Steve shares so little about his past that she’s delighted he has told her this.
“Is that so hard to believe?” he says.
“You?” she says. “I don’t see it.”
“If I’m lying, I’m dying,” he says.
“I’m going to need some photographic proof,” she jokes. “Where’s your high school yearbook?”
Steve’s smile falters.
“I don’t have it,” he says. “It burned up in the fire.”
“Oh, damn,” Kathi says, feeling terrible. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” She trails off, not sure how to finish.
If possible, she generally tries not to bring up topics like his dead parents, his burned childhood home, or the CIA—nothing from his past that might stir up bad memories.
Steve shrugs, unbothered.
“If you were student body president,” she says, treading lightly, “you must have been very popular.”
“I guess I had a lot of friends,” he says. “I was voted Most Dependable.”
“Most Dependable?” She laughs. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”
On the one hand, Kathi is not surprised to hear this—Steve seems like someone who would have had a lot of friends and could’ve been voted something like Most Dependable in the class superlatives. On the other hand, what is surprising is him actually talking about it.
After twelve years of marriage, is he finally going to open up?
“It’s too bad my yearbook burned up with everything else,” he says. “You could’ve seen what I looked like when I had hair.”
“I can’t imagine,” she jokes, giggling.
Steve tells Kathi he’s going to take a shower before dinner, and he leaves her alone in the living room with her yearbook. She flips through the pages, but her mind is on Steve and how he can’t even enjoy the simple pleasure of looking at old photographs.
She has an idea. She can’t do anything about the family pictures he lost in the fire when he was a kid, but she tells herself that she’ll call his old high school tomorrow.
After all, their twelve-year wedding anniversary is coming up soon. They never spend much money on gifts for each other, opting instead for personal items that have significant meaning for the other person.
A copy of his old yearbook would make the perfect gift for Steve.
Chapter 14
Exeter Union High School,” says the voice on the other end of the line. “How may I help you?”
“Hi,” Kathi says, trying to sound as friendly as possible. “This might sound like a strange request, but I’m trying to get hold of a yearbook for the class of 1967.”
“A yearbook?” the woman says, sounding confused.
“My husband graduated in 1967, and I’m trying to find a copy of the yearbook. His burned up in a fire.”
“Oh,” the woman says. “Let me see if I can find someone to help you.”
As she waits on hold, Kathi tucks the phone into the crook of her neck and busies herself with some accounting. She’s sitting behind the front desk in her salon, which usually has a lull in business in the middle of the afternoon. One stylist is giving a woman a perm and another is doing a pedicure, but otherwise the place is empty. Kathi expects that school has probably just let out in California.
Outside her window, she watches residents walk up and down the sidewalk along Main Street. It’s a typical day in Glenwood Springs. The outdoor supply store is offering a big sale to get rid of its stock of winter clothing. The bookstore has a buy-two-get-one-free sale going on. The local theater marquee lists Indecent Proposal and Sommersby as the current features. She saw the latter with a girlfriend and thought it was entertaining enough, aside from its preposterous premise about a man assuming someone else’s identity.
“Any day now?” Kathi mutters, checking the clock and mentally doing the math about how much this phone call has already cost her.
She wanted to make the call from her business phone in case Steve saw their phone bill and wondered why she’d made a long-distance call to his hometown. That would ruin the surprise of the anniversary present.
A male voice comes on the line: “Hello, this is Percy Hickman. I teach history here, and I’m the faculty adviser for the yearbook. I understand you’re trying to purchase an old yearbook?”
Kathi explains what she is trying to do and why. She hopes there is a stockpile of extra copies of old yearbooks in a closet somewhere and that it won’t be a problem to purchase one.
“Class of ’67, you say?”
“Yes,” Kathi confirms.
“What a coincidence,” Percy exclaims. “I graduated in ’67, too.”
The man sounds very excited, and it takes Kathi a moment to understand what he’s getting at.
“Wait,” she says. “You graduated from Exeter in 1967? The same school and year as my husband?”
“Sure did,” he says. “I never thought I’d come back and be a teacher in the school I graduated from, but here I am teaching in the same classroom where I used to stick bubble gum under the desks. Life is funny like that.”
Kathi is excited about the idea of speaking to a classmate of Steve’s. She’s never met anyone who knew him before her. No friends. No family. No one.
“You must know my husband,” she says. “Steve Marcum.”
After a pause, Percy says, “Hmm. Sorry. It doesn’t ring a bell.”
Confused, Kathi says, “He was student body president.”
“No,” Percy says. “Not the class of ’67. I should know. I was on the council, and we haven’t heard from our president in a good fifteen years. I’ve been stuck organizing all the reunions.”
Kathi wonders if maybe she’s gotten the year wrong but feels certain that Steve’s always said he graduated in ’67, two years before her.
“Are you sure the name Steve Marcum doesn’t sound familiar?” Kathi asks. “Friendly guy. Spontaneous. I bet he would have been a lot of fun in high school.”
