The Wife Between Us

by Greer Hendricks

  “Looks like I found your sweet spot.”

  She felt as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs. His strong body covered hers, and the remote control dug into her back. Finally, she wrenched her hands free and pushed him away, much harder than she had when he tried to prolong their kiss.

  After she caught her breath, she said, “I hate being tickled.”

  Her tone was sharp—sharper than she’d intended. He looked at her closely. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  She adjusted her top, then turned to face him. She knew she had overreacted. Richard was only being playful, but the sensation of being trapped had panicked her. She had the same feeling in crowded elevators or going through underground tunnels. Richard was usually sensitive to these issues, but he couldn’t be expected to always read her mind. They’d had such a nice night. The dinner. The movie. And he was only trying to be generous and thoughtful.

  She wanted to get things back on track. “No, I’m sorry. I’m being grumpy.… I just feel like I’m always on the go lately. And my street is so noisy that whenever I open my window, it’s impossible to sleep. You’re right, it would be nice to relax a little more. I’ll talk to my manager this week.”

  Richard smiled. “Think they can find someone soon? One of our new clients funds a lot of good theater on Broadway. I could get you and Sam house seats to anything you want to see.”

  Nellie had seen just three shows since moving to New York; tickets were exorbitant. She’d sat in the balcony every time, once behind a man with a severe head cold and the others with a pole partially obscuring her view.

  “That would be amazing!” She nestled closer to him.

  Someday they’d have an actual fight, but Nellie couldn’t imagine being truly mad at Richard. It was more likely her sloppy ways would chafe him. She draped her discarded clothes over her bedroom chair or sometimes left them on the floor; Richard hung up his suits every night, smoothing the fine fabric before tucking them in his closet. Even his T-shirts were shepherded into soldier-straight rows by some sort of clear plastic device that fit into his dresser drawers. The Container Store probably sold it. More than that, they were sorted by hues: one row for black and gray, one for colors, and one for whites.

  His job required intense focus and attention to detail; he had to be organized. And while no one could call teaching preschoolers relaxing, the stakes felt far less intense—not to mention that the hours were shorter and the only travel required was the occasional field trip to the zoo.

  Richard took such good care of his things—and of her. He worried about her commuting to the apartment from Gibson’s, and he called or texted every night to make sure she’d arrived home safely. He’d bought her a top-of-the-line cell phone. “I’d feel better if you took it with you whenever you go out,” he’d said. He’d offered to buy her Mace, too, but she told him she already carried pepper spray. “Good,” he said. “There are so many creeps out there.”

  Don’t I know it, Nellie had thought, suppressing a shudder, so grateful for that flight, that young soldier—even for her anxiety about being airborne because it had sparked their first conversation.

  Richard had put an arm around her. “Did you like the movie?”

  “It was sad. He had that big house, and all that money, but he was so alone.”

  Richard nodded. “Exactly. That’s what I always think when I watch it, too.”

  * * *

  Richard loved to surprise her, she was learning.

  He had something planned for today—with him, it could be anything from minigolf to a museum—and had told her he was leaving work early to pick her up. She needed to wear something that could cover a range of possibilities, so she decided on her favorite navy-and-white-striped sundress and flat sandals.

  Nellie shucked off the T-shirt and cargo pants she’d worn to the Learning Ladder, tossing them in the direction of her laundry basket, then reached into her closet. She shoved aside clothing, searching for the bold stripes, but it was missing.

  She went in Samantha’s room and spotted it on the bed. She could hardly complain; Nellie had at least two of Sam’s tops in her closet. They shared books, clothes, food … everything except shoes, because Nellie’s feet were a size larger, and makeup, because Samantha was biracial, with dark hair and eyes, and Nellie—well, Jonah had chosen a marshmallow to represent her skin tone for a reason.

  She dabbed Chanel perfume behind her ears—the scent was a gift from Richard for Valentine’s Day, along with a Cartier love bracelet—and decided to head outside to wait for him, since he was due to pick her up any minute.

