She Without Sin

by J. P. Barry

  In that moment, Topher resembled the product of a one night stand between a rat and a weasel. His thin frame, pointy face, and sharp features made him one of the most unattractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on. His wife–a total knockout, young, tall, leggy, blonde, married him solely for money. That was obvious to anyone who’d seen them at company parties together. I couldn’t help but stare at his ash brown hair for a hot second. It was always perfectly styled and never moved. Often Liam and I debated if it was a toupee or not. My vote was always toupee.

  “I do, and have a request of my own.” I forced a tiny smile.

  “What?” He snapped.

  “I’d like some time off for personal reasons, starting as soon as possible.” I held my breath waiting for him to explode.

  “Best idea you’ve ever had, Ms. Winters. Mr. Stevens, I assume you’ve got guest hosts lined up?”

  “Working on that now. I’ll be here in Jillian’s absence to make sure the show continues on as is. I’m thinking left wing verses right wing co-hosts—watch the conversations heat up. No Hollywood celebrities. Cheapens our format and credibility. I know a few senators, congress people, and judges whom might like an opportunity to sit in for Jillian. If you have any suggestions about what you’d like to see while she’s away, my door is always open, sir,” Liam replied.

  The breath I’d been holding finally released its strangling grip. Relief washed over every ounce of my body immediately. Muscles unclenched. Churning acid calmed. Heart rate and blood pressure returned to normal. Core temperature cooled, extinguishing the fire within. All that was left was to get the hell out of Satan’s office.

  “I have a few ideas, but we can discuss them later. I’ll call you. The wife and I are meeting friends for dinner in a half hour,” Topher said. His tone, and overall body language considerably friendlier with Liam than me. “How much time do you want?” he added, snapping his neck in my general direction.

  “At least three months. Possibly longer, but I fully plan on returning,” I answered.

  “Fine. When you decide you’re ready to rejoin the team, you’ll have no more chances. No more strikes. One more fuck up and you’re done—standing on the unemployment line. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal,” I responded, rising.

  Liam reached across, shaking Topher’s slimy, slim, girl-like hand. The two exchanged closing pleasantries before we left. I, on the other hand, remained silent. If another word had to spawn from my mouth it would’ve been a bad one. After a hasty goodbye to Liam, I raced out the back door, straight into the Lincoln Town Car. Once the driver cleared the block, I reached for my phone dialing Nick to share the good news.

  “This is Nick. Leave a message,” his voicemail said.

  “Hey. It’s me. I’m on my way home. Got some good news. Can’t wait to see you,” I recorded, then hung up. By the time I reached the main gates, Nick had yet to return my call. The three texts sent went unanswered. The house, pitch black. Nick’s Lexus SUV, gone. Deactivating the alarm, something within urged to proceed with an abundance of caution. What? I don’t know, but Nick was a constant communicator. Even while busy with work, he’d always find a second to reply. A funny feeling sat in the pit of my stomach.

  “Raul, when did Doctor Winters leave?” I asked, buzzing the security booth at the apron of the driveway. The main reason Nick’s parents purchased this particular house for us was for its security features. Other reasons included, but were certainly not limited to, bragging rights, and them showboating their money and ability to afford luxury items, whereas my family could not.

  “Doctor Winters left about an hour after you left for the station, Mrs. Winters,” Raul informed.

  “Did he say where he was going, or when he’d be back?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “Did he take off in a hurry?”

  “Not any faster than usual. He approached the gates, waved, and then took off west. Is something the matter? Should I call the police?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I have security stationed in their usual positions. No one has been in or out since Doctor Winters exited the premises. Is there anything I can assist you with?”

  “No. Thank you,” I said, the knot in my gut grew tighter.

