato. Then Sam will probably call to say she found her keys in the refrigerator.”

“You’re right.” Nellie laughed.

Richard moved to take the side next to the curb, between her and traffic, as he always did. He wrapped his arm around her and they continued walking.


After Sam called to say the locksmith had come and gone, Nellie went to the bathroom to change into her gauzy sleeveless nightgown and brush her teeth. Richard was already in bed, wearing his boxer briefs. As she climbed in next to him, she noticed the silver-framed photograph on his nightstand was tilted away so it faced the wall. It was a picture of her sitting on a bench in Central Park wearing jean shorts and a tank top; Richard always said he liked to see her when he woke up on mornings when she wasn’t there.

Richard noticed, too, and reached to turn it back around. “The maid was here.”

He picked up the remote and turned off the television, then pressed his body against hers. At first she thought his touch meant what it usually meant when he reached for her under the sheets. But then he released her and rolled onto his back.

“I need to tell you something.” His tone was serious.

“Okay,” Nellie said slowly.

“I didn’t play golf until I was in my twenties.”

She couldn’t see his face in the darkness. “So . . . those summers at the club?”

He exhaled. “I was a caddy. A waiter. A lifeguard. I carried clubs. I picked up wet towels. When kids ordered hot dogs that cost as much as I made in an hour, I served them. I hated that fucking club. . . .”

Nellie traced her fingers down his arm, smoothing the dark hairs under her fingertips. She’d never heard him sound so vulnerable before. “I’d always assumed you’d grown up with money.”

“I told you my dad was in finance. He was an accountant. He did the taxes for the neighborhood plumbers and handymen.”

She remained silent, not wanting to interrupt.

“Maureen got a college scholarship, then helped pay for me to go.” Richard’s body felt rigid under her touch. “I lived with her to save money, and I took out a lot of loans. And I worked my ass off.”

She sensed Richard hadn’t shared this part of himself with many people.

They lay together in silence for a few minutes as Nellie slowly became aware that Richard’s revelation pieced together something for her.

His manners were so flawless they seemed almost choreographed. Dropped into any conversation, he could hold his own—whether he was talking to a cabdriver or a Philharmonic violinist at a charity event. He knew how to wield silverware gracefully and change the oil in his car. His nightstand held magazines ranging from ESPN to The New Yorker as well as a stack of biographies. She’d thought he was a chameleon, the sort of person who could effortlessly fit in anywhere.

But he must have taught himself those skills—or perhaps Maureen had taught him some of them.