My Wife Is Missing(86)
Natalie parked in the driveway behind a silver Mercedes. She got as far as putting her hand on the door handle, but couldn’t muster the courage to exit her car, so she made a phone call instead.
“I can’t go through with it,” Natalie lamented to Tina.
“Yes, you can,” her friend offered encouragingly. “You have no choice.”
By this point, Tina knew the whole story. She understood why Natalie was here, and why it was so difficult to take that next step.
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” Natalie said as if she were about to leap from a plane. “I’m doing it.”
“That’s my girl,” replied Tina with a smile in her voice. “Call me right after. You got this.”
Natalie said a brief goodbye, then let out an audible exhale. She exited her car and headed for the front door, taking purposeful strides as though she were expected, which she was not.
She set her finger on the doorbell, her heart beating wildly. She hesitated. Pressing that button meant no turning back. Natalie thought of leaving, driving home, forgetting everything, but she stayed right where she was. She’d come here on a mission, partly to get answers, and partly to give them.
She rang the doorbell, then waited with her arms folded across her chest. Even though she wasn’t at work, Natalie had come dressed for a business meeting, in a single-button blazer, gray turtleneck, and slimming dark pants. She paid special attention to her hair and makeup. It was important to her that she made a good first impression.
A few moments later, an older woman came to the door. She was slender, in her seventies. Hers was a pretty face, although deep worry lines suggested the years had taken a toll. A pair of ice-blue eyes peered out at Natalie through the glass of the storm door.
The older woman appraised her visitor questioningly, making it quite clear that she didn’t recognize Natalie, had never even seen a picture of her. The woman looked familiar to Natalie though. She had Michael’s prominent nose, the round shape of his eyes, and dimples that had been passed on to her son.
She opened the screen door wide enough to be polite, while maintaining some barrier between them.
“May I help you?” the woman asked. speaking in a low tone that carried an air of sophistication and culture.
“Marjorie Saunders?”
“Yes? I’m Marjorie.”
A hint of concern seeped into the older woman’s eyes.
What’s this about? she was asking.
“I was wondering if I might have a word with you.” Natalie clasped her hands together in front of her waist, feeling moisture collect on her palms.
“Do I know you?”
There was confusion in Marjorie’s face and voice.
That confirmed it. Michael had never told his mother that he had a wife, probably hadn’t shared that he had children—her grandchildren. Chances were this poor woman, whom Natalie believed had died of cancer decades ago, hadn’t seen or heard from her son since the day he changed his name.
“We don’t know each other,” Natalie said quickly, her voice coming out soft and uncertain. “We’ve never met, but I know you—well, I sort of know you. God, this is awkward.” She paused, sighed, while collecting her thoughts. Finally, she gave up on tact and settled for a more direct approach. “Maybe it’s best if I get right to the purpose for my visit. I’m your son’s wife, Natalie. I’ve been married to your son for nineteen years, though I know him as Michael Hart, and I’ve only recently found out that he changed his name.”
Marjorie’s controlled manner held, but her face lost all expression, as if she’d slipped into a shell for protective purposes. It wasn’t long before the color returned to her cheeks. She appeared to be dazed, slightly off-kilter. Natalie too was feeling unsteady on her feet, as if the ground beneath her had given way. Eventually, Marjorie pressed her hands together, setting them to her lips in a silent prayer.
“I should have been prepared for this,” she said. A shift took place before Natalie’s eyes, as if Marjorie had resigned herself to her fate. “You’re pretty,” she said. “I’m not surprised. My son always had a thing for the pretty girls.”
“Thank you,” Natalie said, feeling quite awkward and unsure how to respond.
“I saw the news reports,” Marjorie continued. “This is about Audrey Adler, isn’t it? The murdered girl from Massachusetts.”
“Yes, it is, in a way,” said Natalie.
“I see.” Marjorie lowered her head. “I was afraid of that. I knew her as Audrey Sykes. I guess Adler is her married name. She lived down the street, she—” Marjorie looked to her right, as if she could see into Audrey’s home. When she met Natalie’s gaze again, her eyes had reddened, but in them fired a fierce determination to maintain control. “He did it again, didn’t he? That’s why you’re here.”
Natalie’s heart dropped. She felt suddenly faint, almost needing to seize the railings for support.
Again …
It was a breathtaking punch to the gut. Part of her had come here hoping for a story that would exonerate her husband, a mother’s assurance that her beloved boy was innocent of all charges, that he’d been framed. But no, Marjorie all but confirmed Natalie’s worst fears.
Again …
Pursing her lips together until they compressed into a thin red line, Marjorie stepped aside to make room for Natalie to enter.