The Loyal Wife_A gripping psychological thriller with a twist

by Natalie Barelli

  I sit on the bed, defeated, still clutching the panties, and bring my knuckle to my lips to soothe the pain. Then I catch sight of myself in the mirror above the vanity. The corners of my mouth are pulling downward. I look old and mean. I lift a hand against my cheek; my skin feels dry. I turn my face this way and that. Actually, I don’t look that bad. I like the way I’ve done my hair, in a loose chignon with strands framing my face. Mike likes my hair that way too. I look okay, not amazing, more getting-older-trophy-wife than catwalk model material, but some men like that. Men like Mike. God. Who am I kidding? I’ve let myself go, that’s the problem. Is it time to get work done? Damn right, it is.

  I wonder what she looks like. Not thirty-three years old, I’ll bet. The last indiscretion had been, what? Twenty? Only two years older than Madison. That’s pretty fucked up when you think about it.

  Which I do. Often.

  The bathroom door opens, and I immediately drop the panties to the floor, shoving them under the bed with the heel of my foot while rearranging my face into a benign expression.

  “Hey, baby doll, you’re ready?” he says, throwing that crooked smile at me. I don’t answer. I pretend to be fussing with the buttons on my cream satin shirt.

  Mike pulls the belt of his bathrobe tighter and picks up his phone from the top of the dresser. “Rob called, I forgot to tell you.” His thumb quickly flicks over the screen.

  Is it her? Has she texted him?

  “He asked me to thank you for an excellent dinner last night,” he says.

  A terrible thought occurs to me. Could the panties belong to Bethany? Or Janis? Oh, shut up, Tamra. Now you’ve really lost it. Bethany Wolfe is sixty years old. Heck, some people can wear that age, but Bethany sure ain’t one of them. She’s had so much work done that you literally can no longer tell if she’s smiling or crying, happy or sad. It’s all one death-mask to her.

  Janis, on the other hand, is nothing like that. I like Janis. She has a big laugh, big hair, and a big heart. But she’s also at least twenty years too old and as many pounds too heavy for that little blue number.

  No. The owner of that skimpy bit of frill is no more than, oh, twenty-two, maybe, very thin, lithe and … oh, shut up, Tamra.

  “You’re all right?” Mike asks behind me.

  “What? Oh fine, just thinking about last night.”

  “I’m going to get dressed.” He puts his phone down and disappears inside the walk-in closet. I sprint over to the dresser to try and catch it before the lock screen comes on. Too late.

  I should have been screaming at him. I should have slapped his face by now. I should have—what?

  I have no family nearby, my friends are just as much his friends, and he’s a lot more influential than I am. I could storm off and go to stay with Dwayne and Lauren. I know she’ll help me, but she’s only around the corner. That would be silly. What’s left? Hotels? Then what?

  Maybe I should go back to work. Except I have no skills. When I met him, I worked for an accounting firm. Behind the reception desk.

  We met in the elevator. He was carrying a small square case, like a miniature suitcase, on wheels. It made me laugh, a tall strong man like him, pulling this ridiculously small bag.

  “What the heck have you got in there? Gold bullions?”

  I liked that word, bullion. I only just learnt it the day before and I was pleased to have placed it so quickly.

  He looked down at his case and then at me, and gave me that crooked smile of his, his lips curled up on one side. I fell in love, right there and then.

  I was on my way to grab a take-out coffee for my boss, and he came with me. Just like that. Without even asking, or being asked.

  “Where do you work?” he said.

  “Carrington & Denton. Accountants. You know them?”

  “Nope, but I wish I did. You’re the most beautiful accountant I ever met.”

  I didn’t correct him. I liked that he’d assumed I was that smart. On the way back, I went to the parking lot with him, and we had sex in the front seat of his BMW. Then I retrieved the Styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee from the roof of his car, waved my fingers, and went back to work, thinking I’d never see him again, but it was nice, anyway.

