My Lovely Wife(79)

“They want to make sure,” he says.

“Make sure of what?”

“Make sure it was just those two women,” he says. “And not more.”

“God forbid,” the woman says.

There were two others of course—Holly and Robin—but neither was kept in the basement.

Not that I know of, anyway.

A bright light flashes on as Josh goes live. Once again, he mentions his sources, none of whom have names.

They have given him more information about the underground room beneath the church, and he says they found something. On the wall, hidden in a corner, it looks like someone who was held captive tried to leave a message.





Fifty-seven




For a second, I think about asking Josh if he has any further information. We have never spoken, I have never communicated with him outside of the letters, but this rumor about a hidden message makes me panic. Almost.

Instead of doing something stupid, like I have so often in the past, I step back. Consider. Evaluate. And I reach a conclusion: Nonsense. The story is all nonsense.

Josh’s sources are wrong. If it took the police less than a day to find this so-called message, there is no chance Millicent would have missed it. She may not know her son is sneaking out at night, but she can spot dust from two rooms away. She would not miss a message on the wall.

And what kind of message would Naomi or Lindsay leave? Help? I’m trapped?

It is unfathomable that Millicent told them her real name, so they wouldn’t have been able to leave behind their abductor’s identity.

The hidden message must be a lie planted by Claire, no doubt to try and draw us out. Anyone who watches TV knows the police lie. This is likely enough to make me walk away. Go home. Talk to Millicent.

When I arrive, the house is empty. I turn on the TV and surf through the news. Josh is still talking about this possible message but has no further details. A reporter on another channel repeats what Josh has said. The third reporter talks about the church.

The Bread of Life Christian Church began with a single family and grew to a congregation of about fifty. Old pictures show a stern-looking group with worn faces and tattered clothing. In later years, the group appeared to have prospered, with a lot more bread; they were heavier, and a few even smiled. They peaked in the fifties and then declined into nothing by the eighties. As far as anyone knew, the building has been empty for at least twenty years. Because it is Sunday, the blueprints from the city planning office are not available, but local historians suspect the basement was part of the original building. It may have been a room for cold storage.

I surf between the channels, waiting for something new to happen. Millicent and the kids don’t get home until about five. They spent the afternoon at the movies and the mall, where Jenna got yet another pair of shoes and Rory got a new hoodie. Both run upstairs, leaving Millicent and I alone.

“Feeling better?” she says. It sounds sarcastic.

“Not really.”

She raises an eyebrow.

The TV is off. I have no idea how much news she has heard. “They’re talking about a message,” I say.

“A what?” Millicent walks into the kitchen to start dinner. I follow her.

“A message on the wall. Left by someone held captive.”

“Impossible.”

I stare at her. She is ripping up lettuce to make a salad. “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” I say.

“Here, finish this.” She slides the bowl and lettuce over to me. “I was thinking of tuna melts tonight.”

“I ate the tuna for lunch.”

“All of it?”

“Most.”

Behind me, the refrigerator door bangs open. She does not say anything, but I can hear her anger.

The door slams shut.

“I suppose I can throw together an eggplant casserole or something,” she says.

“Sounds perfect.”

We work side by side; she slices the eggplant, and I grate cheese for the top of the casserole. When it finally goes into the oven, Millicent turns to me. The circles under her eyes are darker than ever.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she says.

“It’s okay. We’re both on edge, with Claire and this church and all.”

“Are you scared?”

“No.”

“Really?” She sounds surprised.

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Then we’re good, right?”

She slides her arms around my neck. “We’re great.”

It feels like we are.



* * *



? ? ?

I go up to say good night to the kids. Rory’s light is off, but he is awake and using his phone.

Before I can say a word, he says, “Yes, I’m texting with Faith. And Daniel. And I’m playing a game, too.”

“Are you doing any of them well?”

He lowers the phone and gives me that look. It is the same as Millicent’s. “And I’m not smoking weed.”

As expected, he’s still angry.

“So how is the girlfriend?” I say.

“Faith.”

“How is Faith?”

He sighs. “Still my girlfriend.”

“Not sneaking out tonight, are you?”