by Laura Wolfe
“If you need more time, I’ll give you more time.” A sheen reflected in the corners of Jason’s eyes. “We can go talk to someone. Like a marriage counselor.”
“Ha.” I turned away, a flood of despair rising in me. How had we come to this? “Do you love her?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Who do you think?” My voice carried a sharp edge now. “Sarah! Your home-wrecking girlfriend.”
Jason raised his hands. “No. I don’t love her, and she’s not my girlfriend. I’m never going to talk to her or see her again.”
I fluttered my eyelids, unwilling to believe anything he said.
“I know it’s going to take time for you to trust me again, but I’ll wait.” His forehead filled with creases as he spoke. “I’ll prove to you that I deserve you.”
There were no words to respond. I hovered in the doorway, the world spinning around me.
He stepped toward me and reached for my hand. “Have you had a doctor’s appointment yet? Is the baby okay?”
I twisted my hand from his grip. “For your sake, I hope the baby is fine. I’m sure the stress you’ve caused isn’t helping. I’m going on Tuesday.” I hated that he cared, that he was saying all the right things, that the stubble covering his strong jawline looked ruggedly handsome, and that the touch of his hand still sent a shock wave through me.
“Can I come with you?”
“No. My family will still be here. Caroline’s going with me.”
“Okay.” He lowered his chin toward the ground before he looked up, desperation flickering across his face. “Can you call me afterward and tell me how it went?”
“Fine.” I wanted him to suffer, but I wasn’t a monster. It was his child, too. I turned to go back inside.
“Liz, wait…”
My legs froze. My husband appeared almost as broken as me.
“I love you,” he said, his eyes glued to mine. “I’ll never stop loving you.”
I stared at him, stone-faced, knowing, on some level, I still loved him, too, but determined not to let it show. The metal handle rattled beneath my hand. I slipped inside the house and closed the door in his face.
Fifteen
Gloria
Now
“You’ll never guess what I saw a couple of nights ago.” I tipped my rocking chair toward Beth, clasping its wicker arms with my hands. She sat across from me on the front porch, a patchwork of late-afternoon sun filtering through the trees and across her body. The image of Joe slinking down my driveway in the dead of night caused my insides to flip-flop. For the past few days I’d been itching to tell Beth about what I’d seen, but she’d been busy researching her article. The third time I’d spotted her truck rumbling through the trees, I’d jogged out toward the driveway and waved until she stopped and lowered her window. She’d been off to meet Amanda at a new clothing store in Harbor Springs, but had accepted my invitation for tea this afternoon.
“What did you see?” She clutched a glass of iced tea in her hand. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. She looked more like a teenager than a thirty-year-old woman.
“Well, I couldn’t sleep the other night. Sometimes that happens.” I glanced away from her and out toward the canopy of the oak tree. “So, I came out here to get some fresh air. It was past 1:30 a.m., mind you.”
Beth nodded, encouraging me to continue.
“It was pitch-black, but I had a candle burning.” I rocked back in the chair. Birds chirped in the distance. Beth sipped from her glass. I lowered my voice, “All of a sudden, I heard branches crackling in the woods. I couldn’t see anything past the porch railing. The noise kept getting closer. It scared the living daylights out of me.”
Beth set down her drink and leaned in.
“I worried it might be that mountain lion they spotted over in Charlevoix a couple of months ago.”
Beth’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”
“Yes. But it wasn’t.” I paused for dramatic effect.
“What was it?” Her eyes widened.
I leaned forward, turning the volume of my voice down to a whisper, “It was Joe. He came out of the woods carrying a flashlight and a couple of duffel bags.”
Beth sucked in a breath. The color drained from her face. “Oh my God.” She flattened her back against the chair and frowned. “What was he doing?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t mean to alarm you. It could have been nothing. I hid and watched him, like a spy.”
“He didn’t see you?”
“No, I’m fairly certain he didn’t. He never even turned in my direction. Just marched straight back to his apartment.”