  I rub my fingers on my temples, trying to stop the looming headache in its tracks. I need to think this through. Who the heck is she, anyway? I’m dying here. It’s not just that we have been here before, Mike and I, but that it was never ever supposed to happen again. That’s what he said, when he cried and begged and promised. Especially after everything we went through back then. We did things that I don’t even want to think about to get him out of a shockingly bad situation, all because Mike Mitchell decided to follow his penis instead of his brain. In fact, I’ve tried so hard not to think about it anymore that it had just started to feel like it never happened.

  Except now we’re here again. Really?

  Mike emerges, looking handsome in his chinos and linen-blend polo, his dark hair still damp. He snaps his Movado watch on and looks at me.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Almost. Give me a minute.” I stand up and brush down my skirt—for something to do—and I go to the bathroom to cry.

  Chapter Four

  We’re off to church this evening, the three of us. I’m about to get in the car, one hand on top of the passenger door, when I hear Madison behind me.

  “Can I sit in the front?”

  “Sit in the back, Maddie,” Mike says.

  “But I’m not feeling well!” she whines.

  I glance at Mike above the car. An apologetic smile is already reaching his eyes. “Do you mind?”

  Damn right, I mind. “We’re not going far, she’ll be fine,” I say.

  “Dad?”

  “You know she gets carsick, Tamra.”

  I won’t win this battle. Not the second day of Madison’s vacation. “Fine, whatever.”

  Madison hasn’t been carsick since she was a kid. But these are the little things she does to make me feel excluded. The third wheel. As usual, Mike is oblivious. Or at least I think he is.

  We’ve settled in and are ready to go when he mumbles something about forgetting something. I wonder if it’s the blue panties. I look up at the window of our bedroom on the first floor, imagining him reaching for the trousers folded neatly on the back of the chair, and going quickly through the pockets, only to realize they’re not there. They’re gone. The evidence of his crimes has disappeared. No, not really, it’s just that he doesn’t know where it is, anymore.

  He comes out again, doing a quick jog down the porch steps.

  “Did you find it?” I ask, sweetly.

  He pats the pocket of his blazer as he settles back into the driver seat.

  “Yep, I wanted to show Pastor Frank the letter from the Chronicle. I’m glad I remembered.”

  I have no idea what letter he’s talking about, but as the rain begins to fall on the windshield, I wonder if he’s forgotten already about the panties in his pocket.

  “How was work today?” I ask.

  “Fine, good. Busy.”

  I bet.

  “You look nice,” he says to Madison. No, she doesn’t. She looks tired, thin. “Yeah, you do,” I concur, from my third-wheel position in the backseat.

  “Thanks Dad,” she says. “I’m excited about tonight. I’m so pleased I could be here for it.”

  “Me too, princess.”

  Pastor Frank has asked Mike to speak tonight, because Mike and I are making a significant donation to the church, but really, we’re launching his campaign. Until an hour ago, I, too, was excited about tonight, even though I wasn’t crazy about the fact Madison would be here, too. Now my nails are digging in the soft flesh of my palms.

  I catch Mike looking at me in the rearview mirror.

  “You’re okay?” he asks.

  “Yes, why?”

  “No reason.”

  Madison chats away, the rain stops as quickly as it came, and five minutes later, we p
ull into the parking lot.

  “Great, Rob Wolfe is here,” Mike says.

  Fuck Rob Wolfe, I think.

  “Hello, Tamra, how lovely to see you again so soon!” Bethany purrs.

  I kiss her cold cheek. “Hello, Bethany. It’s good of you to come!”

  “Well, we didn’t want to miss it!” Bethany says. “Hello, Madison. You look nice! Are you looking forward to tonight?”

  “Oh yes, we are,” she replies, looking at her father. “Dad loves the opportunity to introduce himself to the people of our fine state. He says it’s going to be the best part of the campaign.”

  Cue vomit.

  “We’ll see you in there,” Mike tells them as he takes my hand on one side, and Madison’s hand in the other, and leads us inside.

  * * *

  I like going to this church. When I was a kid, before my mom left us, we used to go to a church not unlike this one, except smaller. There was always a band performing live on stage, and we’d stand and sing and receive God, and it made us happy. Happy Clappers, they called us.

