“I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to figure out what made me spiral out of control, and all this time you’ve been keeping this from me. How could you?”
“I guess I felt that if you didn’t remember, we had a chance to start fresh.”
“Startfresh? Did you ever consider how much the fight overhermight have factored into my fugue state?”
“I’m sorry, Ally. I—” He takes several steps closer and reaches out to touch my arm, but I yank it out of reach.
“Get the fuck away from me.”
“Please, let’s talk this out some more.”
“There’s nothing to talk out. I don’t want you here tonight. I want you out of my sight.”
“Ally, please—”
“You can come back tomorrow once I’ve figured things out for myself, but for now you need to go. To the Yale Club or a hotel or whatever. Justgo.”
He starts to speak again, then decides not to. He rises and leaves the great room. I grab a half-full bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge, pour a glass, take two gulps, and retreat to the den, tightly shutting the door behind me. I try not to listen, but the sounds come faintly through the far wall: drawers opening, the thud of a suitcase onto the floor, Hugh speaking briskly into the phone, perhaps making a reservation. Then I hear his footsteps in the corridor along with the rumble of a roller bag.
There’s a split second when the sounds cease, as if he’s paused, deliberating whether to knock. And then he moves away. Finally, from a distance, I hear the click of the front door closing.
He’s gone.
Instinctively my hands fly to my chest, pressing it, as if I’m trying to contain the surge of emotions. My husband’s attracted to, flirting with, kissing, sort of seeing, another woman. That’s bad enough, but his deceit about the fight registers as far worse. Because of his lie, I’ve been going down the wrong path in search of answers. Hugh, the person I love most in theworld, fooled me in order to spare himself a shitstorm. This explains why he’s seemed so remote since my day in the ER. And no wonder he wasn’t more concerned when I disappeared. He knew I had every reason to take off without any word.
The bloodied tissues in my coat pocket had me more and more convinced that an incident outside the apartment had triggered my dissociative state rather than a rehashed fight about kids. But discovering his infidelity is a whole other story. Could that really have shaken me enough to make me come undone?
From far off, I detect the sound of a ringing phone. I swing open the door and hurry down the silent corridor. The ringing’s ceased by the time I reach the bedroom, but I discover I’ve missed a call from Roger. I try him back immediately.
“So how bad is it?” he asks.
“Bad.” I recap my conversation with Hugh, the words pouring out so fast they trip over one another. As I’m speaking, I glance around. There’s not even a hint of Hugh’s departure—no wire hangers strewn about or dresser drawers ajar—but still, the bedroom seems desolate, the loneliest spot in the universe.
“Ally, this must be gutting,” Roger says. “But could you consider giving him another chance? He didn’tsleepwith her.”
“I haven’t had time to sort out my feelings yet. Besides, he seems smitten with this Ashley chick.”
“Do you have anyone who can keep you company there tonight? What about your friend Gabby?”
“Uh, maybe...” Part of me just wants to be alone.
“I wish I could drive into the city tonight, but I need to be here when Marion gets home and find out exactly how much more she told her brother.”
“Understood. Is there any news about Wargo?”
“No, nothing yet. Maybe he’ll confess—or throw Audrey under the bus—but we’ll hardly be the first to know.”
“At least the cops are finally closer to the truth.”
He makes me promise to touch base with him later and to also call Gabby. After we hang up, I end up shooting Gabby a brief text. Roger’s right. It would be better to have some company right now.
Are you busy?I write.Can you come back over?
Sensing she might text back any second, I stare at the screen, but she doesn’t respond.
For the first time since I’ve come up from the lobby, I wonder where her gift is. Maybe opening it will do me good. I trudge back down to the great room and scan the space for it without any luck.
I wander aimlessly for a bit, ending up in the den and praying for Gabby to respond. If she doesn’t, what in the world do I do next? As I stand there, phone in hand, a smear of memory takes shape in my mind, fuzzy and vague. I’m here in the den. But not today. On another day, in the evening. I’m looking for something—I’m not sure what—and when I approach the desk, I see Hugh’s phone lying on top of it. A text pops on the screen as I’m standing there, and mildly curious, I glance at it.
