by Lauren Clark
“Chris Moore, please.”
“May I take a message?
“This is his wife, Melissa. It’s rather important.” Okay, that was a stretch. “Could you please let him know I’m on the line?”
Musak filled the phone.
Then, “So sorry, Mrs. Moore. He’s in a private meeting offsite with Tyler Johnson.”
I willed myself to be polite, but slipped into frustrated mode when I heard Tyler’s name. “Offsite?”
“At the Crowne Plaza, I believe.”
That’s a hotel. What is Chris doing at a hotel in the middle of the day? What’s going on?
At my extended silence, the operator’s voice softened. “Is it an emergency?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted. I hesitated, then backed down. “It can wait.”
“Mrs. Moore, please be assured that I will give him the message as soon as Ms. Johnson wraps up the meeting. Now that she’s made partner, she’s very peculiar about these things.”
Wait. I bit my lip. My heart thumped. She?
I had to ask. I had to make sure. “Tyler Johnson is… a woman? ”
Chapter 49
My husband is having an affair. With his brand-new boss. Oh, I am such a fool.
I locked myself in the dressing room of the station to blow off some steam. I paced, I ranted. I cried a little.
At one point, Rick knocked on the door. “Melissa, what’s wrong?”
I didn’t answer. Like he was going to make it better.
“I know you’re in there. Your car is in the parking lot. Besides, Drew is bound to ask where you are, so I need to be able to invent something that’s going on.”
I still didn’t answer.
“Melissa, don’t force me to come in there and make a scene. I’ll break the door down if I have to,” Rick threatened.
The thought of Rick ninja-kicking anything humored me slightly. I reached over and twisted the lock.
“Come in,” I mumbled. A quick check in the mirror showed my face was blotchy. Great. Now, I’d need a freezing-cold shower and a slab of makeup to look halfway decent.
“You know I’m seven steps away from being a black belt,” Rick added.
I opened the door. “You are a terrible liar, Rick.”
“Worked, though, didn’t it?” He slipped in and shut the door behind him. He clicked the lock into place. “What in the hell is the matter with you?” He frowned. When I didn’t answer, he continued. “Well, whoever it is, I’ll hire Chuck Norris to hurt them.”
I held up my hand for him to stop asking questions. “I can’t tell you,” I snuffled and blew my nose into a tissue.
“I’m not leaving without a good explanation.”
I leaned back in the chair and pressed my fingertips onto my head. “Everything. It’s everything.”
Rick shifted his weight against the door. His voice was soothing. “Can you be more specific? It can’t be everything. Did you talk to Drew about the anchor job?”
“Not yet.”
“Did you tell Chris about the other night? About me?”
“Oh, Lord, no!” I sat up, my back ramrod straight. I’d actually thought about coming clean to Chris about the Rick situation, but now I wasn’t sure I’d ever breathe a word. What was the point, if our marriage was over?
“Right, right.” Rick nodded vigorously. “Okay.” He thought for a moment. “It’s not work. It’s not me. It’s not your daughter?”
I shook my head.
“Chris has a girlfriend?” he guessed.
The word rattled me. I clenched my hands into fists to keep from shaking. I couldn’t look Rick in the face.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Do you know if it’s true?” he asked. “Do you have any proof?”
That stopped me. Well, I didn’t know for sure. He had been working late, though that wasn’t unusual. And Chris hadn’t lied about Tyler, but he hadn’t told me the whole story either.
And they were at a hotel. Today.
“Melissa, listen to me,” Rick urged. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I can speculate on a few things.”
He pushed away from the door, took a step closer, and crouched down to eye level. “All I’m going to say is find out for sure what’s going on first . You go home early tonight if you need to, I can handle the ten. But for right now, pull yourself together, especially if you want this job .” Rick emphasized the words for effect.
I swallowed hard and squeezed my hands together as tight as I could. He was right. I had to get composed and be professional. “We’re supposed to have dinner tonight after the six. I guess I can talk to him then.”
Rick nodded.
If Chris left, I had to have a job. Kelly’s tuition, a house payment, the car. Mother. My mind zigzagged with dizzying speed.
How can I face him at dinner tonight? What will I say?
Rick patted my shoulder. “Melissa, I’m not telling you what to do. But if you don’t want every single person at the station knowing your business, figure out a way to keep your feelings in check until after the show. You’ll have plenty of time this weekend to figure it all out.”
He paused at the door and looked at me for a long time. “Pull yourself together. You can do it.” He checked the clock on the wall. “You’ve got an hour. I’ll see you downstairs.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey Melissa?” Rick paused.
“Yes?”
“Maybe it’s not what you think.”
Chapter 50
As Rick predicted, I made it through the six o’clock newscast unscathed. Now, on to round two.
I parked my car and surveyed the scene. Even from the outside, Blue Bistro looked unusually crowded for seven o’clock on a Friday night. People milled around outside on the stone-covered terrace, glasses of wine in their hands, waiting for a table. Reservations were hard to get, even a month in advance. Chris must have pulled some strings to make it happen this soon.
Inside, the restaurant bustled with activity. The servers carried huge trays, high in the air, loaded down with shrimp, steak, and cocktails. Whispered conversations and soft piano music blended together at the bar.
“Moore, party of two,” I said to the petite hostess who wore a headset and too much black eyeliner. She wrinkled her forehead and scanned the long list in front of her, using her pencil. “Seven o’clock,” I added, trying to be helpful.
“Your table’s ready.” With a blank expression, the hostess tapped the pencil tip on the paper, circled our name, and motioned for me to follow. She slipped two menu cards into the crook of her arm and headed for the back of the restaurant without another word. As I trailed behind, she shuffled her feet along the dark wood floor and bobbed her head like she was listening to an iPod.