Beth’s hands fidgeted in her lap. “What was in the bags?”
“Well, I don’t know. It was very dark like I said, and he never opened them.”
“You should ask him.” Beth’s voice was tight.
“I’m not sure what good that would do.” I’d made her nervous. That hadn’t been my intent. I’d only wanted to make her aware, to remind her we couldn’t be too careful.
Beth leaned forward. “Pretend you woke up in the middle of the night and happened to see his flashlight outside.”
I glanced away, the thought of confronting Joe making my insides turn. “I don’t want him to think I’m a busybody.” I envisioned the rifle-shaped duffel bag he’d been carrying. “He could have been hunting, I suppose.” I shuddered at the thought. Shooting defenseless animals wasn’t much of a sport as far as I was concerned.
Beth frowned. “It’s not hunting season. Just ask him what he was doing. It’s no big deal.”
My shoulders tightened as I pressed my lips together and stared at my tea. I didn’t want to argue with Beth, but I wasn’t comfortable questioning my new tenant when I was the one who’d been spying. I cleared my throat, realizing the most likely scenario. “He was probably working on some sort of art project.”
Beth reached for her glass again, her fingernail tapping against it. “In the dark?”
“He had a flashlight.”
We perched across from each other, my eyes not meeting Beth’s gaze, and the creaking of my chair the only accompaniment to the awkward silence.
At last Beth sighed. “I guess artists do all sorts of crazy things to express themselves.” She leaned forward. “But either way, there’s something off with that guy. Make sure to lock your door at night.”
“If I see him doing anything illegal, I promise I’ll call Officer Bradley,” I said.
“No,” Beth’s voice flung toward me like a slap. My hand jerked upward, splashing a stream of iced tea down my arm. Beth shrunk down in her chair and bit her lip. She handed me a napkin. “Sorry,” she said, “what I meant was I don’t think we need to freak out and call the police or anything. Joe might just be an oddball who enjoys nighttime walks. There are bad people everywhere. And they haven’t caught the guy who murdered Ella Burkholter yet. Single women can never be too careful.”
I exhaled, scolding myself for scaring so easily, yet happy that Beth had included me in the same category as her—single women. I gave her a half-smile. “I guess my imagination runs away with me sometimes.”
“I’ll keep an eye out.” Beth raised her glass to me and took the last gulp of her iced tea.
The next time I saw Joe I’d consider asking him some casual questions about midnight walks and painting in the dark. I’d have to let him know I didn’t approve of hunting on my land. Anything to confirm he hadn’t been doing something illegal out in the middle of the woods.
“Ethan will be here soon. He’ll help us keep tabs on Joe.”
“When is he arriving, again?” Beth asked.
“On the ninth. Four days from now.” I relaxed my shoulders, thankful for the change in topic.
“Any big plans while he’s here?”
I shifted in my seat, the chair creaking beneath me. I’d been so busy cleaning the house and buying food that I hadn’t thought to make big plans, or any plans
for that matter. I’d pictured us relaxing on the front porch or exploring the waterfront. Maybe eating at some of Ethan’s favorite spots, like The Tidewater.
“Not really,” I said. “I guess we’ll figure it out once he gets here.”
Beth nodded. “Well, I’m looking forward to meeting him.” She stood, lifting her empty glass. “Can I put this in the kitchen for you?”
I waved her off. “No. Leave it. Come back in a few hours and we can swap out the tea for some wine.”
“Sorry. I can’t tonight. I’m going out to dinner with Amanda. There’s a new restaurant in town called The Castaways. I thought I’d check it out for my restaurant feature.”
“That’s exciting,” I said, although disappointment at not having been invited rolled in my stomach. “You’re welcome to stay a little longer now.”
“I wish I could. I have to run.”
“Busy day?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’m heading out to interview a local business owner.”
I scooted forward. “Oh! Which business?”
Beth shrugged. “It’s a bike rental place.”
