September 2014
Since the morning my mother came over, things had been strained.
I didn’t want to have another conversation revolving around my relationship with Wes and I sensed she didn’t want to know any more than she did. Doing so would mean confronting something that was outside the lines of what she saw as a perfect marriage.
But tonight she asked to have dinner with me and I relented. My secret was safe with Renee, but I thought there was always going to be a side of me that wanted to tell my mother everything and have her unfailing support.
That was never going to happen, though.
The whole dinner at the restaurant, she talked about her friends and the tedious problems in their lives. It all went in one ear and out the other because, deep within my purse, my phone kept buzzing. I didn’t want to reach down and press IGNORE, much less answer it.
Without checking, I knew all the calls were from Wes.
“You’ve been so quiet tonight. How are you?”
I chewed my food as slowly as possible, trying to stall for time. “I’m great,” I finally said.
“How is everything with you and Wes?” My mother presented the question so innocently, but I knew that was the only reason why she wanted to have dinner with me.
For her sake, I wanted to lie and say everything was fine. That we’d never been better or more in love. It would sound right. It would sound perfect, so I said just that.
She beamed. “I knew things would get better. I knew it.” She patted my hand. “I told you couples go through rough patches.”
All I could do was nod.
Months had passed since Wes’s last outburst, but that had done nothing to change the apprehension and fear that was living inside of me. Like a pair of squatters, they made themselves comfortable, showing no signs of leaving anytime soon.
Soon our plates were cleared and an awkward silence hung between us. It’s the kind with unsaid words lingering on the tip of your tongue and refusing to come out. My mother could feel it. She sighed loudly and smiled brightly. “It’s getting pretty late. I should be going.”
I wasn’t going to point out that it was only nine thirty, because I was anxious myself to end this uncomfortable dinner.
We walked out of the restaurant together and outside. The black sky was clear, with a smattering of stars gleaming down at us. A couple walked past, arm in arm and clearly in love. I was tempted to stop them and tell them they should appreciate the happy times, which might not last forever. Underneath the portico, my mother turned and gave me a hug. “I am so happy that things are getting better between you and Wes.”
Oh, if only she knew the truth. If only she knew that my heart was drifting further from Wes each day and in the direction of Sinclair. Our kiss was seared into my memory. Sometimes all I could think about was the protection I felt with his arms around me.
I was starting to believe that I would only ever feel that way with Sinclair.
My mom and I parted ways with promises to call each other, even though I had no intention of doing that. As I walked across the parking lot, my body started to shake. I gripped my car keys so tightly they made indentations in my palm. The night after the party haunted me. I could never shake the feeling that someone was always watching me. It didn’t matter that things were fine at the moment, because I was not.
I hurried to my car and when I slid into the driver’s seat, I instinctively locked the door and took a deep breath. It was then that I pulled out my phone. I had sixty missed calls. Twenty-one texts. And six voicemails. Every single one was from Wes.
I took a deep breath and quickly texted him: Be home soon.
His reply was instant: Okay.
The drive home felt like torture; all I could think about was what was in store for me when I got there. Maybe I’d luck out. Maybe he wasn’t home. And if I was really reaching for the sky, he might be out all night.
I drove as slowly as possible and even took the scenic route. I didn’t turn on my phone. I didn’t want to see how many more times he’d call.
When I pulled up into our driveway, I stayed perfectly still, listening to the engine tick. Our street was quiet. Cars were parked in their garages. Lights were on and blinds were shut. I felt the peace seeping from those massive houses.
No so long ago, I looked at our own house with awe and happiness. I saw it as a blank slate. A chance to start over and create a happy life, with a happy little family. The American dream.
And now I could barely glance at it. My feet dragged toward the back porch. I didn’t want to go inside. I didn’t know what awaited me.
As I opened the back door, I told myself that if it was bad, I didn’t have to stay there. I could leave.
I can leave.
I can leave.
I can leave.
Every light on the first floor was off, instantly putting me on guard. Instinctively, I reached out, my fingers crawling over the wall until I flipped on the light switch.
“Wes?” I called tentatively.
