My Lovely Wife(54)

“I was enchanted. By her, by the way she spoke and what she said, and even the tone of her voice. I can’t think of a better word. Trista was simply enchanting.”

Andy breaks down as he says this. First tears, then sobs.

No one moves.

I look away. This makes me feel sick all over again.

Andy’s brother walks up to him and whispers in his ear. Andy takes a deep breath and collects himself. He keeps talking. I do not listen. I am thinking about that word.

Enchanting.

When he is done, we have a chance to walk by the coffin, to say our final goodbyes to Trista. Just about everyone does. Only a few hang back. Millicent and I do not.

The coffin is made of wood so dark it is almost black, and the interior is pale peach. It is not as bad as it sounds. The color complements Trista’s blond hair and that apricot lipstick. She looked good in that color, and I am glad someone knew to put it on her.

But her outfit is the opposite. It is a solid dark blue with long sleeves. A single strand of pearls hangs from her neck, and she has pearl studs in her ears. None of this looks like Trista. It looks like someone bought the outfit yesterday, because they thought she should be buried in something dignified instead of something she would have liked.

It upsets me, unnaturally so. I do not like to think of Trista spending eternity in an outfit she hates. I hope she is not looking down on this funeral.

“She looks beautiful,” Millicent says.

If I could say something to Trista, I would tell her I am sorry. Sorry for the clothes, for asking her about Owen, for bringing Owen back.

I would also tell her that Andy is right. She was enchanting. I know this because I understand exactly what Andy meant.

Millicent is enchanting. This is exactly as I would describe her. She was enchanting when I met her, and she is enchanting now. And if she died and I had to speak at her funeral service, I would be just like Andy. If I had to describe how enchanting she was, at the same time knowing I would never be with her again, I would shake my fist at the sky. Or at whoever had ruined everything.

In Andy’s case, it would be me. His friend.





Thirty-seven




The man on TV is overweight and unhealthy-looking, half-dead in his fifties. He has a soft, round gut, the beginning of jowls, and sprigs of grey hair around his head. I know the type. My clients are like him, or used to be.

Josh is interviewing him in front of the Lancaster Hotel. This man is the first to say, or even insinuate, that Naomi was anything other than the girl next door everyone says she was.

“I’m not saying she did something wrong,” he says. “I just think if we’re going to find her, we have to be honest about who she was.”

He was a frequent guest at the Lancaster and came to town twice a month for work. He had spoken to Naomi several times, as well as to some of the other regulars. “Let’s just say she didn’t always keep things businesslike with some of the guests.”

“Can you elaborate on that?” Josh says.

“I don’t think I really need to do that. People are smart enough to figure it out on their own.”

This is the first time anyone mentions Naomi’s extracurricular activities. It is not the last.

Other coworkers come forward, claiming to know the truth about Naomi. She slept with a number of men. Some were guests at the hotel. No one mentioned money, just sex. She was not a prostitute. Naomi was a twenty-seven-year-old woman who’d had sex with more than one hotel guest.

The first of her lovers to come forward does not reveal his identity. On TV, he appears as a silhouette, and his voice is garbled.

“Were you ever a guest at the Lancaster Hotel?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And did you know a front desk clerk named Naomi?”

“I did.”

“And did you have sex with her?”

“I am ashamed to say that I did.”

He goes on to say that Naomi was the aggressor. She is the one who came after him.

Another man comes forward. And another. More shadows, more garbles. All remain anonymous. None of the men who slept with Naomi will reveal themselves. It is not because they are married, because at least two are identified as single or divorced. They just do not want to admit that they were one of her men.

Or her conquests. Someone on TV calls them that.

At the club, the talk starts to change. People stop saying it is a travesty and a shame. Some even stop saying Owen is a monster. Instead, people start asking how Naomi could have prevented it. How she could have avoided being a victim.

Kekona is one of them. The stories about Naomi confirm her belief that trouble comes to people who look for it. And in her mind, sex counts as trouble.

On TV, they will not stop talking about Naomi’s personal life. Josh is front and center on the story; everyone who comes forward goes to him first. The more I watch, the more mesmerized I become. Naomi is one person and then another in the blink of an eye.

The first time I have a chance to discuss it with Millicent is after we attend Jenna’s latest appointment with her psychologist. We take her back to school, where she joins her friends to decorate the gym for an upcoming fund-raiser. Millicent then takes me back to the club, where my car is parked. She turns on the radio and the news blasts out of it. The announcer says that yet another man, who remains unnamed like the others, has claimed he slept with Naomi while staying at the Lancaster. That makes seven.