I pictured the only bike shop I knew of, over on Highway 31. I must have driven past the glass-and-concrete storefront with oversized red lettering hundreds of times on my way to the IGA. “Up North Bike Rentals?”
Beth nodded. “I think that’s the one. I’m gathering information on summer sports activities to round out my article.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” I raised the pitcher. “Are you sure you don’t have time for one more glass of tea?”
Beth flattened her lips. With her free hand, she held up her ponytail, then let it fall. “I also need to get my hair cut.”
I took the glass from her hand. “You should go to Marcy over at SpeedyCuts. She’s been doing my hair for ages.”
Beth’s eyes darted away from me but quickly found me again. “Oh. I’m already scheduled to see someone else. Amanda recommended her.”
My back slumped under an invisible pressure, but I forced a smile. “I’m sure you’ll look gorgeous no matter who you go to.”
“Thanks, Gloria.” Beth began to stand up, but then changed her mind and leaned toward me. She smoothed back a flyaway strand, tucking it into her ponytail. “What do you think of my color?”
Instinctively, I ran my fingers through my own gray, chin-length hair. “Ha. Well, I’m jealous of it, for one.” I studied her shiny tresses, admiring the rich, chocolaty hue. “My hair used to be brown, believe it or not. But more of a mousy brown. Not as pretty as yours.”
Beth laced her fingers together and stared at her feet. When she looked up, her eyes had turned on a different shade, their color shifting like the tide. “Jason always wanted me to have blonde hair. I used to bleach it every four weeks for him, whenever the roots started showing.” She glanced at the woods in the distance. Something bubbled beneath her calm exterior. “I always liked my natural color better, though.”
“I’m glad you went back to it.” I squinted, trying to imagine Beth with blonde hair. Nothing about the scenario she just described sat well. What kind of a man told his wife to change her hair color? Charlie never would have dared.
Beth’s lips parted slightly, but her eyes were glazed. It was as if she’d thought of another story to tell me but decided to keep it to herself. “I’ll see you soon.” She stood up and descended the steps, giving a wave over her shoulder as she wandered in the direction of her tiny house.
I exhaled. Beth’s visit had caused a sourness to pool in my stomach. It was obvious she missed her husband, but he didn’t sound like the greatest catch. She was a strong woman, though. She’d already done the right thing by reclaiming her natural hair color.
Carrying our dirty glasses in one hand, I nudged open the door with the other and set the dishes in the kitchen sink. The Thirty-Day Life Coach workbook sat on the counter. I picked it up and took it to the living room where I sank into the couch and flipped it open.
The book opened to the personality test identifying me as “Risk-averse” and “Conformist.” I reread the line I’d highlighted:
Often, people who are “Risk-averse/Conformist” are insecure and afraid of disappointing people and/or not fitting in. As a result, they frequently end up disappointing themselves by living a life that is not truly authentic.
Yes. That description fit me to a T. The author should have personalized the book: To Gloria Flass, the most Risk-averse/Conformist person I know. I wished I’d read it years ago. My eyes skimmed over the remaining exercises, encouraging me to Do the opposite or Do something irresponsible.
Outside, Beth’s truck rumbled down the driveway. My head sank into the sofa pillow, feeling heavy as a pile of bricks. My sleepless night was catching up with me. I closed the book and rolled over on my side, my body begging for a nap. Just as my eyes closed, the old house creaked and groaned. Three sharp knocks landed on my front door. I slunk down and peered through the gap in the curtains, recognizing Joe’s thick arm and part of his red T-shirt. I froze, slouching down further. An image of Joe emerging from the dark woods crept through my mind. The chill running over my skin warned me not to answer. Beth was gone, busy with her list of errands followed by dinner. She wouldn’t be back for hours.
Three more knocks. The hair on my neck bristled as Joe’s shadow passed in front of the living room window. A thousand pinpricks traveled across my skin.
I raised myself off the couch, pulse racing, and crept toward the window. My eyes edged around the curtains and I peered outside. No one was there. I exhaled, hoping he’d left. But just as my shoulders loosened, an alarming clatter sounded from the mudroom behind the kitchen.