  “A gift from our Lord!” Pastor Frank thunders from the stage, holding up the oversized novelty check for twenty-thousand dollars signed by Mike and me. Everyone laughs, because we all know God doesn’t carry a check book. Pastor Frank walks up and down the stage still holding up his check. It makes him look like a game show host. He asks the congregation if we know how lucky we are to have in our midst such a good Christian? Such an upstanding family man who is proud of his old-fashioned values? But then Pastor Frank explains that it’s not about the money, it’s the miracle of community and love for one another that we are celebrating here, today.

  “Mike Mitchell told me, more than once, that the most important things in life are God, family, and community. These might seem like old-fashioned values to some, although not to anyone in this room.” Cue more laughter as Pastor Frank makes an expansive gesture toward the audience. Then, more soberly, he adds, “But make no mistakes. These values are what this very church is built upon, and they are what makes our country great. And now, thanks to the generous support of Mike and Tamra Mitchell, we can continue the important work we do here! Thank you, Sir! You’re a good man!” He shouts the last part, and the sound distorts and bounces around the walls.

  The applause is genuine and generous. These people are kind and gracious, smiling and nodding in our direction and I think to myself, how can he sit here and not blush with shame?

  “Come on up, Mike!” Pastor Frank bellows into the microphone. Mike beams at me, then at Madison. He gets up and plants a kiss on her cheek, then mine. I resist the urge to rub the kiss off and move my legs sideways to let him pass.

  For the next fifteen minutes, I sit here and listen to him pontificate about all the great things he wants to do for our great community. He goes on and on about family, loyalty, promises, and faith. I want to stand up and pull the panties from my back pocket in a grand gesture and shout, “Oh, really? What’s this then?”

  They’re not in my back pocket, obviously. They’re under the bed. I shut my eyes tightly to stop myself from crying. It’s people like Mike who give religion a bad name. I don’t care what he says, or how often he prays, he’s just using God to get where he wants. But what slices at my heart isn’t just his infidelity, it’s that I protected him, that I heard his promises and I thought they were real. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. Maybe he truly is evil, and I’m the only one who knows it.

  Outside now, we chat with everyone, shake hands, receive and give good words, words of God, words of wisdom, words of neighborly love. Normally, this would be my time to catch up with neighbors. We’d be discussing the next block party, or whose turn it is to host the next book club meeting. I’d be asking Marylin about her daughter Isabelle who has been causing her such trouble lately. Teenagers! Who’d have them! And I’d chat with Mel and Graham, ask to hold little Benjamin, because I always do. Just look at this little face, I would coo, while he gripped my finger into his tiny little hand. Then I’d ask Mel if he was feeding better now, because I know how stressful it’s been for her. Jeanie would want to know if I’m going to tennis with the others on Thursday, and normally I’d tell her yes, of course, like I always do. Then we’d laugh.

  But not tonight. Tonight, I am too embarrassed to speak with anyone, in case they can see it my face.

  Oh, he’s been playing around, has he? We always knew it would never last. It’s not like you’re one of us, really, is it?

  “Hey, you,” says a voice behind me. I turn and smile at Lauren and give her a warm hug.

  “This is nice,” I say. She’s wearing a charming green silk suit: a pencil skirt and cute little jacket with an emerald necklace. “Is it new?”

  “No, but I’m taking it out for air.”

  “It suits you.”

  “Thanks, girlfriend! So, that was nice, about Mike, what the pastor said.”

  I look away, involuntarily rolling my eyes. She takes a step back and cocks her head. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure, why?”

  She waves her hand in front of her face as if flapping my lies away. “What’s going on?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m in a funny mood. You’re right, it was great.”

  But Lauren won’t let go. She’s that kind of person, and now I wish I hadn’t made a face. She moves closer and narrows her eyes a little. “Tell me.”

  “There’s nothing, I swear.”

  “Cross your heart?”

  I smile. “I’ll tell you another day. Is Dwayne here?”