“Our graduating class wasn’t that big,” Percy says. “I thought I remembered everyone. But I’ve probably forgotten a name or two.”
Kathi can’t see how anyone could forget Steve. He has the kind of personality that makes him memorable. She doubts he was much different when he was in high school. And besides, if this guy is in charge of organizing the reunions, he should have a master list of every student.
Something doesn’t add up here.
“You sure he lived in Exeter, California?” Percy asks. “Maybe he went to the one in New Hampshire. Or England.”
Percy suggests she check with her husband and make sure she’s got the right class and the right school.
Kathi frowns at the man’s unhelpful comments. Of course Steve grew up in Exeter, California. She’ll never forget the drive they took there and the way he broke down at the cemetery.
Although…thinking back on it now, Kathi realizes that she never actually saw the gravestones. A worm of doubt crawls into her mind.
“Miss,” Percy says, “you still there?”
“Anyway,” Kathi says, “can you send me the yearbook?”
The man protests, saying he’s sure the book won’t have what she’s looking for. Kathi insists that she wants it regardless, and arranges to send a check to cover the price of the book and postage.
Before they end the call, Kathi asks Percy, “By the way, what was the name of your class president?”
“Eric Wright.”
“Never heard of him,” Kathi says.
Chapter 15
Kathi forgets about her conversation with Percy Hickman until a couple of weeks later, when she comes home and finds a book-size package in the mailbox. She looks around as if she’s doing something clandestine. Steve isn’t home yet, so she hurries into the house and tears into the package.
“I’ll show you,” she mutters, thinking of the smug history teacher who was so sure that Steve didn’t graduate from Exeter in 1967.
She flips immediately to t
he senior class and scans through the names alphabetically. She finds no Steve Marcum.
“Damn,” she mumbles, disappointed.
That means she was either mistaken or Steve lied to her. And to her knowledge, Steve hasn’t lied to her since they got married. He admitted going to prison and killing people for the CIA, for Christ’s sake. If that’s not honesty, she doesn’t know what is.
She turns to the table of contents and finds the page number for the photo of the school council. Her heart lifts when she sees Steve’s familiar smiling face pictured with a group of teenagers. He’s younger—and he has a full head of hair—but the smile on the kid is unmistakable. She stares, captivated, at the eighteen-year-old version of her husband. She’s never seen a photo of him from before she met him, and it warms her heart to see him at that age.
They’ve had some ups and downs over the past decade, but at this moment, staring at the youthful Steve Marcum, she knows she loves him as much as she ever has.
Her eyes drop to the photo caption, and her heart sinks again. The name Steve Marcum does not appear in the caption. She looks back and forth between the picture and the caption to determine what name they’ve attributed to Steve.
The caption says the boy pictured is named Eric Wright.
She tells herself this is just some sort of mistake. And maybe if the only evidence was the yearbook, she would be able to convince herself of that. But there’s also the teacher, Percy—he said their student body president was named Eric Wright. Why would that be the case if there was simply an editing error in the book?
No. There’s something else going on here.
And the only conclusion she can draw is that her husband has been lying to her for the past twelve years.
She flips to the superlatives and scans through the pictures. Class Clown…Cutest Couple…Most Likely to Succeed. There it is: Most Dependable.
As before, a young version of her husband is pictured. And again as before, the name listed is Eric Wright.
She finds pictures of him with the tennis, wrestling, and baseball teams—all of them without a doubt her husband, all of them with the name Eric Wright. She turns back to the senior class, and this time turns to the names that begin with W. Sure enough, Eric Wright is listed.
Once again, Steve’s smiling photo is next to the name.
But now Kathi interprets his signature smile differently. Now she sees something dark in his expression. There’s always been some mischievousness in that smile, but now it seems almost malevolent. She once thought he smiled as if there was some kind of big joke going on that no one else saw. She always liked that about him. But looking at him as a boy, knowing the man who would grow up and lie to her, she doesn’t feel smitten with that smile. She feels betrayed by it.
She always thought Steve wanted her to be in on the joke.
But maybe the joke is on her.
Chapter 16
The next day, Kathi again dials the number for Exeter Union High School. This time she specifically asks to speak with Percy Hickman. The salon is nearly empty, but still she keeps her voice down as if she’s not supposed to be making this call. Outside her window, a cinema employee is taking down the SOMMERSBY letters and replacing them with CLIFFHANGER, the new Sylvester Stallone movie she’s seen advertised on TV.
Last night she debated whether to confront Steve and decided she was too afraid. Something in her gut told her she needed more answers before she could talk to her husband.
“Hello, this is Percy Hickman.”
“I’m the one who called about ordering the 1967 yearbook,” Kathi says. “It just arrived yesterday.”
Percy says he remembers her and asks if she was able to find what she was looking for.
“Not exactly,” she says. “I was hoping you could tell me a little more about this Eric Wright.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been married to him for the last twelve years.”
The line goes silent for a moment. “Excuse me?” the man says.
