The Wife Between Us(98)

“You were supposed to save me.” His voice was soft and sad now.

Those were the last words I heard before I blacked out. When I came to, I was still lying on the floor. The pages of my notebook had vanished.

Richard was gone, too.

My throat felt raw and desperately parched. I lay there for a long time. I didn’t know where Richard was. I rolled onto my side, my arms encircling my knees, shivering in my thin nightgown. After a while I reached up and pulled the comforter around me. Fear immobilized me; I couldn’t leave the room.

Then I smelled fresh coffee.

I heard Richard’s footsteps coming up the stairs. There was nowhere to hide. I couldn’t run, either; he was between me and the front door.

He walked unhurriedly into the room, holding a mug.

“Forgive me,” I blurted. My voice was hoarse. “I didn’t realize . . . I’ve been drinking and I haven’t been sleeping. I haven’t been thinking clearly. . . .”

He just stared at me. He was capable of killing me. I had to convince him not to.

“I wasn’t going to leave you,” I lied. “I don’t know why I wrote those bad things. You’re so good to me.”

Richard took a sip of coffee, keeping his eyes on mine over the rim of his mug.

“Sometimes I worry I am becoming like my mother. I need help.”

“Of course you wouldn’t leave me. I know that.” He had regained his composure. I’d said the right words. “I acknowledge I lost my temper, but you pushed me,” he said, as if he’d merely snapped at me during a minor spat. “You’ve been lying to me. You’ve been deceiving me. You are not acting like the Nellie I married.” He paused. He patted the bed and I hesitantly climbed up to sit on its edge, keeping the comforter around me like a shield. He sat down next to me, and I felt the mattress sink beneath his weight, tilting me toward him.

“I’ve thought about it, and this is partly my fault. I should have recognized the warning signs. I indulged your depression. What you need is structure. A routine. From now on you’ll get up with me. We’ll work out together in the morning. Then we’ll eat breakfast. More protein. You’ll get fresh air every day. Rejoin some committees at the club. You used to make an effort with dinner. I’d like for you to do that again.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“I am committed to our marriage, Nellie. Do not ever make me question whether you are again.”

I quickly nodded, even though the motion hurt my neck.

He left for work an hour later, telling me he would phone me when he got to the office and that he expected me to answer. I did exactly as he said. I could only swallow some yogurt for breakfast because of my throat, but it was high in protein. It was early fall, so I took a walk in the cool fresh air, keeping the ringer on my cell phone turned up as high as possible. I put on a turtleneck to cover the red, oval imprints that would turn into bruises, then went to the grocery store and selected filet mignon and white asparagus to serve to my husband.

I was in the checkout lane when I heard the cashier saying, “Ma’am?” I realized she’d been waiting for me to pay for my groceries. I looked up from the bag of food I was starting at, wondering if he already knew what I was buying for his dinner. Somehow Richard was aware of every time I left the house; he’d found out about my secret journey into the city, the liquor store I frequented, the errands I ran.

Even when I’m not there, I’m always with you.

I looked at the woman at the next register over as she appeased a cranky toddler who wanted to be lifted out of the cart. I glanced up at the security camera near the door. I saw the pile of red baskets with gleaming metal handles, the display of tabloid magazines, the candy in bright, crinkly wrappers.

I had no idea how my husband was constantly watching me. But his surveillance was no longer stealth. I could not deviate from the more stringent new rules of our marriage. And I could certainly never try to leave him.

He would know.

He would stop me.

He would hurt me.

He might kill me.


A week or two later, I looked up from the breakfast table and watched Richard select a crispy piece of turkey bacon that I’d prepared along with our scrambled eggs. His face was still slightly flushed from our morning workout. Steam curled from his cup of espresso; The Wall Street Journal was folded by his plate.

He bit into the bacon. “This is perfectly cooked.”

“Thank you.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“I’m going to shower and then head over to the club for the used-book drive. Lots of sorting to do.”

He nodded. “Sounds good.” He wiped his fingertips on his napkin, then snapped opened the newspaper. “And don’t forget Diane’s retirement luncheon is next Friday. Can you pick up a nice card and I’ll put the cruise tickets inside?”

“Of course.”

He bent his head and began to scan the stocks.

I stood up and cleared the table. I loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters. As I ran the sponge over the marbled granite, Richard approached me from behind and wrapped his arms around my waist. He kissed my neck.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.”

He put on his suit jacket, then picked up his briefcase and walked toward the front door. I followed him, watching as he headed to his Mercedes.