Lie, Lie Again(27)
She tapped her phone to life and pressed “Recents.” Hugh’s name was at the top of the list. She had tried calling him four times in the course of six hours last night. A brewing rage sat across the room, ready to slam into her if he didn’t pick up this time. Thunder boomed outside, as if the universe shared her frustration. She touched his number and held the phone to her ear. If he didn’t answer, she would call the police.
One ring, then two. She held the phone in a death grip. Three rings.
“Hi, Jeff!” It was a woman’s voice.
A cold rush ripped through Sylvia. Who the hell was Jeff? And why was a woman answering Hugh’s phone? “Uh, no Jeff here. Who’s this?”
“Oh!” She sounded surprised. “Sorry. This is Lily. Hugh’s bathing the baby, and the caller ID said ‘Jeff Ulrich, Global Consulting,’ so I answered. This must be Krista.”
The room swayed, and Sylvia grabbed a fistful of sheets. Hugh is bathing the baby? As in their baby? She forced herself to focus. To think. “Yes, I’m calling from Jeff’s phone. We’re planning a surprise party for him, and I’m making sure we have all the right contact information,” she said in a steady voice.
“Oh! How fun. Do you need an email address?”
Bile rose in Sylvia’s throat. Her hand crept to her mouth, and she landed her feet on the floor, ready to bolt. “No, I’m texting invites.” Her hollow voice was better suited for planning a funeral than a party.
“Great. I won’t say a word. In fact, I’m not going to mention a thing to Hugh. He doesn’t like anyone touching his phone, but since I know Jeff, I figured it was fine. Husbands,” she added with a laugh.
“Husbands,” Sylvia repeated. “Bye now.” She let the phone slide from her hand and beelined to the bathroom.
After rinsing her mouth with Listerine and splashing cold water on her face, she was ready to address the facts.
Hugh wasn’t stuck on an airplane. He wasn’t in a hospital, a jail cell, or a shallow grave getting pounded by rain. He was married with a baby. Perhaps the saddest of all possible outcomes.
She wanted to scream but clamped back the desire. Her teeth scraped against each other as she ground them until they felt loose, an old habit she’d tried to overcome. It was astounding that her teeth hadn’t fallen out due to the amount of time she’d spent clenching and grinding them as a child.
Hugh had led her down a pretty pathway that had dead-ended in asphyxiating quicksand, a silent killer. The more she struggled against the news, the faster it would swallow her alive. She had to face the truth like the survivor she was: Hugh was a liar. A married daddy, and a motherfucking liar.
Her eyes burned with rage. It took every ounce of restraint to stop herself from picking up the phone and hurling it at the wall.
Don’t kill the messenger.
True, true. It was never the messenger’s fault.
Hugh, on the other hand, was guilty. She stood and pulled her nightshirt over her head. It felt symbolic, like shedding the skin of her former self—the Sylvia she had allowed Hugh to see. How unfortunate that he hadn’t seen her angry. It would’ve been helpful if he’d at least had a glimpse. But alas, he’d only known happy Sylvia. Happy, buttermilk biscuit–eating Sylvia. She’d enjoyed the newspaper, just like him! And the powdered creamer? A brilliant grocery-store find!
He had done absolutely nothing to anger her.
Up until now, that is.
She smiled. Actually, he was an idiot to have introduced her to powdered anything. It was all too easy to add a little something to it. Rat poison, perhaps. Shake to mix, and voilà! Powdered creamer turned lethal.
Fun to think about, but she wouldn’t poison him. It was impossible to torment a dead man. No, she really needed to keep him alive.
The question was, what did he hold most dear? That would be the quickest path to his demise. Her mind traveled back to the night they’d met, and it landed on his fake wedding ring. Odd, but genius in its ability to allow him to hide in plain sight. A lot of thought and energy had gone into protecting his image. And his wife.
He wanted to look like a good guy.
So bit by bit, she would make him look bad. It wouldn’t be too difficult to create the illusion that Hugh was becoming unstable. He was so polished and perfect that people would thoroughly enjoy his downfall. Oh, they’d talk about it in whispers, claiming how sad and surprising it was. But that talk would quickly shift to all-knowing smirks. I saw it coming. It was only a matter of time. If it seems too good to be true . . .
As for Lily, it would be unfortunate for her to learn that her darling spouse was a cheater. But she needed to know. Lily would unwittingly act as Sylvia’s right-hand woman. Literally, she thought with a laugh.
What would Lily do? Sylvia closed her eyes and imagined her pale hand wielding a kitchen knife. Would she go to that extreme? Could be. After all, Hugh had said he didn’t want to be responsible for her crazy.
Well, Hugh. Guess what? Now you are.
She could almost see his face, fraught with fear, as his lies scurried toward him like roaches at night. It was hurtful that he’d lied to her again and again as though it was nothing. But she wouldn’t dwell. Never did. Old wounds became armor. Why she had stripped herself of that armor for Hugh was beyond her understanding. It wasn’t something she did. But his lies had been so pretty. Shiny little things that she had run to like an eager child.