“The rings.”
As soon as she says it, I feel the heavy weight of them. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.” They are surprisingly easy to pull off given how trapped I’ve felt by them. I drop the engagement ring first, then the wedding band, into her outstretched hand. She stares at them for a few tense seconds then shoves them on her finger.
“Phone and keys?” she asks.
“Keys are in the purse, phone is in the bag.” I’m ready to get out of here. But I need her to think we’re still on the same team even though we’re far from that now.
“You ended up at a place called Chantilly’s instead of the one I picked out?” Camille asks it like a question but it’s not.
The mystery man’s smiling face flashes in my mind, but I push it away as fast as it appeared. “Yeah, didn’t figure it mattered where I had a drink.” I force my lips shut before I apologize for the change of plans.
She watches me for a second or so, then nods. “Sure, no problem. I noticed a couple of other detours too. You sure everything went as planned?”
My turn to lie now. “Yes. Just got a little turned around. Figured it didn’t really matter as long as I was in St. Francisville.”
Camille clutches the bag close to her chest. She’s as ready to get out of here as I am. “Key to the other car is in the ignition. Head home, and I’ll reach out in a few days and we can make a new plan.”
She ducks out of the bathroom, and I wait a minute or so before doing the same.
Camille and the Range Rover are long gone by the time I make it to the parking lot, but the same old Honda I drove here from Baton Rouge is waiting for me.
Our plan was to create a clear and unwavering digital trail that started at noon and ended just before midnight. Every move planned out in advance.
But that carefully painted picture wouldn’t tell my story. It would tell the story of Camille Bayliss, wife of Benjamin Bayliss.
Camille needed the ability to move around without being tracked and monitored by her husband. Ben has been hiding a dirty secret for years, one that affects us both, and it would be impossible to get proof of that while he watched her every move in real time, as he was apt to do.
So he would watch my every move instead.
Ben would see the exact location of Camille’s phone as well as the Range Rover, thanks to the handy Journeys feature. And because Camille is Camille, there would be multiple purchases that would generate notifications from their bank, matching the stack of credit card receipts sitting in the bottom of her Chanel purse.
And for the most part, that’s what happened.
Not sure what the new plan would entail, but there’s no way I’d trade places with her a second time. There was a moment when I needed her more than she needed me, but not anymore.
I used my time as “her” today to make sure of that.
It’s not a long drive home, but it feels like it takes twice the time it should. I park the Accord in a lot not far from downtown, the same lot I picked the car up from this morning. I’m hesitant to leave the keysunder the mat. Just because the car is older than me doesn’t mean someone won’t steal it, but I do as Camille instructed.
This isn’t my problem any longer either.
None of the belongings in the Range Rover were mine, just as there is nothing of mine in the Honda.
It’s a short walk down the main road to my neighborhood. Wearing designer clothes and driving a luxury car while using a credit card that probably doesn’t have a limit makes the reality of my life hit a bit harder when I turn onto my street. It’s a decent enough place to live, but it’s also not the coveted gated communities on the outskirts of town.
It feels like every step I take requires more energy than I have. The last twelve hours have completely drained me. It was mentally exhausting juggling what I was supposed to do as Camille while hiding what I wasn’t.
But hearing that she was unsuccessful makes all my efforts worth it. Today may have been a bust for her, but it won’t be a bust for me.
The closer I get to home, the slower my steps grow. The last couple of weeks have been an emotional whirlwind, and now I’m feeling the crash.
By now, Camille is probably back at her hotel, sound asleep, while I trudge up my driveway. The brightness of the full moon casts a deep shadow of our house, blanketing the front yard in darkness. It’s quiet enough that I can almost hear the creaks and groans of a structure that is too old to be burdened with so many residents. Once home to a single family, it’s since been chopped up to create four separate units. It’s only a matter of time before the seams burst.
This is basically a boardinghouse that no one ever leaves. Being set up the way it is, this property should attract renters who only need something for a short period of time—people stuck between their pasts and their futures.
I left my spouse but we’re not divorced yet.
I got fired from my job and haven’t found another one yet.