“Upstairs!” he shouted. His tone was light, even friendly. I took a deep breath and tossed my keys on the counter. They slid across the smooth surface and hit the mail. It was a small stack, filled mostly with bills. I flipped through them and stopped when I got to an envelope with my name on it. The handwriting was feminine. My name was written with a flourish, as though someone had written it many times before. There was no return address. I flipped the envelope around and broke the seal. There was no note, but there were dozens of Polaroids of a brunette. If I had a doppelganger in this world, I was staring at her right now. Brown hair. Same build. Everything.
She was in an array of poses, wearing barely there lingerie or completely nude. In most pictures her eyes were closed. In some her eyes were open but there was a glassy look there, as though she had been drugged.
I peered closely at the rug in the foreground of the picture, trying to figure out where I recognized it from. When it finally clicked into place, I couldn’t breathe. I let the pictures fall from my fingers.
These were taken at Wes’s office at work.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could have prepared me for this. It felt like I had just been punched in the gut.
Slowly, I gathered the photos into a stack. I felt dirty touching them, as if I were tampering with evidence. I was past the point of being angry. My steps were whisper quiet as I walked up the stairs, the pictures practically burning in my hands.
As I walked down the hall, slowly inching toward the master bedroom, I tried to think of what I should say to Wes, because right then I was speechless. I had no idea where to start. I didn’t know how he’d react. Wes reminded me of a ticking time bomb, ready to go off at any second. There was no way to predict when, why, or how he would blow up. I just had to be ready.
When I entered the bedroom, I found Wes sitting in the tan overstuffed chair angled toward the TV. The end table beside him was littered with paper files. A few were even spread out across the floor, like missing puzzle pieces. Wes took off his glasses and smiled that charming smile that could allow him to get away with murder.
“How was your dinner?” he asked.
My blood ran cold. I couldn’t have smiled even if I tried. I felt so much hatred it threatened to choke me.
Wes’s smile faded. He shut his laptop and gave me a concerned look. “What’s wrong?”
I shoved the pictures between us as if they were a live grenade. “I got this in the mail.”
He frowned and stood up and grabbed the pictures. He scanned only the first few. His face paled.
“Do you know her?” I asked carefully, when all I really wanted to do was claw his eyes out.
His jaw clenched. I could see the gears moving in his mind. He tried to hand them back to me. I didn’t take them. “Who sent these to you?” he asked.
“Answer my question first: Do you know her?”
“She’s a client of mine.”
My eyes widened. Wes swallowed the distance between us, but I held my hands out.
“Victoria, she’s my client but I would never…” He waved the pictures between us. “I would never do this.”
I didn’t believe a single word he was saying. For the first time my fear took a backseat to my anger. I wasn’t going to back down. “Why were they sent to me?”
Wes looked genuinely hurt by my question. “I don’t know!”
I dropped my face into my hands. If I needed any proof that this marriage was over, it was this. But that didn’t make the pain any easier; there’s a big difference between knowing the truth and accepting it.
“Victoria, you have to believe me.” Wes’s hands landed on my shoulders. With my eyes shut I could picture the old Wes I fell in love with. Old Wes was the very reason why my heart felt like it was slowly splitting apart. Old Wes was the person my heart latched itself on to.
I ducked beneath his arms. I couldn’t be here right now. I hurried down the stairs. My only thought was to get the hell out of that house. To where, I really didn’t know. I just needed to process everything.
“Victoria!” he shouted behind me. “Stop running!”
I didn’t stop. I grabbed my purse and keys on the counter and continued to the back door. My hand curled around the doorknob. The door opened an inch and then Wes slammed it. He grabbed my arm and whirled me around. My back hit the door.
He didn’t look crazy or wild. But he was angry.
“Let me go.” Inside, my heart was beating like a drum, but I kept my voice even, trying to conceal my fear.
“Let me explain. You’re not even giving me a moment to talk.”
“Because there’s nothing to explain. The pictures kind of said it all, didn’t they?”
For a second, his eyes flared. His grip tightened. But his hands dropped. He took a step back from me. Within seconds, my hand curled around the knob. “I can’t be around you.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know…my mom’s probably.”
He followed me out the door, hot on my heels. I hated having my back turned to him. I felt wide open for him to attack me.
“Victoria.” I rolled down the window and stared at him blankly. “I love you,” he said.
“You have the strangest way of showing it,” I whispered.