My Lovely Wife(40)

When the game is over, I have to go to work. It is Millicent’s Saturday to take the kids out to lunch, and we have only a moment alone in the parking lot. The kids are in the car, buckled up and arguing. We stand together between our cars.

“Everything good?”

“Perfect,” she says. “No problems at all.”

We go our separate ways, and as I drive to the club, I feel more than happy. Buoyant, maybe. Like I’m floating.



* * *



? ? ?

At the club, I have a rare Saturday lesson with Kekona, our Hidden Oaks gossip. I think she scheduled it because she wants to talk about Owen, about what may have happened the night before, and our lesson confirms it. Owen is all she talks about it.

“Fifty-three women. The news says fifty-three women were reported missing between last night and this morning.” She shakes her head. Kekona’s long dark hair is rolled up into a bun at the base of her neck.

“Owen did not kidnap fifty-three women last night,” I say.

“No, he didn’t. He may not have kidnapped anyone. But fifty-three families believe he did.”

I nod, absorbing her words, wrapping my head around so much pain. I feel removed, as if it has nothing to do with me.





Twenty-six




We wait for everyone else to figure out what happened. When the news is on, Millicent winks at me. When someone mentions Owen, I give her a look only she understands. It is our thing, the thing that separates us from everyone else.

I first felt it after Holly. Again after Robin, and then after Lindsay. After each woman, Millicent and I had a moment in which we were the only ones in the world. It felt the same as it did when we climbed that big tree. It feels that way now, after Naomi.

Millicent and I are wide-awake while everyone else is asleep.



* * *



? ? ?

By Monday, the police are down to two women. All the others have been found or have returned home. I hear this on the radio during the drive to work, and it surprises me. I hadno idea it would take this long for everyone to realize who had gone missing. It almost makes me want to send another note to Josh, to let him know it was Naomi.

Almost. But the more time they spend trying to figure out who is missing means the less time they spend trying to find her. The police do not even know who to look for.

Halfway through the day, I get a call from the school principal. This is odd, because the school always calls Millicent first, but the principal says Millicent isn’t answering her phone. She also tells me there has been an incident at the school and that I need to come down there right away. I ask if it’s Rory.

“It’s your daughter,” she says. “We have an issue with Jenna.”

When I arrive at the school, Jenna is sitting in the corner of the principal’s office. Nell Granger has been at the school forever and has not changed a bit. She looks like a sweet old grandmother who would pinch your cheeks until they bruised.

Jenna is staring at the floor and does not look up.

Nell gestures for me to sit, and I do. Then I see the knife.

Six-inch blade, stainless steel. Carved wooden handle. It comes from our kitchen, and now it is on top of Nell’s desk.

Nell taps her pink fingernail against the knife. “Your daughter brought this to school today.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. And I am not sure I want to.

“A teacher saw it in her backpack when she was taking out a notebook.”

Jenna sits against the wall, facing us, but her head is still down. She says nothing.

“Why would you bring this to school?” I ask.

She shakes her head. Says nothing.

Nell stands up and motions for me to follow. We walk out of the office, and she shuts the door behind us.

“Jenna hasn’t said a word,” Nell says. “I was hoping you, or your wife, could get her to tell us why she has the knife.”

“I’d like to know myself.”

“So this isn’t something you’ve—”

“Jenna has never been violent,” I say. “She doesn’t play with knives.”

“And yet …” Nell does not finish the sentence and does not have to.

I go back into the office alone. It does not look like Jenna has moved an inch. I move a chair closer to hers and sit down.

“Jenna,” I say.

Nothing.

“Can you tell me about the knife?”

She shrugs. It’s a start.

“Were you going to hurt someone?”

“No.”

Her voice is strong, unwavering, and it startles me.

“Okay,” I say. “If you didn’t plan to hurt anyone, why would you bring a knife to school?”

She looks up. Her eyes do not look as strong as her voice. “To protect myself.”

“Is someone bullying you?”

“No.”

It is all I can do to stop myself from grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking the answers out of her. “Jenna, please tell me what happened. Did someone threaten you? Hurt you?”

“No. I just wanted …”

“Wanted what?”

“I didn’t want him to hurt me.”

“Who?”

She whispers his name. “Owen.”