“He… uh… he said he was her brother, came into town for the weekend, was here to check her out. Kind of weird, right?”
The word brother was not something I had expected to hear.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I barked. “Did you see her?”
“No. Just him.”
I practically ran to my truck. As soon as I got in, I let out the most resounding scream I could muster, punching the steering wheel until my knuckles cracked.
“FUCK!” I screamed.
Something had fucking happened. I had let something happen on my watch. I was so confused. Fuck, was I confused.
I had fucked up so badly that I would never be able to live with myself if she had been hurt. Not just by me, but by anyone else.
Who the fuck was this guy everyone was talking about?
A small part of my brain went to the intrusive worst thoughts: that maybe she hadn’t been faithful, that maybe there was a part of her life she still hid from me. But even thosethoughts felt planted, like someone had set them in front of me and waited to see which one I’d pick up.
I pushed them down.
I had to make this right. I had to make sense of what was going on. I loved her so fucking much. I needed to fix this.
Driving home to Atlanta, I dialed her every five minutes, but I kept getting the same voicemail.
“Hi, it’s Mackenzie! Leave a message!”
Her voice seared itself into my brain as I listened to it repeatedly. Sometimes I was sure the message was a little different. I’d hear an extra breath, a different lilt in her voice, only as soon as I replayed it, I’d realize it was exactly the same.
After about the 30th call, I was done.
“Fuck this.”
I pulled over to the side of the road. My heart was about to cave in, and my chest felt like it had been ripped out. I pulled out my phone, found her contact card, and then typed her address into Google Maps.
I turned around.
Three hours and fifty-one minutes later, I was pulling up in front of her house. This was the first time I had ever been here. I should’ve made more of an effort with our friendship. As soon as I got my license, I should’ve visited. I had fucked up more than I thought. I was a shitty friend and an even shittier husband.
I fingered my wedding ring, as if maybe the touch would make her appear.
Her house was nice. It had a large wraparound porch and two rocking chairs in front. The welcome mat in front of the door had a dog on it that looked like her dog, Abby, and read, “WELCOME FRIENDS.”
The porch boards creaked under my feet in a slow, even rhythm. Too even. Like I was walking on a loop.
I was so nervous. I felt like I was going to be sick again, andwhatever side effects that shit Heather gave me caused, I was still feeling them.
I rang the doorbell and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
No one ever came.
I rang the doorbell again.
Still, no one.
