My Lovely Wife(89)

“Sort of. Yes. But I do need to get into that,” I say, pointing to Millicent’s tablet. It is sitting on Andy’s dashboard. “Will you help me?”

Again, he is quiet.

Andy is going to do it. He may not know it, but he has already decided to help. Otherwise, he would have been gone by now. And by the way he looks, he may need this as much as I do.

“You’ve always been a pain in the ass,” he says. “And for the record, your tennis lessons are way too expensive.”

I smile a little. “Noted. But you accused me of sleeping with your wife. You owe me.”

He nods. “Give it to me.”

I give him the tablet.



* * *



? ? ?

The waiting is the worst. Like knowing a bomb will go off but not when or where. Or who. I spend the next day in Kekona’s theater room. It has a screen as wide as the wall, and distressed leather recliners. I watch Josh talk about Tobias nonstop. He even speaks to experts about what it is like to be deaf.

I have to admit some of the information is interesting. It would have been useful to have back when I needed it.

The breaking-news music interrupts my musings. The picture on the screen makes my heart jump.

Annabelle.

Sweet Annabelle, the meter maid whose boyfriend was killed by a drunk driver.

She is alive.

And she is still cute as ever, with her short hair and delicate features, but she is not smiling. She does not look happy at all when Josh introduces her as a “woman who has encountered the deaf man named Tobias.”

It is not surprising that she is the first to come forward. She could not save her boyfriend, so she wants to save everyone else.

Annabelle tells our story, as she knows it, beginning with the moment she almost ticketed the car I claimed was mine. She explains how we bumped into each other on the street and I invited her to join me for a drink. She even names the bar. If Eric, the bartender, has not already come forward, he will.

Annabelle leaves out nothing, not even the text she sent me. The police will now have that phone number.

I wonder if Millicent will answer when they call.

Last but not least, Annabelle says she spent the morning with a sketch artist. The drawing is released right after the interview ends.

It looks exactly like me and, at the same time, nothing like me.

I imagine Millicent watching this and critiquing the drawing, saying that the nose is a bit too big and maybe the eyes are too small. She would say they missed the mole by my ear, or the shade of my skin is different. She would see everything, because she always does.

It will not be long before I am identified, although people must already be looking for me. My employer, for one. Millicent must be acting frantic, pretending I have just vanished without a reason.

Jenna and Rory—Who knows what they think?

I spend the rest of the day inside, afraid to go out while it is still light.

It makes me think back to the day I married Millicent, at her parents’ home in the middle of nowhere. I can see her in that simple dress, with her hair up and sprinkled with tiny flowers, like she was some kind fairy or nymph that came from another world. She was like that, everything about her was otherworldly. Still is, I suppose.

I also think of what she said that day, because it is so appropriate now.

Here we go.



* * *



? ? ?

The news starts to break faster, which is no surprise. The public has been given just enough information to provide more of it.

The second person who claims to know Tobias is a bartender, but not Eric. This young man works at the bar where I met Petra. Josh, while overexcited about all the news, seemed rather disappointed in this young man, because he does not remember the exact day, nor time, he met Tobias. He remembers so little it is almost embarrassing, at least for him. To top it all off, he gets the drink wrong. Tobias never ordered a vodka tonic.

I am almost offended by this. I always believed Tobias was more memorable than that.

Or maybe this bartender is just a moron.

When nothing new is happening, everything is repeated. I see Annabelle’s interview over and over; they repeat the best parts until I have them memorized. During commercial breaks, I wonder if my kids are watching the same channel.

I know Millicent is. I can just see her sitting on the couch, watching Annabelle on our big TV. In my mind, Millicent is smiling. Or scowling. Both.

By the evening news, Eric shows up, but on another channel. Josh does not get this interview. The reporter who interviews him is a middle-aged woman, one of our more famous local personalities. Up until now, I have not seen her covering anything about this case—not when Owen was back and not when he turned out to be dead. The fact that she has become involved worries me. A serious manhunt is about to begin, or already has, and they are all looking for me.

Eric remembers more than the last bartender, beginning with the drink: gin and tonic. He describes my suit, right down to the type of tie I had been wearing. He remembers the color of my eyes, my tan, even the length of my hair.

Each new revelation makes my stomach turn. Somehow, I managed to find the only bartender in town with a photographic memory.

Within minutes, the other stations repeat what Eric said. It makes me a little sick to hear Josh repeat all those personal things about me. I wish I had known what a horrible person he really is. if I did, I never would have sent letters to him.