I drop the binoculars on the side table as anxiety washes over me. I’m ninety-nine percent sure of what I’ve just seen. Jesika in her bedroom, probably getting ready for our meetup, but she wasn’t alone. And it wasn’t Dean with her. I’m sure, almost positive, that someone in a dark uniform was in there with her. Someone with a ponytail. Could it be the new housekeeper? Maybe. But just to be safe, I type out a quick text to Jesika.I’m on the other side of town for a business meeting. Want to meet at the Riverwalk at Michigan and Wacker instead?
I have to be sure this isn’t a setup.
Sure. That’s a bit farther for me, so I might be a few minutes late,Jesika replies.
No prob… There’s something I wanted to mention to you anyway. Can’t wait to see you! xoI hit send and drop my phone in my bag, already walking out the door. If I hurry, I can be a few minutes early and watch her as she walks up. Because it’s at the end of the business day, I’m a little afraid she’ll bring Dean…or whoever that uniformed person might have been in her bedroom. My brain keeps trying to convince me it must have been the housekeeper, but there’s a part of me that’s concerned it’s a police investigator…that maybe this is a trap just like the one Bishop walked into. The wadded balls of already-chewed gum that I shoved between the sink cracks comes back to me then. If there are forensic investigators in the apartment doing a DNA sweep—there’s a chance I’m found out.
Oh? Tell me now. I hate secrets.Comes Jesika’s text reply.
I sigh, typing out the message that’s been flitting around in my head. I hum to myself, “Here goes nothing.”
That guy in the photo with you on the fridge—is that your fiancé?I ask.
Yes.She replies instantly with more conversation bubbles lighting up the screen indicating that she’s still typing.Why?
I think I saw him out the other night with someone.
Her reply takes time, and I imagine her hands shaking as she realizes what a piece of shit she’s tied herself to.Are you sure? He’s been distant, but… :(
A stab of guilt pierces me, but I tamp it down in favor of anticipation for what comes next…the breakup. The part where she realizes she’s too good for him and kicks him out and he comes running back to LA and his wife, where he belongs.
Let’s talk about it later—getting my nails done now!
I frown, leaving her message on read without replying. I’ve just dropped a bomb into her new relationship, and she’s focused on superficial self-care. What a life this woman leads. If I would have received that message from a friend, I think I would have tracked Dean down and read him the riot act in search of the truth. How can she be so calm? I think then that maybe this is one of the things he likes about her—that chill, California-cool girl persona was never one that came naturally to me.
Just another reason to hate the woman who’s carrying my husband’s baby.
The sun is already setting as I move north on Michigan Avenue. Now that I’ve got my next step planned and my hotel and flight booked, I’m ready to move on. Adrenaline and a twinge of anxiety assault my bloodstream as I gain moremomentum the closer I get to the river. Foot traffic is mostly moving south on the sidewalk, so I make good time and find myself lingering at the corner of Wacker and Michigan a few minutes before six. There’s a small café along the Riverwalk that has charming red awnings, and I can just imagine myself sipping wine and people-watching with a friend in warmer months. Streetlamps line the Riverwalk, and every once in a while, a jogger or someone on a bike passes me. I imagine which direction Jesika will come from and then take a moment to slide up against the edge of a stone pillar. I want to make sure I can see her as she walks up, without her seeing me—I want to make sure she’s alone.
As I wait, an older couple walks by me, hand in hand. They’re talking about the river turning bright green when the city adds dye to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.Tomorrow.I’ve been so wrapped up in my thoughts I hadn’t even noticed that the river water was the color of Kermit the Frog. A half grin slides up my lips as I realize what fortuitous luck I had when I changed the location of our meet without even realizing the river would be dyed. Finally, my trip to Chicago won’t be wasted after all—I’ve done zero sight-seeing, but at least I’ll have this weird memory.
Just as the sun hits the horizon through the buildings, Jesika saunters up, looking visibly flustered. “Whoa, that’s a walk!”
“I’m sorry about the last-minute change. I was up here for a meeting, so?—”
“Oh? What kind of meeting?” Jesika seems genuinely inquisitive. Her pretty blond hair is pulled into a side pony, and she’s wearing some sort of glossy lipstick in a bright-pink shade that she probably thinks is trendy but really just hurts my eyes.
“Just a potential sponsor. It was a boring meeting, actually.” I wave my hand, hoping to veer away from this topic. “How are you feeling?”
“Ugh, I’m feelingeverythingthese days, and I’m sick of it. I nearly fired the new maid this morning because Dean found old gum under the sink in the bathroom.” She huffs. “He agreed to let her stay if she took a pay cut, which she agreed to, morning crisis averted thankfully. I just get overwhelmed so easily lately…growing a human is hard work!” She rubs a palm over her face with a sigh, and I realize that must have been who I saw her speaking to this morning. It was probably just my paranoid mind playing tricks on me—after all, why would an investigator be at their apartment—in their bedroom, of all places?
“Oh, look!” Jesika’s cheery tone interrupts my thoughts. “The river is green!” Jesika seems enamored, ignoring me and venturing closer to the river as she points. “I read they were dyeing the river green today. Isn’t it crazy that I’ve lived in Chicago for years, and I’ve still never seen it like this in person?” Her palms grip the stone wall, and she leans over to look straight down at the murky depths. “I feel like a tourist in my own city.”
Suddenly, a grim scene flashes through my mind as I imagine first responders fishing Jesika out of the river, her body bloated and fair blond hair dyed a sick shade of toxic algae green. I have to suppress a laugh when I remember the Garbage Pail Kids trading cards I had as a kid—mutant, gray- and green-skinned children who lived in the sewers and garbage cans and had violently toxic attitudes. It astounds me the things kids are exposed to in the name of entertainment. I can’t imagine Jesika would let her kid have toys like that, but who knows what kind of mom she will be.
She looks childlike right now, clutching at her new designer bag and taking in the scene with a look of wonderment. Maybe it’s that feeling that Dean loves so much about her. I cringe, feeling the heartache of losing him to her like a physical pain in my chest. I’ve been able to hold it together before now, but this time, that physical pain mixes with the adrenaline of my walkand the general umbrella of anxiety that’s been hovering me the last few weeks, and suddenly…suddenly, it’s morphed into rage at this other woman.
“Let’s walk,” I hum, leading her away from the busy intersection. She follows, and we stroll along the river. It’s quiet, and the shadows stretch long on the sidewalk. I don’t want to say anything I might regret, but I feel the need to saysomething.
I think about how I didn’t see their bedroom light go on last night, and I try to find a way to ask the question without appearing to pry. “So, you’re feeling good? No more morning sickness?”
“None at all. Dean took me out on a little date last night and surprised me with a stay at a new hotel he’s working with. It was amazing. A rooftop steakhouse and bar—best surf and turf ever.”
“Nice.” So that explains it. Date night. “He sounds very thoughtful.”
“Oh, he is. He’s been doting on me, doesn’t let me lift a finger when he’s home. He’s paying the housekeeper extra to do some meal prep to make sure I’m eating enough. He’s so sweet. His mother was a stay-at-home mom, and he’s expressed repeatedly that he wants our baby to grow up the same. He doesn’t want me to quit modeling, but let’s face it, the jobs aren’t coming quite as frequently now that I’m over thirty anyway. And when I have a job that’s important to me, he’ll come along with me since he can work anywhere. He’s excited to be Mr. Mom. I never thought fatherhood was sexy, but just thinking about him holding a little baby makes my ovaries want to burst!”
I nod, an angry ball forming in my throat.