  She exited her apartment and walked down the small hallway, then pulled open the building’s main door just as someone else was entering. Nellie reflexively jumped back.

  It was only Sam. “Oh! I didn’t know you were home! I was just looking for my keys.” Sam reached out and squeezed Nellie’s arm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  When Nellie had first moved in, she and Sam spent an entire weekend painting the worn old apartment. As they rolled a creamy-yellow hue onto the kitchen cabinets, working side by side, their conversation skimmed over topics such as the rock-climbing group Sam was thinking of joining to meet rugged guys, the father at the preschool who always tried to flirt with the teachers, Sam’s therapist mother, who wanted her to go to medical school, and whether Nellie should accept the job at Gibson’s or look for weekend shifts at a clothing store.

  Then, as darkness fell, Sam uncorked the first of two bottles of wine, and their conversation turned more personal. They’d talked until three A.M.

  Nellie always thought of that as the night when they’d become best friends.

  “You look nice,” Samantha said now. “Maybe a little overdressed for babysitting, though.”

  “I’m running out first, but I’ll be at the Colemans’ at six-thirty.”

  “’K. Thanks again for covering for me.… I can’t believe I double-booked myself. So unlike me.”

  “Yeah, what a shocker.” Nellie laughed, which had probably been Sam’s intention.

  “The parents swore they’d be home by eleven, so expect them at midnight. And watch out for Hannibal Lecter when you tell him it’s bedtime. Last time he tried to gnaw on my wrist when I took away his Play-Doh.”

  Sam nicknamed all the kids in her class: Hannibal was the biter, Yoda the tiny philosopher, Darth Vader the mouth breather. But when it came to cajoling a kid out of a tantrum, no one could do it better than Sam. And she’d convinced Linda to spring for rocking chairs so that teachers could soothe kids who suffered from separation anxiety.

  A horn tooted and Nellie looked up to see Richard’s BMW convertible pulling up. He double-parked next to a white Toyota with a parking ticket on the windshield.

  “Nice ride,” Sam called out.

  “Yeah?” Richard shouted back. “Let me know if you want to borrow it someday.”

  Nellie caught Sam rolling her eyes. More than once, Nellie had wondered if Sam had a nickname for Richard. But Nellie had never asked. “Come on. He’s trying.”

  Sam squinted as she looked at Richard again.

  Nellie hugged her quickly, then hurried down the steps and toward the car as Richard got out to open the passenger-side door.

  He wore aviator sunglasses and a black shirt with jeans, a look Nellie loved. “Hi, beautiful.” He gave her a long kiss.

  “Hi yourself.” As she got into the car and twisted around to grab her seat belt, she noticed Samantha hadn’t moved from the doorway. Nellie waved, then turned back to Richard. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “Nope.” He started the car and pulled away from the curb, heading east onto the FDR Drive.

  Richard was quiet during the ride, but Nellie kept seeing the edges of his mouth curl up.

  When they exited the Hutchinson River Parkway, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a sleep eye-mask. He tossed it onto her lap. “No peeking until when we get there.”


  “This feels a little kinky,” Nellie joked.

  “Come on. Put it on.”

  She stretched the elastic band across the back of her head. It was too tight for her to peek out the bottom.

  Richard made a sharp turn and she was pressed against the door. Without visual clues, she couldn’t brace her body against the vehicle’s movements. And Richard was driving fast, as usual.

  “How much longer?”

  “Five or ten minutes.”

  She felt her pulse quicken. She’d tried to wear a sleep mask on an airplane before, hoping it would help ease her fear. But it had the opposite effect: She’d felt more claustrophobic than ever. Sweat pricked her armpits and she realized she was clutching the door handle. She almost asked Richard if she could just shut her eyes, but then she remembered the way he’d smiled—that boyish grin—as he tossed the mask on her lap. Five minutes. Sixty times five was three hundred. She tried to distract herself by counting the seconds in her head, visualizing the second hand of a clock sweeping around in a circle. She let out a gasp when Richard squeezed her knee. She knew he’d meant it affectionately, but her muscles were tense and his fingers had dug into sensitive spots right above her kneecap.

