An Anonymous Girl(86)
“Would you like this gift-wrapped?” she asks.
“Please,” I say. It’ll buy me a few more minutes of her time, so I can gather my courage.
She slips the scarf into tissue paper and ties a pretty bow around it while I swipe my credit card to cover the $195 charge. If I can get the information I need, it’s a small price to pay.
Lauren hands me the signature bag and I notice she’s wearing a wedding band.
I clear my throat.
“I know this sounds kind of weird, but is it possible to talk in private for a minute?” I ask. I feel the cold metal of my rings and realize I’m running my thumb over them. According to Dr. Shields’s file on me, that’s one of my tells when I’m anxious.
Lauren’s smile disappears. “Sure.” She draws out the word, almost like it’s a question.
Lauren leads me to the back of the shop. “What can I help you with?” she asks.
I need her first, instinctual response. I learned from Dr. Shields that’s usually the most honest one. So instead of saying anything, I pull out my phone and turn it around so Lauren can see the photo of Thomas I’ve cropped out from the wedding picture he texted me. It was taken seven years ago, but the picture is clear and he basically looks the same.
I keep my eyes on her. If she refuses to talk to me or just tells me to leave, her initial reaction is all I’ll have. I have to be able to read her expression, to decipher any signs of guilt or sorrow or love.
It isn’t what I expect.
There’s no strong emotion in her face. Her brow furrows slightly. Her eyes are quizzical.
It’s as if she recognizes Thomas but can’t quite place him.
“He looks vaguely familiar . . .” she finally says.
She meets my gaze. She’s waiting for me to fill in the blanks.
“You had an affair with him,” I blurt. “Just a couple of months ago!”
“What?”
Her cry of surprise is so loud that her coworker turns around: “Everything okay, Lauren?”
“I’m sorry,” I sputter. “He told me, he said—”
“It’s fine,” Lauren calls back to her colleague, but her voice has an edge, like she’s angry now.
I try to gather myself; she’ll probably throw me out in a minute. “You said he looks familiar. Do you even know him at all?”
My voice cracks and I force back tears.
Instead of recoiling like I’m crazy, Lauren’s face softens. Are you okay?”
I nod and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
“Why in the world would you think I had an affair with that man? she says.
I can’t come up with anything to say other than the truth. “Someone told me you had . . .” I hesitate, then force myself to continue. “I met him a few weeks ago and . . . I’m worried he might be dangerous,” I whisper.
Lauren rears back. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but this is nuts. Someone told you I had an affair with him? I’m married. Happily married. Who told you that lie?”
“Maybe I got it wrong,” I say. There’s no way I can go into all of this with her. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to insult you . . . Could you just look again and see if you can remember if you’ve ever seen him before?”
Now Lauren is the one studying me. I wipe my eyes again and make myself meet her gaze.
She finally stretches out her hand. “Let me see your phone.”
As she gazes at the photo, her face clears. “I remember him now. He was a customer.”
She looks up at the ceiling and bites her lower lip. “Okay, it’s coming back to me. He walked in a few months ago. I was just putting out some items from the fall line and he was looking for some special outfits for his wife. He spent quite a lot of money.”
The chime over the door announces the arrival of a new customer. Lauren glances her way and I know my time here is limited.
“Was that all?” I ask.
Lauren raises her eyebrows. “Well, he returned everything the next day. That’s probably why I even remember him at all. He was very apologetic but said they weren’t his wife’s style.”
She looks toward the front of the shop again. “I never saw him again,” she says. “I didn’t get the feeling that he was dangerous at all. In fact, he seemed really sweet. But I barely spent any time with him. And I certainly didn’t have an affair with him.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m so sorry I bothered you.”
She turns to go, then looks back at me. Honey, if you’re that scared of him, you really should go to the police.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY-NINE
Sunday, December 23
In a psychological assessment known as the Invisible Gorilla experiment, subjects believed they were supposed to count passes between players on a basketball team. In actuality, they were being evaluated on something else entirely. What most subjects did not notice while tallying the tosses of the ball was that a man in a gorilla suit had walked onto the court. Focusing so strongly on one component blinded the subjects to the big picture.
My hyperfocus on Thomas’s fidelity, or lack thereof, may have obscured an unexpectedly shocking aspect of my case study: that you have an agenda of your own.