  Taking the stairs two by two, I ran to the bedroom, throwing the closet door open. His clothing remained neatly hung, same with the dresser drawers. The guestroom wardrobe was untouched as well, but Nick had a lot of clothing. Frantically checking the attic for missing luggage, all twelve pieces sat in the corner. Rushing back down to the first floor, I found my personal laptop on the kitchen counter. Impatiently waiting for it to load, I searched every surrounding room. The stove had empty pots on it, and several pantry ingredients sat on the center island beside two large mixing bowls. Inside the formal dining room, the table had been partially set. It appeared Nick was planning on cooking dinner and possibly ran out to grab groceries? But it doesn’t take nearly five hours to shop for food. Even if he was preparing a banquet, it still wouldn’t render that long to collect provisions.

  Thoughts raced to Nick being in an accident. Car accidents were an Achilles Heel of mine. Something which caused anxiety so powerfully consuming whenever Nick was late or took too long to answer a call. My brain automatically played out such horrific scenarios I couldn’t function until I heard his voice. Nick knew this. He’d never leave me hanging. For him not to even send an ‘I’m okay,’ message proved nerve-wracking.

  Once the computer loaded, I attempted to track Nick’s phone, but failed. It had been shut off. The last ping glowed around the St. Luke’s Roman Catholic Church parking lot area. It wasn’t too far from the house, but a place neither of us visited unless absolutely necessary. We weren’t religious people. That didn’t mean we didn’t have faith or shared beliefs, but attending mass wasn’t something we did–ever. Not even on Christmas or Easter. Why Nick would be there confused.

  Because stress is a powerful force, I decided to take a quick ride by the building. Nick wasn’t exactly the handiest man alive, so I calmed thoughts by rationalizing if he’d gotten a flat tire, or had a fender bender, he might still be there, and the phone being off was more than likely the result of a dead battery. It wouldn’t be the first time Nick allowed that to happen by day’s end. Without me or his assistant reminding him late afternoon to charge the device, often it ran out of juice, causing him to resort to using one of our phones.

  Being the late hour, few cars were on the road. Thankfully, traffic lights worked in my favor. The lot, huge, but empty, all except for one large, black Lexus SUV. Pulling up next to it, no one was inside. Getting out, a visual walk around inspection revealed no major scratches or dents, but under the dim glow of the streetlights, it was difficult to accurately assess. Tugging the driver’s side door handle, it refused to budge–locked. Peeking through the window, everything appeared normal.

  Reaching for my cell, I tried Nick again. No answer.

  “This is Nick. Leave a message.”

  “Nick, it’s me. I’m standing by your car in the parking lot of St. Luke’s. Where are you? Could you please call me back? I’m starting to freak out.”

  I waited for roughly two hours in my car for him to call or show up, but he didn’t. Around two in the morning, a police cruiser rolled up. The cop got out, approaching.

  “Is everything okay, Ma’am?” A young beat officer inquired.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know,” I replied, desperately trying to keep calm.

  “Would you mind stepping out of your vehicle?”

  I did.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “This is my husband’s SUV. When I got home from work, he wasn’t there, so I tracked his phone, which is shut off. This is the last place it says he was. I drove here, and now I’m waiting for him to come back,” I explained.

  “I understand you’re concerned, but this is a private parking lot. You can’t be here.”

  “I h
ave to find Nick.” Patience was wearing thin. Nerves rose to the surface. A frightful ‘dead in a ditch’ scenario began playing on a loop.

  “Again, I understand, but you have to vacate the lot, or I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing.”

  “My husband is missing, Officer …,” I said, squinting at his name tag.

  “Bachman. Have you been drinking, or taking any narcotics tonight, Ma’am?”

  “No.” I felt my expression sour.

  “Would you mind participating in a field sobriety test?”

  “I’m not drunk or high. I’m stone cold sober, but if blowing into your little machine, and jumping up and down reciting the alphabet backwards means you’ll find my husband then fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  Twenty minutes later, and only after he ran my and Nick’s license plates, thoroughly examining my identification, registration, and insurance card, Officer Idiot confirmed I was in sound mind, and not some drugged out psycho lunatic.

  “Listen, Mrs. Winters. Your husband is a grown man. He’s not an at-risk adult or child. Sometimes people take off. If he’s not back in forty-eight hours, call the station house, and they’ll file a missing person report,” the cop offered, dismissively.