  “Just another minute,” he said.

  The BMW stopped abruptly and she heard the motor die. She reached to rip off the mask, but Richard’s voice stopped her: “Not yet.”

  She heard him open his door, then he came around to let her out, taking her arm to guide her as they walked on something that felt hard beneath her shoes. Not grass. Pavement? A sidewalk? Nellie was so accustomed to the noise constantly surrounding her in the city that its absence was jarring. A bird started to trill, then its notes abruptly died. They’d only been driving for thirty minutes or so, but she felt as if they’d traveled to a different planet.

  “Almost there.” Richard’s breath was warm against her ear. “Ready?”

  She nodded. She’d have agreed to anything to take off the mask.

  Richard lifted it up and Nellie blinked as sharp sunlight blinded her. When her eyes adjusted, she found herself staring up at a large brick house with a SOLD! sign staked in the front yard.

  “It’s your wedding present, Nellie.” She turned to look at him. He was beaming.

  “You bought this?” She gaped.

  The house was set back from the street and sprawled across a lot that was at least an acre. Nellie didn’t know much about homes—the modest single-floor brick house she’d grown up in in South Florida could be described as “rectangular”—but this one was obviously luxurious. The details as much as the size were the giveaways: an enormous wood door with a stained-glass window and brass handle, manicured gardens rimming the lawn, tall lanterns flanking the walk like sentries. Everything looked pristine, untouched.

  “I’m … speechless.”

  “Never thought I’d see that,” Richard joked. “I was going to save it until after the wedding, but the settlement went through early, and I couldn’t wait.”

  He handed her the key. “Shall we?”

  Nellie walked up the front steps and fit it into the lock. The door glided open and she stepped into a two-story foyer, hearing her footsteps echo against the glossy floor. To her left she could see a wood-paneled study with a gas fireplace. To her right, an oval-shaped room with a deep window seat.

  “There’s a lot still to be done. I want you to feel like a part of this, too.” Richard took her hand. “The best part is the back. The great room. Come on.”

  He led the way as Nellie followed, trailing her fingertips along the floral wallpaper until she caught herself and yanked them away before she left a smudge.

  The room’s name was an understatement. The kitchen, with its sand-colored granite counters and bar featuring a flush cooktop and wine refrigerator, flowed into a dining area capped with a modern cut-glass chandelier. The sunken living room had a recessed ceiling with wood detail, a stone fireplace, and wainscoting on the walls. Richard unlocked the back door and led her to the second-story deck. In the distance, a double hammock swayed under a tree.

  Richard was looking at her. “Do you like it?” A crease formed between his eyebrows.

  “It’s … unbelievable,” she managed. “I’m scared to touch anything!” She gave a little laugh. “It’s so perfect.”

  “I know you wanted to live in the suburbs. The city is so loud and stressful.”

  Had she told him that? Nellie wondered. She’d complained about the chaos of Manhattan but couldn’t recall saying she wanted to move. Maybe she had, though, when she’d talked about growing up on a residential street; she’d probably mentioned a desire to replicate that environment for their children.

  “My Nellie.” He walked over and enveloped her in his arms. “Wait till you see the upstairs.”

  He took her hand and led her up the split staircase, then down a hallway past several smaller bedrooms. “I thought we could turn this one into a guest room for Maureen.” He pointed. Then he opened the door to the master suite. They stepped through side-by-side walk-in closets, then into the skylight-filled master bathroom. Beneath a row of windows was a Jacuzzi for two, and the separate shower was enclosed in glass.

  One hour ago, she’d been inhaling the smell of the onions her neighbor was frying and stubbing her toe on the case of Diet Coke Samantha had left inside their door. She, who was thrilled when she got a 25 percent tip or discovered a cute pair of Hudson jeans at a secondhand store, had somehow wandered into yet another life.

  She looked out the bathroom window. A row of thick green hedges blocked the view of the neighbors’ house. In New York, she could hear through the radiator the couple who lived one floor above arguing about the Giants game. Here, the sound of her own breathing seemed loud.

