The Wife Between Us(84)

His eyes were closed. I wondered whose face he was seeing.

A few weeks later, I saw her again when she arrived at the cocktail party Richard and I hosted at our home in Westchester. She was as flawless as I’d remembered.

Not long after our soirée I was supposed to go to the Philharmonic with Richard. But I came down with a stomach bug and had to cancel at the last minute. He took Emma. Alan Gilbert was conducting; Beethoven and Prokofiev would be played. I imagined the two sitting side by side as they listened to the lyrical, expressive melodies. At intermission, they would likely get cocktails, and Richard would explain the origin of Prokofiev’s dissonant style to Emma, just as he had once instructed me.

I took to my bed and fell asleep to images of them together. Richard stayed in the city that evening.

I have no way of knowing for certain, but I imagine that was the night of their first kiss. I see her staring up at him with her round blue eyes as she thanks him for a wonderful evening. They hesitate, reluctant to part. A moment of silence. Then her lids sweep shut as he bends down, closing the distance between them.

Shortly after the Philharmonic, Richard flew to Dallas for a meeting. By then I was making it a point to keep better track of his schedule. This was an important client to Richard. Emma would accompany him. I was not surprised by this: Diane had traveled with him on occasion, too.

But Richard didn’t call or text me to say good night.

I was certain their affair was under way after that trip. Call it a wife’s intuition. I went into the city a few weeks later. I wanted another look at Emma. I lingered in the courtyard outside their building, shielding my face with a newspaper. That was the day Richard, gently touching the small of her back, held the door for my replacement as they came outdoors. She wore a blush-pink dress that matched the tinge on her cheek as she looked up at my husband from beneath her eyelashes.

I could have confronted them. Or I could have called out, feigning enthusiasm, and suggested we all have lunch together. But I simply watched them go.


Now I frantically press all the intercom buttons belonging to the residents of Emma’s building, hoping someone will let me in. I hear the door buzz a second later and I burst inside the modest small lobby. I glance at the row of mailboxes, grateful that her last name reveals her floor and apartment number: 5C. As I run up the stairs, I wonder if she will take Richard’s name. If we will be linked in that way, too.

I stand in front of her apartment and knock loudly.

“Who is it?” she calls.

I stand to one side so she can’t see me through the peephole. If Emma recognizes my voice, she may not read my note. So I just push the envelope through the crack at the bottom of her door. I watch my note disappear, then I run back down the hallway to the stairs, hoping I’ll get out before Richard arrives.

I picture her unfolding my letter, and I think of all the things it didn’t say.

Like how I faked my stomach flu the night of the Philharmonic.

“Why don’t you take Emma?” I had suggested to Richard when I called him to cancel. I made sure my voice sounded weak. “I remember being young and poor in the city. It would be a real treat for her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. All I want to do is sleep. And I’d hate for you to miss it.”

He agreed.

The moment we hung up, I made myself a cup of tea and began to think about my next move.

I knew I had to be careful. I couldn’t afford a single mistake. My attention to detail needed to be as scrupulous as Richard’s always was.

When I went to bed that evening, I put a bottle of Pepto-Bismol on my nightstand, next to my water.

I paced myself. I didn’t even mention her for weeks, but when Richard closed a big deal, I suggested he thank Emma for her help by giving her a generous gift certificate to Barneys.

For a moment, I worried I’d gone too far. He paused in shaving and looked at me carefully. “You never reminded me to do anything for Diane.”

I shrugged and reached for my hairbrush. Trying to cover, I said, “I guess I identify with Emma. Diane was married. She had a family. Emma reminds me of myself when I first came to New York. I think it would go a long way toward making her feel appreciated.”

“Good idea.”

I slowly released the breath I’d been holding.

I imagined her opening the certificate, her eyebrows rising in surprise. Perhaps she’d go into his office to thank him. Maybe, a few days later, she’d wear to the office a dress she’d bought with his certificate and show it to him.

The stakes were so high. I tried to continue with my usual routines, but adrenaline flooded me. I found myself constantly pacing. My appetite evaporated and weight fell off me. I lay awake beside Richard at night, mentally reviewing my plan, searching for holes and weaknesses. I was desperate to hurry things along, but I forced myself to bide my time. I was a hunter in a blind, waiting for my prey to wander into position.

My big break came when Emma called me one evening from Dallas, saying Richard needed to catch a later flight because his meeting was running long.

I’d prayed for an opportunity exactly like this one. Everything hinged on what would happen next; I had to play my part seamlessly. Emma couldn’t suspect I’d been creating a house of cards; that I was poised to set the final one in place.

“Poor guy,” I’d said. “He’s been working so hard. He must be exhausted.”