  “You don’t think it’s odd his SUV is here, unattended? It’s not strange when I left the house, he said he’d be home when I returned? It doesn’t raise a red flag his phone is off while all this is going on?” I challenged.

  “He hasn’t been missing for forty-eight hours, and nothing about his vehicle looks suspicious. Wherever he is, he’s fine.”

  “Do you understand my husband is a celebrity? He’s famous. Millions of people not only here in the US, but all over the world know his name. Mine too, for that matter.” This moron was beginning to piss me off. How lazy and uncaring could one human being be? Wasn’t it his job to serve and protect the citizens of his community? Didn’t my over inflated tax dollars fund his salary, pension, and benefits?

  “Celebrity or not, we treat everyone the same way. Has anyone threatened him recently? You? Called or reached out for money? Blackmail requests?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then wait the mandatory forty-eight hours, Ma’am. You’re going to need to leave this lot immediately, and if your husband doesn’t move his vehicle by this afternoon, I’m going to have it towed. Go home. He’ll be fine. Have a good night.”

  Before I had a chance to protest, he was in his cruiser, backing up.

  You frigging lazy piece of trash. You better hope he’s fine because if he’s not I swear to everything bright and beautiful I will make it rain black rain in your world until the day you die.

  Snapping a few quick pictures of Nick’s Lexus and the surrounding area, I returned to my car, and headed home. It wasn’t shocking Nick wasn’t there upon arrival. I didn’t expect him to be because the churning in my gut knew something was amiss. What? Hadn’t a clue, but I’d get to the bottom of it.

  Chapter Four

  Nick

  The second Jillian left the house, I immediately got to work. Tonight had to be perfect. Pretty much every night for the unforeseen future had to go smoothly to make sure our marriage survived. Her center thawed, a bit, but a watchful guard remained firmly in place. It was my job to get her to put it down. Considering we hadn’t slept together in months, last night’s and this morning’s sex was fantastic. She was present, unlike in the past where her mind was elsewhere. After my affair, intimacy died, and justifiably so. From that point forward, she’d lie on her back, head turned, eyes closed, hands down by her side. She refused to fully undress, leaving her bra and shirt on. When the deed completed, she’d hop off the bed like she was on fire, and run to the shower without saying a word. The few times I attempted to remove her top, keep her beside me, or switch things up, she’d stop the entire act faster than it began.

  I’d counseled many people and couples over the years who endured similar hardships, but choices had to be made–you stayed, or you left. Simple enough. Jillian chose to remain married, which meant she had only one option–let the indiscretion go, which she couldn’t, and didn’t, often freezing me out, or doling out passive aggressive punishments, such as embarking upon her own extramarital affairs. Due to immense guilt, I allowed her to act however she felt on any given day without repercussions, until the hostile behaviors became too much to handle. As a therapist, that was wrong. As a husband, I was torn. However, I never gave Jillian reason to believe I’d ever cheat again, but some indiscretions, no matter how hard we attempt to erase them, by no means go away. The memory, the anguish, remains permanently seared inside our souls, never relenting.

  Armed with a shopping list and about a dozen places to hit up before she returned, I took off. The plan was to recreate the first time we shared a private meal together. Granted, it was a long time ago, and quite possibly she wouldn’t remember, but I did. I was living off campus in my own small apartment. We’d been going out for a handful of months, and I was determined that would be the night we’d sleep together for the first time. Whenever we’d go beyond heavy making out, she’d slam on the breaks suggesting she wasn’t ready, that she wanted to make sure the relationship was solid, going somewhere before sharing strong connecting intimacies, creating an emotional attachment. As an educated adult today, I fully understand her needs back then, but as a horny early twenties guy, I just wanted to get in her pants. She was hot, mysterious, brilliant, adventurous, fearless, level-headed, but yet loving and soft at the same time. Not a good cook by any stretch of the imagination, if I was able to pull off Chicken Marsala, roasted potatoes, grilled asparagus, and a tossed salad once, I could certainly do it again.