Kathi explains that she did find her husband, Steve, in the photographs—but that the name associated with the pictures is Eric Wright.
“That’s weird,” Percy says. “Are you sure it’s your husband?”
“He has less hair now,” she says, “but it’s him.”
Percy says that, to his knowledge, no one from Exeter has heard from Eric Wright in more than a decade. But when he was in school, the kid was well-liked and popular.
“We all thought the world of him,” Percy says. “He was fun, spontaneous—always had a smile on his face.”
That sounds like my Steve, Kathi thinks.
The two converse for a few more minutes, speculating about how strange it is that they’re talking about the same person yet know him by two different names. Kathi mentions that she’s been to Exeter only once because going back there was so painful for Steve.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Percy says. “Why is it so painful for him?”
“I guess because of his parents’ deaths.”
Percy laughs uncomfortably. “Eric’s parents aren’t dead,” he says. “I just saw his mom last week in the grocery store.”
Kathi goes cold. “What?”
“Yeah,” Percy says. “They still live in the same house where Eric grew up.”
Kathi almost drops the phone. Her whole body has gone numb. The news of Steve’s lies—his parents, his house, his name—has left her dumbstruck.
“He told me his house burned down,” Kathi says, her voice trembling.
Percy chuckles lightly. “We must not be talking about the same guy.”
Kathi has the yearbook in front of her, and there is no doubt that the boy in the picture is the man she married. Of that she is certain.
But she isn’t certain of much else at this point.
Chapter 17
Kathi is as nervous as she can ever remember being. She keeps pacing back and forth through the house, checking and rechecking the front window, waiting for Steve to pull up in the driveway. The yearbook is in a brown paper bag on the kitchen counter next to her. She isn’t sure how she should talk to Steve about what she’s found, but she’s decided to confront him straight on. No beating around the bush.
No games.
She knows about his background with the CIA and his time in prison. She knows he’s always wanted to keep a low profile. So although she would have preferred it if he’d been honest with her, she can at least understand why he’d use a different name.
But the lies about his parents’ deaths and about their house burning down?
Those are lies she doesn’t understand.
Those are lies that deceive only her.
She looks around at the house they own together, the nice wood-framed cabin a few miles out of town. When they’d looked for a place to buy, she’d been drawn to the giant stone fireplace, the oak beams overhead spanning the open space in the vaulted ceiling, and the wood paneling along the walls.
“It’s homey,” Steve said when they looked at it with the real estate agent.
It’s more than that, Kathi thinks now. It’s home.
But now everything about their home feels cheapened by the knowledge that their relationship is built on lies.
In the fading evening light, Kathi spots the headlights of Steve’s pickup truck pulling into the driveway. She takes a deep breath and tries to control her trembling limbs.
Yet when Steve comes in, he takes one look at her and says, “What’s wrong, honey?”
He has always been in tune with her feelings, and she’s always loved him for that.
She thinks for a moment about skipping the confrontation. He hasn’t seen the yearbook yet. She could toss it in the garbage and forget the whole thing. Pretend she never saw it. She was happy when she was ignorant, wasn’t she? She’s afraid that bringing this up with Steve now will upend her whole life. What if they’re never able to get things back to the way they were?
I can’t walk
away from this, she thinks. I’ve always insisted that we be honest with each other. I’m not going to compromise on that now.
“Honey?” Steve says. “You’re worrying me. What’s wrong?”
“When were you going to tell me about Eric Wright?” she finally says.
For a fraction of a second, Steve’s expression falters and Kathi sees that her words have caught him off guard. But then his mask goes back on.
The liar’s mask he’s worn for their whole marriage.
“Who?” Steve says.
“Don’t lie to me,” Kathi pleads. “Not now. I’ve always thought our relationship was built on honesty. Please, don’t lie to me anymore.”
Steve squints, studying her. He looks serious—the smile is gone.
“What’s all this about, Kathi?”
She reaches into the paper bag and pulls out his yearbook. She holds it up so he can see the cover.
“I wanted to surprise you for our anniversary,” she says. “I felt bad that you didn’t have any pictures from when you were a kid.”
Seeing the yearbook, Steve laughs and steps forward to look at the book.
“That’s sweet,” he says, acting as if everything is going to be okay.
“You can imagine my surprise,” she says, opening to the bookmarked page with Steve’s—or Eric Wright’s—senior picture, “when I found a different name next to your face.”
Steve looks at his own photograph with an amused expression, his face still twisted into a half grin.
“Kathi, my love,” he says, “I told you I was on the run. I told you the CIA was looking for me. You didn’t really think Steve Marcum was my real name, did you?”
Kathi hates the way he’s talking to her, the condescending tone of an adult speaking down to a child who has just made an immature conclusion about something beyond her comprehension.
“I guess I could have told you, but what good would it have done?” he says. “I don’t feel like I am that person anymore. The boy in that picture might be Eric Wright, but I’m not. I’m Steve Marcum.”
Till Murder Do Us Part Page 5