  “He was, but he had to leave. Can I get a lift back with you?”

  “Sure.” You can sit in the back with me. “Where did he go?”

  This time it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “He’s going away on business tonight. Honestly, sometimes I suspect Dwayne has another family somewhere he’s not telling me about. He’s away from home so much, I’m worried I’ll forget what he looks like.”

  I laugh. “You always exaggerate.”

  She’s about to say something else but stops herself and smiles at someone behind me.

  “Good evening, Tamra.”

  I turn and smile at Pastor Frank.

  “I’m returning your husband.” He clasps Mike’s shoulder, then takes my hand in both of his. “Very nice to see you.”

  “Thank you, Pastor.”

  “Did you enjoy the sermon?”

  “I did.”

  “Good. You’re welcome,” he says, still smiling with teeth whiter than snow, and the fact that he’s not thanking me does not go unnoticed.

  “I hope our gift will make a difference to the people who need it most, Pastor Frank.” I hook my arm into Mike’s as I say this, looking like an angel.

  “It most certainly will.” He closes his eyes for a few seconds, like some kind of benevolent guru lost in prayer, I don’t know. Pastor Frank gives me the creeps. When he opens his eyes again, he smiles at Lauren who has been standing there like an asparagus.

  “Hello, Lauren,” Mike says. He only says it because Pastor Frank is here.

  She lifts an eyebrow and extends her hand. “Well, hello to you too, Mike, congratulations, lovely speech.”

  “Thank you,” he mumbles, barely audible.

  “And hello again, you,” Lauren hugs Madison warmly.

  I look from one to the other. “Again?”

  “Maddie came by yesterday, to say hi,” she says.

  “Really? When?” I can’t help it. Madison adores Lauren, which is really weird. After all, her dad isn’t a fan, and Lauren is my friend. Sometimes, I suspect that it’s a ploy to outdo me, some weird shit like, she may be your friend, but she likes me best. What does that say about you? And yet, I try so much harder than Lauren does. Whenever I bring it up, she says I’m over-thinking it. That I’m being too sensitive.

  “On the way, I dropped in on Lauren before I got home,” Madison replies in a bored tone.

  “Good! That’s nice.” I say,
not meaning it. I turn to Mike. “By the way, we’re giving Lauren a lift home.”

  “Of course.” He even manages to smile at her.

  Mike doesn’t like Lauren, and sometimes I wonder if it’s only because Lauren doesn’t fawn all over him like most women, and also because she’s not particularly useful to him. I prefer not to have them together in the same room if I can help it, because Mike will be rude somehow, and I’ll get embarrassed. But Lauren either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

  Pastor Frank brings the photographer over. “It’s for the newsletter,” he says. Mike, Madison, and I pose obligingly, then it’s Mike and Pastor Frank’s turn, and finally the four of us, with Pastor Frank holding the oversized novelty check.

  “What’s he doing here?” Mike whispers to Pastor Frank. We all follow Mike’s gaze and our eyes land on Brad King, talking to the Wolfes, no less.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Pastor Frank says with a shake of the head.

  “He’s announced his candidacy, did you know?”

  “I heard. Trust me, Mike, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  So Brad King is running against Mike for governor. It's news to me. I can see why Mike’s annoyed about that. Brad King is a big businessman in the area, and he employs an awful lot of people. Plus, he has a lot of charisma, which doesn’t hurt, but then again so does Mike. In spades. Still, I can’t help but feel a little cheered up at his discomfort. Then there’s the incumbent. I mean, North Carolina already has a governor, and he’s doing just fine. It occurs to me that Mike is actually a long way from office.

  “He’s got a nerve. This isn’t even his church,” Mike mutters, still staring.

  Pastor Frank pats him on the back. “Don’t worry about it.”

  But I watch Mike struggling to hold back his anger, and it’s not easy. His career is the most important thing in his life, of course. All that crap about family values and community is bullshit, and if I didn’t know that before, I do now. They’re just lines he tosses out to help him get where he wants. The most important things to Mike are not God, family, and community, they’re Mike, Money, and Power.