  Passing the security booth, I waived at Raul and Jon. Initially, I wasn’t a fan of the armed guard theme of the property, but as time passed, it grew on me. Even though I was the ‘anti-everything Winters’ spokesperson for the family, I did enjoy the finer things in life. It made me feel superior to others, a trait I wasn’t fond of, but a part of my being I couldn’t shed. Truthfully? Didn’t want to. I allowed myself private pleasures such as accepting the house from my parents–though it had been put in Jillian’s name so the sensation of being tethered to them wasn’t felt, weekly massages, spa treatments, manicures, designer clothing, expensive cars, lavish vacations, and so on, but I never allowed myself to be seen that way in public. While giving interviews or attending fan events, I’d always make sure to wear clothing similar to theirs. If Jillian was in attendance, I’d request the same of her. In order to be relatable, to sell books, have people listen to the podcast, they had to feel we were one in the same. If they wore box store jeans and I had on the same brand, they’d be more open, deeming me someone who’s down to Earth. Not a stuck-up douchebag who was doing this for money.

  Yes, the money, fame, and popularity - all completely amazing, but I truly did and do want to help individuals live their best lives. With extensive knowledge, and a unique approach to various alternative psychological treatments, I’ve helped many. You have no idea how fulfilling that is. And sure, one could make a strong case I was a fraud using mind tricks for personal gain, often I’d find myself playing that game during quiet moments, but I worked hard, long hours, made copious sacrifices–why shouldn’t I be allowed to enjoy the toils of my labor?

  Jillian’s favorite florist was the first stop. The night from years ago, I’d purchased Lilies of the Valley. I strategically placed two dozen scented candles around the space. The small glass table was set with a navy blue tablecloth and silver napkins–which incidentally ended up being the color scheme for our wedding. Once we found our footing, I’d suggest renewing our vows, but that was an idea to toy around with later. Combining a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon, smooth jazz on the stereo, and dimmed lights, an ambiance of romance instantly materialized. The meal finished with imported French macaroons. Our evening—perfect. We made love several times, and she stayed until the morning. From that point forward, we were inseparable. A year
later, I proposed. A year after that we were married. It was as if that one date got the ball rolling. Trust and intimacy slammed together. Perhaps the same would occur again, proving lightning can strike the same area twice.

  Feeling particularly hopeful, the smile faded the moment my cell rang and the car speakers alerted whom was calling.

  “Call from Tag Winters,” the virtual assistant announced. A chill shot up my spine upon hearing the name.

  Knowing it was better to deal with him now rather than later, I replied to the automated voice. “Connect.”

  After a pause, I spoke again. “Hello, Dad. How are you and Mom?”

  “We’re fine. Doing great. What the hell is going on with you and that wife of yours? Finally woke up and decided to dump her?” My father’s tone and delivery, hard and rude as always.

  “Jillian, my wife, and I are good. I’m assuming you saw the tabloid article based off your comment. We are not splitting up. Sorry to disappoint. We had an appointment with our lawyers to address contract negotiation issues,” I lied, making sure to remain calm, inhaling and exhaling meaningfully. This technique helped navigate many stressful situations over the years.

  “One day you’ll realize she’s beneath you. Totally undeserving of the Winters name. Whenever you’re ready, call Karen Newman. She’s a beast. You’ll end up with everything. By the time Karen’s done ripping into your ex, she’ll be homeless on the streets.”

  “Anything new going on? How’s Grandpa and Grandma feeling?” I asked, changing the subject because all the mindful breathing in the world wouldn’t stop me from wanting to reach through the phone and strangle him.

  “My parents are fine. They’ll outlive us all. Your mother has been busy helping Keira build an appropriate ‘wife of a presidential hopeful’ wardrobe. Your brother, let me tell you. That kid has a good, strong chance at winning the party nomination. We’ll be vacationing with them, your sisters, and their families too, next week in Martha’s Vineyard. Got to strategize. Beyond proud of Jackson and my girls. Creating laws, pushing agendas, passing bills–real chips off the old block,” he said, passive aggressively gushing.