The Wife Between Us(94)

I have never shared with anyone what I am about to reveal to Emma. I need to harness my emotions so they don’t overwhelm me and reinforce any lingering suspicions she might have that I’m unbalanced.

If she listens to me with an open mind—if she seems receptive to what I am saying—I must explain to her how I meticulously crafted a plan to free myself. That I set her up, but that I had no idea it would go this far.

I will beg for her forgiveness. But more important than my absolution is her own. I will tell her she has to leave Richard, immediately, tonight even, before he ensnares her.

When I last saw Emma, I tried to craft the image I wanted her to see: that we were interchangeable versions of each other. Now I strive for plain honesty. I shower and put on jeans and a cotton T-shirt. I don’t fuss with my makeup or hairstyle. To burn off nervous energy, I plan to walk to her apartment. I decide to leave at five o’clock. I cannot be late.

Be calm, be rational, be convincing, I repeat to myself. Emma has seen the act I’ve put on; she has heard Richard’s rendering of my character; she knows of my reputation. I need to reverse everything she believes about me.

I am still practicing what I will say when my cell phone rings with a number I don’t recognize. But I know the area code well: it’s in Florida.

My body tenses. I sink onto my bed and stare at the screen as the phone rings a second time. I must answer this.

“Vanessa Thompson?” a man asks.

“Yes.” My throat is so dry I cannot swallow.

“This is Andy Woodward from Furry Paws.” His voice sounds hearty and affable. I’ve never spoken to Andy before, but I began to anonymously donate to the shelter in Maggie’s honor following her death, since she’d volunteered there in high school. After Richard and I married, he suggested that we increase my monthly contribution substantially and fund the shelter’s renovation. As a result, Maggie’s name is on a plaque by the door. Richard has always served as the contact to the shelter; he suggested it, saying it would be less stressful for me.

“I got a call from your ex-husband. He told me the two of you have decided that in light of everything, you can no longer afford your charitable gifts.”

Here is my punishment, I realize. I took Richard’s money, so this is how he’ll extract revenge. There’s a symbolic flourish to it, a balancing of the scales, that I know Richard is relishing.

“Yes,” I say when I realize the silence has stretched on too long. This was for Maggie, not for me, I think furiously. “I’m really sorry. If it’s okay, I can still contribute a small amount each month. It won’t be the same, but it’s something.”

“That’s very generous of you. Your ex-husband explained how terribly he feels about this. He said he would personally call Maggie’s family to let them know what happened. He asked me to relay that to you so you didn’t have to worry about any loose ends.”

Which of my actions is Richard retaliating for? Am I being punished for the photograph of Duke, my letter to Emma, or cashing the check?

Or does he also know I’ve texted the AmEx statement to Emma?

Andy doesn’t understand; no one does. Richard would have been charming when they chatted. He’ll be the same way when he calls Maggie’s family. He will make sure he speaks to them all individually, including Jason. Richard will mention my maiden name—it will seamlessly slip into the conversation—and perhaps he’ll say something about how I’ve moved to New York City.

What will Jason do?

I wait for the familiar panic to set in.

It doesn’t.

Instead, I am struck by the realization that since Richard left me, I haven’t thought of Jason at all.

“The family will be delighted to have a chance to thank you both personally,” Andy says. “Of course, they write notes every year that I forward to your husband.”

My head jerks up. Think like Richard. Stay in control. “I don’t—you know, my husband didn’t share those notes with me.” Somehow my tone is casual and my voice remains steady. “I was really affected by Maggie’s death, and he probably thought it would be too painful for me to read them. But I’d like to know what they said now.”

“Oh, sure. They mostly sent emails for me to forward. I remember the content, if not the exact words. They always expressed how grateful they are to you, and how they hoped to meet you one day. They visit the shelter occasionally. What you’ve done has meant so much to them.”

“The parents come to the shelter? And Maggie’s brother, Jason?”

“Yes. They all do. And Jason’s wife and his two children. They’re a lovely family. The kids cut the ribbon on opening day after the renovation.”

I take a half step backward and nearly drop the phone.

Richard must have known this for years; he intercepted the correspondence. He wanted me to be afraid, to be his nervous Nellie. He needed to pretend to be my protector because of some depravity within him. He cultivated my dependence upon him; he preyed upon my fear.

Of all of Richard’s cruelties, this is perhaps the worst.

I sink down onto my bed at the realization. Then I wonder what else he did to pique my anxiety when we were together.

“I would like to call Maggie’s parents and brother, too,” I say after a moment. “May I have their contact information?”