The Wife Between Us(91)

It wasn’t difficult to get into Richard’s office building. Just a few floors below his firm was an accounting company that handled high-net-worth individuals. I made an appointment, explaining that I was a single woman who had recently come into an inheritance. It wasn’t far from the truth. After all, I still had the receipt from Richard’s check in my wallet. I booked the last appointment of the day, six o’clock, and sailed past the guard’s desk with my visitor sticker attached to my new dress.

After my appointment, I took the elevator to Richard’s floor and walked quickly to the ladies’ room. The code hadn’t changed, and I slipped into the end stall. I already looked as much like Emma as possible on the outside; my new red lipstick and fitted dress and curled hair completed my physical transformation. I tore my visitor’s pass into a dozen pieces and buried it in the trash can. I spent the next couple of hours practicing her voice, her posture, her mannerisms. A few women came in to use the bathroom, but no one lingered.

Now it is eight-thirty. I finally see the three-person cleaning crew emerge from the elevator, pushing a cart filled with supplies. I force myself to wait until they reach the door of Richard’s firm.

I am confident.

“Hello!” I call as I stride briskly toward them.

I am poised.

“Nice to see you again.”

I belong here.

Surely this crew must have encountered Emma on nights she worked late with Richard. The man who has just unlocked the double glass doors gives me a hesitant smile.

“My boss needs me to check something on his desk.” I gesture to the corner office I know so well. “I’ll just be a minute.”

I hurry past them, taking longer steps than I would normally. One of the cleaning women picks up a duster and follows me, which I expected. I pass Emma’s old cubicle, which now holds a potted African violet and a flowered tea mug. Then I open the door to Richard’s office.

“It should be right here.” I walk behind the desk and open one of the two heavy lower drawers. But it is empty save for a squeezable stress reliever, a few PowerBars, and an unopened box of Callaway golf balls.

“Oh, he must’ve moved it,” I say to the cleaner. I can feel her energy heighten; she’s clearly a little nervous now. She moves closer to me. I can read her mental process. She is telling herself I must belong here or I could never have gotten through the guard. And she doesn’t want to offend an office employee. But if she’s wrong, she could be jeopardizing her job.

My salvation is staring at me: a silver-framed photograph of Emma on the corner of Richard’s desk. I pick it up and show it to the cleaning woman, making sure to hold it a couple of feet away from her. “See? It’s me.” She breaks into a relieved smile, and I’m glad she doesn’t think to ask why my boss keeps a photo of his assistant on his desk.

I pull open the second drawer and see Richard’s files. Each has a typewritten label.

I find the one marked AmEx and leaf through his statements until I find the itemized one for February. What I’m searching for is right at the top: Sotheby’s Wine, $3,150 refund.

The cleaning woman has turned toward the windows to dust the blinds, but I can’t allow myself even the briefest of celebrations. I slip the piece of paper into my purse.

“All done! Thank you!”

She nods and I start to exit the office. As I round the edge of the desk, I reach out and touch Emma’s photo again. I can’t resist. I twist it so she faces the wall.





CHAPTER





THIRTY-THREE




The next morning, I awaken feeling more refreshed than I have in years. I’ve slept straight through for nine hours without the aid of alcohol or a pill. Another small victory.

I can hear Aunt Charlotte puttering in the kitchen as I approach. I walk up behind her and envelop her in a hug. Linseed and lavender; her scent is as comforting to me as Richard’s aroma is unsettling.

“I love you.”

Her hands cover mine. “I love you, too, honey.” Surprise threads through her voice; it’s as if she can sense the shift within me.

We have hugged dozens of times since I moved in. Aunt Charlotte embraced me as I sobbed after a cab left me on her building’s doorstep. When I was unable to sleep as the memories of the worst times in my marriage tormented me, I felt her slip onto the bed and wrap me up in her arms. It was as if she wanted to absorb my pain. For every page in my notebook that I filled with descriptions of Richard’s deceit, I could write an equal number recounting times throughout my life when Aunt Charlotte has buoyed me with her steady, undemanding love.

But today I’m the one reaching out to her. Sharing my strength.

When I let go, Aunt Charlotte picks up the pot of coffee she has just brewed, and I pull the cream out of the refrigerator and hand it to her. I crave calories—nourishing food to fuel my newfound fortitude. I crack eggs into a pan, scramble in cherry tomatoes and shredded cheddar cheese, and slide two pieces of whole-grain bread into the toaster.

“I’ve been doing some research.” She looks up at me and I can tell she knows exactly what I’m talking about. “You are never going to be alone in this. I’m here for you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She stirs the cream into her coffee. “Absolutely not. You’re young. And you are not spending your life taking care of an old woman.”