The Wife Between Us(56)

“Where were you?” asked our chapter’s president as I walked through the door, but she didn’t wait for an answer. Twenty new pledges would officially join our house tonight. The evening would start out with a dinner and rituals: the house song and a sorority trivia game about our founders and important dates. Each girl would then take a candle and repeat sacred vows. I’d stand behind my “little sister,” Maggie, whom I’d been paired with for the year. The hazing would begin around ten P.M. Although it would last several hours, nothing bad would be done to the girls. Nothing dangerous. Certainly no one would be hurt.

I knew this because I was the one to plan it.

Bottles of vodka for the Jell-O shots lined the dining room table, along with grain alcohol for the Dirty Hunch Punch. Did we need so much liquor? I wondered. I remember because of everything that happened afterward. Those flashing blue and red police lights. The high-pitched screaming that sounded like an alarm.

But as I climbed the steps to my room, it was just a fleeting thought, winging past like a moth, quickly replaced by my worry over the pregnancy. The feeling of sickness radiated out from my core, encompassing my entire being.

Daniel hadn’t even glanced back at me as he’d driven off. I kept remembering the way he’d walked right past me, whispering, “Not now.” He’d treated me with less respect than the student who’d intercepted him before he reached me.

I slipped into my room and quietly shut the door, then pulled out my cell phone. I lay down on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest, and called him. After four rings, I heard his outgoing message. The second time I dialed, it went directly to voice mail.

I could see Daniel glancing down at his phone as the code name he’d given me—Victor—flashed. His long, tapered fingers, the ones that caressed my leg whenever I sat beside him, picking up the phone and pressing Decline.

I’d seen him do the exact same thing to other callers when we were together, never thinking he’d do it to me.

I dialed his number again, hoping he’d see it and realize how desperately I needed to talk to him. But he ignored me.

My pain was being overtaken by anger. He must have known something was wrong. He’d said he cared about me, but if you truly cared for someone, wouldn’t you at least answer her fucking call? I’d thought.

I’d never been to his place because he lived with two other professors in faculty housing. I knew his address, though.

I’d thought, Tomorrow isn’t good enough.





CHAPTER





TWENTY-TWO




After Aunt Charlotte comes to get me at the Robertson bar, I take a cool shower, scrubbing off my sweat and makeup. Wishing I could rinse away the day as easily and have a fresh chance with Emma.

I’d planned my words so carefully; I’d anticipated that Emma would be skeptical at first. I would have been, too—I still remember how I’d bristled when Sam seemed suspicious of Richard, or when my mother expressed concern that I seemed to be losing my identity.

But I’d assumed Emma would at least listen to me. That I would have the opportunity to plant doubts that might prompt her to take a closer look at the man she was choosing to spend the rest of her life with.

But clearly she’d already formed a strong opinion of me, one that tells her I’m not to be trusted.

Now I recognize how foolish I was to think this could end so easily.

I will have to find another way to make her understand.

I notice my left arm is red and slightly raw from where I’ve been aggressively scrubbing it. I turn off the shower and smooth lotion on my tender skin.

Then Aunt Charlotte knocks on my bedroom door. “Up for a walk?”

“Sure.” I’d rather not, but it’s my inadequate concession to her for the worry I’ve caused.

So the two of us head over to Riverside Park. Usually Aunt Charlotte sets a brisk pace, but today she strolls slowly. The steady, repetitive movement of my arms and legs and the soft breeze from the Hudson River help me feel more grounded.

“Do you want to continue our conversation?” Aunt Charlotte asks.

I think about what she requested: Please stop lying to me.

I’m not going to lie to her, but before I can tell Aunt Charlotte the truth, I need to figure out what it is for myself.

“Yes.” I reach for her hand. “But I’m not ready yet.”

Although at the bar we only dissected a single evening of my marriage, talking with my aunt has released some of the pressure that has built up inside me. The full story is far too tangled and complex to unravel in one afternoon. For the first time, though, I have someone else’s recollections to rely on other than my own. Someone I can trust as I absorb the aftershocks of my life with Richard.

I take Aunt Charlotte to the Italian restaurant near her apartment, and we order minestrone soup. The waiter brings us warm, crusty bread, and I drink three glasses of ice water, realizing I’m parched. We talk about the biography of Matisse that she is reading, and a movie I pretend to want to see.

Physically I feel a little better. And the superficial chat with my aunt distracts me. But the moment I’m back in my room, closing my blinds as dusk falls, my replacement returns. She is an uninvited guest I can never turn away.

I see her at her dress fitting, twirling before a mirror, the new diamond glinting on her finger. I imagine her pouring Richard a drink and bringing it to him, kissing him as he takes it from her hand.