The Wife Upstairs(37)

Ignoring him, Blanche leans forward, focusing on Eddie. “Of course, we’d want you for the job,” she says, and Eddie grins as he slices his brisket.

“I was going to say, I hope you’re bringing this up because you’re planning on hiring me, otherwise this is going to get very awkward.”

They all laugh at that, and Bea reaches over to lay a hand on Eddie’s thigh, squeezing slightly. “Your schedule is kind of full right now, honey,” she reminds him, and she sees the way Blanche glances at them, at Bea’s hand there on his leg.

She can’t explain why she doesn’t want Eddie working on Blanche’s house. She wants to tell herself that it’s because she knows Blanche and Tripp don’t have the money, that this is going to be a waste of everyone’s time, and besides, since she gave Eddie the capital to start his contracting business, she has a say in what projects he takes on.

But it’s more than that. There’s something going on here, something she can’t quite put her finger on.

Something about the hard look in Blanche’s eyes even as she smiles at Bea.

Eddie pats her hand, and goes back to his food. “I can always make time for friends,” he says easily.

Blanche’s smile widens. “Great!” she says. “I already have, oh god, about a hundred and five different ideas.”

The rest of the dinner passes in something of a blur for Bea. She drinks a little more than she’s used to, and she keeps watching Blanche, wondering what this is all about, fighting the urge to blurt out what she knows about Blanche and Tripp’s money problems.

And when Blanche says, “I’ve always loved how open y’all’s kitchen is. Maybe that’s something we could do?” Bea comes so close to making a snide comment, she actually feels the words sitting heavily on the tip of her tongue.

Of course, Blanche wants what they have. Of course, their house is nicer. Of course, Blanche can’t stand it that Bea has come out on top after all these years.

The evening wraps up as it so often does, with Tripp drinking too much. This time, it’s bad enough that Eddie has to help him to the car.

Bea and Eddie are parked on the street while Tripp and Blanche are in the small parking lot in the back of the restaurant, so Bea goes to the car alone, the keys in her hand.

It’s only when she’s opening the passenger door that some urge overtakes her, and suddenly she’s hurrying across the pavement, ducking around the side of the restaurant to the little lot where Blanche and Tripp’s car is parked.

She sees Eddie and Blanche clearly in the streetlights, standing next to Tripp’s massive SUV. Eddie must’ve already gotten him in the backseat because it’s just the two of them, just her husband and her best friend, standing there.

Blanche is standing close to Eddie, too close, in Bea’s opinion, her face awash in the orange light. She’s smiling up at him, and Eddie is smiling back.

It’s the same smile he turned on her in Hawaii, the deep one that gives him a trio of wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, the smile that had made something in her chest feel warm, because she’d somehow known he didn’t smile like that at everyone.

That smile she’d thought was just for her, and now it’s Blanche’s, too.

Bea feels numb as she turns away from them, her heels clicking on the asphalt.

So, this is what Blanche wants. This is what the “renovations” are about.

She doesn’t want Bea’s house.

She wants Bea’s husband.





SEPTEMBER, TWO MONTHS AFTER BLANCHE

This is going to sound bizarre (but then again, what about this doesn’t?), but I’m settling into a routine in here.

We’re settling into a routine.

Eddie doesn’t come every day, but every three days. Every time is the same. He brings food and water, enough to get me through until the next time he sees me. Actually, more than enough. I’ve got extra bottles of water lined up against the wall.

For the first few weeks, I hoarded all of it, rationing out food and water to myself in case he didn’t come back, but—another bizarre thing—I’ve started to trust that he’s not going to just leave me up here to starve to death.

He still doesn’t talk to me, though, and there are a million questions I want to ask him. Not just the obvious things like, “Why the fuck are you doing this?” but little things. I want to know what he’s told the world about me, I want to know what’s happened to Southern Manors.

Do people here miss me? Do they miss Blanche?

There has to be some way to get him to talk to me.

I think if I don’t talk to someone soon, I’m going to lose my mind.



* * *



Today, finally, a breakthrough.

Thanks to a shirt, of all things.

When Eddie came to bring me supplies, I noticed he was wearing the blue dress shirt I got him for our last anniversary. It was the exact same shade of blue as his eyes, which is why I’d bought it, and he still looked great in it. He’s been looking better in general lately, more like himself.

And so I said, “You look good.”

That surprised him. Instead of turning away from me, he glanced down at himself, like he’d just realized what he was wearing. Saw the significance of it.

“Thanks,” he said at last. “I forgot you got this for me.”