  She shivered.

  “Are you cold?”

  She shook her head. “Just someone walking over my grave. Creepy expression, right? My father used to say that.”

  “It’s so quiet.” Richard took in a slow, deep breath. “So peaceful.” Then he gently turned her toward him. “The alarm company is coming next week.”

  “Thank you.” Of course Richard had thought of that detail.

  She wrapped her arms around him and felt herself relax against his solid chest.

  “Mmmm.” He began to kiss her neck. “You smell so good. Want to test out the Jacuzzi?”

  “Oh, babe…” Nellie slowly pulled away. She became aware that she was twisting her engagement ring around on her finger. “I love that idea, but I really need to get going. Remember, Sam asked me to take her babysitting job.… I’m so sorry.”

  Richard nodded and put his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’ll just have to wait, then.”

  “It’s amazing. I can’t believe this is going to be our home.”

  After a moment, he pulled out his hands and squeezed her close again. His face was tender as he looked down at her. “Don’t worry about tonight. We can celebrate every night for the rest of our lives.”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  MY HEAD THROBS. A sour taste coats my mouth. I reach for the water glass on my nightstand, but it is empty.

  As if in defiance of my mood, the sun shines brightly through my open blinds, assaulting my eyes. My clock informs me it is nearly nine. I need to call in sick again, making it another day of work—and of commissions—I’ll miss. Yesterday I was so hungover that my raspy voice convinced Lucille I really was ill. I stayed in bed and drank my second bottle of wine, then polished off the half bottle left over from Aunt Charlotte’s salon, and when the visions of Richard entwined with her refused to be blotted from my mind, I took a pill as well.

  As I reach for the phone, my stomach heaves and I stumble toward the bathroom instead. I fall to my knees but can’t throw up. My abdomen is so empty it feels concave.

  I pull myself up and twist the sink tap, gulping the metallic-tasting water greedily. I splash handfuls on my face and look at my reflection.

  My lon
g dark hair is tangled and my eyes are swollen. New hollows have formed beneath my cheekbones, and my collarbone stands out sharply. I brush my teeth, trying to scrub away the taste of old alcohol, and pull on a bathrobe.

  I fall back into bed and reach for the phone. I dial Saks and ask to be put through to Lucille.

  “It’s Vanessa.” I’m grateful that my voice still sounds gravelly. “I’m sorry, but I’m still pretty sick.…”

  “When do you think you might be back in?”

  “Tomorrow?” I venture. “Definitely the day after.”

  “Right.” Lucille pauses. “We’re starting presales today. It’s going to be very busy.”

  She lets the implication hang. Lucille has probably never missed a day of work in her life. I’ve seen the way she appraises my shoes, my clothes, my watch. The way her mouth tightens when I come into work late. She thinks she knows me, that this job is a lark; she is certain she waits on my type every single day.

  “I don’t have a fever, though,” I say quickly. “Maybe I can give it a try?”

  “Good.”

  I hang up and reread Richard’s text, even though every word is branded into my memory, then force myself to get into the shower, turning the knob as far left as possible to make it steaming hot. I stand there while my skin flushes red, then I towel off. I dry my hair and pull it into a twist to hide the roots, promising myself I’ll cover them tonight. I slip on a simple gray cashmere sweater set, black trousers, and a pair of black ballerina flats. I pat on extra concealer and blush to camouflage my sallow complexion.

  When I go into the kitchen, Aunt Charlotte isn’t there, but she has set a place for me at the counter. I sip the coffee and nibble the banana bread she left me. I can tell it’s homemade. My stomach protests after a few bites, so I wrap the remains of my slice in a paper towel and dump it in the trash, hoping she will think I ate it.

  The front door closes behind me with a metallic clank. It seems that in the past two days the weather has undergone a seismic change. I realize immediately that I am overdressed. It’s too late for me to put on another outfit, though; Lucille is waiting. Besides, the subway stop is only four blocks away.