Clink, clink, clink. Thud, thud.
Joe was hammering at the window. The loose frame shook and rattled, and I skittered forward to find Joe straining against it. He was breaking in! I gasped, my pulse racing. He looked up, his startled eyes connecting with mine, his mouth dropping open. I wanted to scream, but the sound was trapped in my throat.
Joe’s eyes darted away as he lifted his free hand in a wave.
Out of instinct, I grabbed my phone and scooted out the front door and around the side of the house. “What on earth are you doing?” I asked, squaring my shoulders as I approached him.
Joe stepped back from the window, lowering a metal object in his hand. It was a box-cutter, the blade glinting in the sunlight. “Hi, Gloria. I knocked a few times. I didn’t think you were home.” He looked over his shoulder. “Your car wasn’t here.”
My lips stammered. “It’s in the garage.”
“Your window frame is in bad shape. I thought I’d fix it for you.”
“Oh.” A flood of relief washed through me as I tugged at my shirt. Maybe I’d misread the situation. My windows were in horrible shape. Maybe Joe hadn’t been breaking in. Still, I couldn’t help but notice the sheen of sweat on his upper lip and the jaggedness of his breath. I didn’t know whether to believe Joe’s story over the twisting in my gut. I jutted out my chin. “I’m going to hire someone to do that. I’d prefer you didn’t touch the windows.”
Joe’s hands lowered to his side, his mouth curving down. He gave a salute. “Yes, ma’am. Enjoy your day.” He brushed a few shards of paint from the windowsill, then turned and marched to the garage apartment, never looking back as he lumbered up the steps and through the door.
I exhaled, mild guilt eating away at my insides, but my heart thudding double-time. I feared I’d been rude to Joe. Still, what were the odds he’d work on my windows without getting permission first? Returning to the safety of my living room, I steadied myself against a chair and breathed in and out a few times. I pulled the curtains all the way closed and stepped toward the front door, locking the deadbolt with a satisfying click. Like Beth said, we single women could never be too careful.
Sixteen
Elizabeth
Before
The cold circle of the stethoscope pressed into my back.
“Take a
deep breath in.”
I inhaled, my socked feet hanging over the side of the examination table.
“And out.” Dr. Hamouda stepped back. “Everything sounds fine.” She flipped through my chart. She was up to date on my medical records, as well as my personal life. I’d spent the first half of the appointment giving blood, peeing in a cup, having my vitals taken, recounting the date of my last period, and explaining my marital situation—first to a nurse, and then, again, to the doctor—before she poked and prodded me.
She wheeled over her stool, holding a clipboard. Caroline crossed her arms and slouched in an extra chair near the wall. The chair that Jason should have been sitting in.
“Based on your results and our conversation I’m guessing you’re about eleven or twelve weeks along.”
I nodded, then looked at my hands, feeling like a failed mother already. “I probably should have come in sooner. I’ve just had so much going on.”
“It’s okay,” the doctor said, rubbing liquid sanitizer on her hands. “You’ve been under tremendous stress. You’re here now, and that’s what counts.” She patted my hand and rolled her chair back. “We’ll do an ultrasound at eighteen weeks to confirm the due date and make sure the fetus is developing properly. You can also find out the sex of the baby at that time if you’d like.”
I pressed my palm against my abdomen, still in disbelief that a tiny person existed inside me.
Caroline gasped, giving me a thumbs up, “You’re going to find out, aren’t you, Lizzie? I need to know if I’m having a niece or a nephew.”
“Yes,” I said. “Of course.”
Caroline bounced in her seat.
The doctor turned to face me. “Your baby’s about the size of a plum right now.”
“A plum!” Caroline said, forming her fingers into a tiny circle.
I flashed her an annoyed look. “Caroline. Shh!” It was like she’d never been to a doctor’s appointment before. In truth, though, I was touched by her enthusiasm. She was in love with the idea of becoming an aunt.