The Other Mrs.(93)

“No,” I say, but that’s of course a lie. I was somewhat jealous. I was insecure. After Will’s history, I had every right to be. I try to explain this to her. I tell her about Will’s past, about his affairs.

“Did you think your husband and Mrs. Baines were having an affair?” she asks, and I did, truth be told, think that. For a time I did. But I never would have acted on it. And now I know that it wasn’t an affair they were having, but something that went deeper than that. Will and Morgan had a bond, a connection, to his former fiancée. The one he claimed he didn’t love any more than me. But somehow, I think he did.

I reach across the table, take ahold of her hands and say, “You have to believe me. I didn’t do anything to hurt Morgan Baines.” She pulls her hands away.

I feel disembodied then. I watch on as another me sits slumped in a chair, speaking to a woman. “I do believe you, Dr. Foust. I do. I don’t think Sadie did this,” the woman says, though her voice comes to me muffled as if I’m slipping away, drowning in water, before the room drops entirely from sight.



WILL


They let me into the room. Sadie is there. She sits on a chair with her back to me. Her shoulders slump forward; her head is in her hands. From the back side, she looks to be about twelve years old. Her hair is matted down to her head; her pajamas are on.

I tread lightly. “Sadie?” I gently ask because maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. Until I get a good look at her, I never know who she is. The physical characteristics don’t change. There’s always the brown hair and eyes, the same trim figure, the same complexion and nose. The change is in her demeanor, in her bearing. It’s in her posture: in the way she stands and walks. It’s in the way she talks, her word choice and pitch. It’s in her actions. If she’s aggressive or demure, a killjoy or crass, easy or high-strung. If she comes on to me or if she cowers in a corner, crying out like a little girl for her daddy every time I touch her.

My wife is a chameleon.

She looks at me. She’s wrecked. She’s got tears in her eyes, which is how I know she’s either the kid or she’s Sadie. Because Camille would never cry.

“They think I killed her, Will.”

Sadie.

Sadie’s voice is panicked when she speaks. She’s being hypersensitive as always. She rises from the chair, comes to me, attaches herself to me. Arms around my neck, getting all clingy, which ordinarily Sadie doesn’t do. But she’s desperate now, thinking I’ll do her bidding for her as I always do. But not this time.

“Oh, Sadie,” I say, stroking her hair, being amenable as always. “You’re shaking,” I say, pulling away, keeping her at an arm’s length.

I’ve got empathy down to a science. Eye contact, active listening. Ask questions, avoid judgment. I could do it in my sleep. It never hurts to cry a little, too.

“My God,” I say. I let go of her hands long enough to reach for the tissue I put in my pocket before, the one with enough menthol to make myself cry. I dab it at my eyes, put it back in my pocket, let the waterworks begin. “Berg will rue the day he did this to you. I’ve never seen you so upset,” I tell her, cupping her face in my hands, taking her in. “What did they do to you?” I ask.

Her voice is screechy when it comes. She’s panicking. I see it in her eyes. “They think I killed Morgan. That I did it because I was jealous of you and her. I’m not a killer, Will,” she says. “You know that. You have to tell them.”

“Of course, Sadie. Of course I will,” I lie, always her Johnny-on-the-spot. Always. It gets old. “I’ll tell them,” I say, though I won’t. I’m not convinced of the need to commit obstruction of justice for her, though Sadie, herself, could never kill. That’s where Camille comes in handy.

Truth be told, I like Camille more than Sadie. The first time she manifested herself for me, I thought Sadie was yanking my chain. But no. It was real. And almost too good to be true. Because I’d discovered a vivacious, untamable woman living inside my wife, one I was more smitten with than the woman I married. It was like discovering gold in a mine.

There’s a whole metamorphosis that happens. I’ve been at this long enough that I know when it’s happening. I just never know who I’ll get when the mutation takes place, if I’ll wind up with a butterfly or a frog.

“You have to believe me,” she begs.

“I do believe you, Sadie.”

“I think they’re trying to frame me,” she says. “But I have an alibi, Will. I was with you when she was killed. They’re blaming me for something I didn’t do!” she yells as I go to her, hold her pretty little head in my hands and tell her everything will be all right.

She recoils then, remembering something.

“Berg said you called him,” she says. “He said you called him and took back what you said about that night. He says you said I wasn’t with you after all. That I walked the dogs. That you didn’t know where I’d gone. You lied, Will.”

“Is that what they told you?” I ask, aghast. I let my mouth drop, my eyes go wide. I shake my head and say, “They’re lying, Sadie. They’re telling lies, trying to pit us against each other. It’s a tactic. You can’t believe anything they say.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Morgan was Erin’s sister?” she asks, changing tack. “You kept that from me. I would have understood, Will. I would have understood your need to connect with someone Erin loved if only you’d have told me. I would have supported that,” she says, and it’s laughable, really. Because I thought Sadie was smarter than this. She hasn’t put two and two together.