My Lovely Wife(28)

“Can I help you?” I said.

She cocked her head, looking at me sideways, and smiled. “I thought it was you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re Holly’s friend.”

Her name made me jolt, like I had stuck my finger in a light socket. “Holly?”

“I saw you with her.”

“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

She had not, of course. Now I recognized her.

When the hospital released Holly, one of the doctors helped arrange for her to work at a grocery store. Holly stocked shelves part-time. That’s where I had gone to tell her to stay away from us, where I had confronted her about scaring our family.

I never meant for it to get out of hand.

I went on a Monday morning, when the store was slow and everything was being restocked. Holly was in one of the aisles, filling a shelf with boxes of granola bars, and she was alone. As I walked down the aisle toward her, she turned toward me. Her clear green eyes were startling.

Holly put her hands on her hips and stared at me until I stood right next to her.

“Yes?” she said.

“I don’t think we’ve formally met.” I stuck out my hand and waited for her to shake it. Eventually, she did.

I told her I was sorry we had to meet his way—that in another place, at another time, perhaps we would be like family. But right now, it wasn’t possible, because her behavior was scaring my wife and kids. My kids had never done anything to her. They did not deserve this. “I’m asking you,” I said. “Can you please leave my family alone?”

She laughed at me.

Holly laughed until tears sprang from the corners of her eyes, and she laughed some more. The longer it went on, the more humiliated I started to feel. That may have made her laugh harder. I started to understand how she made Millicent feel, and it made me angry.

“You bitch,” I said.

She stopped laughing. Her eyes almost glowed with rage. “Get out.”

“What if I don’t? What if I stay here and make your life miserable?” My voice was much louder than it should have been.

“Get out.”

“Stay away from my family.”

Holly stared at me, still as a statue. She did not budge then, and she never did.

I turned around to leave, feeling a bit helpless. I could not reason with Holly, could not make her understand.

Robin was at the end of the aisle, watching everything.

She also worked at the store. She was wearing the same yellow shirt and green apron. I saw her, walked right past her, and I may have nodded at her. Or maybe I didn’t. But she was there, she had seen me, and now she was standing at my door.

“I’m not wrong,” she said. “You were the one I saw that day.”

I did not pause. “I’m sorry—you’ve got the wrong person.” I shut the door.

She knocked again.

I ignored it.

Robin’s voice came through the door. “You know she’s gone, right? Didn’t even pick up her last check.”

I opened the door. “Look, I’m really sorry about your friend, but I have no idea—”

“I got it, I got it. Wrong guy. Wasn’t you. Now that I know who you are, I’ll just let the police sort it all out.”

She turned around and started to leave.

I did not let her.

No one knew Holly was missing. No one was looking for her, and I didn’t want them to start. Millicent and I were not experts in forensics or DNA or anything of the sort. Anyone who looked too deep was bound to find all our mistakes.

I asked if Robin wanted to come inside and talk. She hesitated at first. She took out her phone and kept it in her hand as she walked into the house. We went to the kitchen. I offered her a drink; she said no. Instead, she grabbed an orange from the table and started peeling it. Without admitting a thing, without even introducing myself, I asked her what happened. She started to talk about the grocery store, about Holly, and about herself.

She gave me a history of how she came to work at the grocery store, when she met Holly, and how they had become friends. I got up from the table and went to the refrigerator to get a soda. While the door was open, I sent a quick text to Millicent. I used the same language she had used when Holly was in the house.

911 Get home NOW

It felt like hours passed before her car pulled up. By then, Robin was asking what we should do to resolve our current situation. She did not want justice for her dear old friend Holly. She wanted money, and lots of it.

“I figure this can be a win-win for both of us,” she said. The front door opened, and Robin’s head spun around. “Who’s that?”

“My wife,” I said.

Millicent appeared in the doorway, breathing hard, like she had been running. She was dressed for work in a skirt, blouse, and heels. Her jacket was open; she hadn’t bothered to button it. She looked from me to Robin and back again.

“This is Robin,” I said. “She used to work with a woman named Holly.”

Millicent raised an eyebrow at Robin, who nodded.

“That’s right. And I saw your husband talking to her. He called her a bitch.”

The eyebrow turned to me.

I said nothing.

Millicent took off her jacket and slung it over a chair. “Robin,” she said, walking into the kitchen, “why don’t you tell me everything that happened?”