Every few steps along the walkway, people at tables on either side looked up from their dinner conversations. Some wiggled their fingers hello. I smiled automatically and lifted my hand to wave back, hoping I’d composed myself not to look upset.
Chris was running late. He had called and left a message during one of the hundred trips I made to the bathroom that afternoon. When I played it back, he sounded upset. Shaken up, if I had to describe it.
Well, that makes two of us.
But Rick was right. Jumping to conclusions was not going to help. We made it through the six o’ clock show. Now, I needed to get the facts. I added my own mantra: There was plenty of time to be hysterical later.
“Your server will be with you shortly,” the hostess said, and pulled out my chair. She stared at me intently. As I slid into my seat, the couple at the next table began to whisper.
“Are you Melissa Moore, from WSGA?” The hostess screwed up her face, curious, and handed me a menu. Her voice was low, but apparently, the people nearby could hear just fine. They waited for my response, too.
I smiled and nodded.
The hostess brightened and leaned in to whisper, still clutching the other menu. “You’re doing such a good job!”
“Thank you, it’s been a wonderful experience.” My face flushed red.
The couple at the next table went back to sipping wine. I pressed my lips together and glanced down at my lap. Now, I was thankful to be in the very back of the restaurant. At least the only audience behind me was a row of leafy palms. I inhaled deeply and opened the menu.
I scanned the entrees while the couple at the nearby table got up to leave. The woman caught my eye and walked over cautiously.
“Sorry to disturb you, but we couldn’t help overhearing that you’re Melissa Moore, who works at WSGA?”
She was about my age, with a pleasant face, dark hair, and glasses. Her husband tugged at her arm and looked mortified that she was interrupting me.
The woman ignored him. “Are you celebrating? What’s the happy occasion?”
“We’re having a date night,” I explained. Surely, he’d be here any minute. What was keeping him? I prayed Chris would come up behind the couple and tap the woman on the shoulder. No such luck.
“Oh, fun!” the woman gushed. “Have a good time.” Her husband practically carried her away from the table.
The server appeared at my side. “Wine, ma’am?”
“A bottle of Pinot Grigio, please.”
I checked my cell phone. Half-past seven. Was it really that late? I debated calling, then put the phone away. If some sort of work crisis kept him, Chris knew better than to let me sit here. Didn’t he?
The server appeared with a huge ice bucket and the bottle of wine. He poured my glass, and let me sample it.
“Perfect,” I said. He nodded and re-corked the wine. The ice crunched and crackled as he nestled the bottle down to chill.
“Will your party be much later?” The server frowned. “May I bring you something else?”
My stomach rumbled. Up until this point, I hadn’t given food much thought. “He’ll be along any minute now.” I gestured at his empty seat. “You know how Fridays can be, trying to get out of the office, all of the last minute projects and phone calls.” My voice wavered.
I realized my waiter probably had no idea what I was talking about, since he looked like he was still in college. He nodded politely anyway. “Of course.”
The menu bobbled in my hand. “How about an appetizer? The bruschetta?” It was a trusted favorite of mine, not Chris’s, but he had lost his vote on this one.
“Sounds delightful.”
I shifted in my chair, which was beginning to get uncomfortable. Was he seated at another table and I didn’t know it? Without being too obvious, I scanned the restaurant, looking for a familiar face. Across the room, my doctor, Jennifer Freeman, was having dinner with her staff. She caught my eye and waved.
At least another fifteen minutes ticked by. I was beyond upset and annoyed. The waiter returned and filled my water glass again while I checked my cell phone for messages. Nothing.
By now, half the ice had melted in the champagne bucket. Chris wasn’t coming. It was time to go home.
“May I have the bill, please?” I asked quietly when my waiter walked by.
On command, he produced a slim black folder from his pocket and handed it to me. I opened the case, glanced inside. It was blank. “There’s nothing here,” I asked, confused.
“Taken care of,” the waiter answered. “A friend.”
“Oh my goodness.” Who? My doctor? The lady with the glasses? “Thank you,” I murmured, glad someone wanted to take care of me.
I pushed back from the table. My chair slid back easily. The moment I stood up, Chris ran into the restaurant.
Chapter 51
“Melissa!” Chris was breathing hard and disheveled, his collar folded up in the back and a smudge of something dark near his tie. He looked like he’d been in a bar fight. “Let me explain.”
Beyond furious, I steeled myself, especially now that he was causing a scene. All over the restaurant, people stared. My pulse beat double-time and my hands shook as I steadied myself and sat back down the table.
“Why should I let you explain?” I whispered, trying to keep my emotions in check. “You’re almost an hour late and didn’t even bother to call.”
Chris hung his head. His shoulders slumped.
“I can’t stay here. I’m too upset.” I picked up his empty wine glass and waved it an inch from Chris’s face. “And I still have to do the ten with Rick.”
Eyes red-rimmed, he clenched his fists. “If you would just cool off for a second, and let me explain—”
“C-cool off?” I stammered and set the glass down. My eyes came to rest on the dirt spot on his shirt, which looked strangely like lipstick. Dark lipstick that wasn’t anything like the shade I wore. I couldn’t breathe.
He looked up at me, and then followed my eyes to the smudge.
Before Chris could react, I reached back, scooped up a huge handful of half-melted ice from the bucket, and didn’t bother to aim. Chris winced visibly when it hit his skin.
I raised an eyebrow and held one finger near the mark next to his tie. “Try taking a cold shower next time,” I whispered angrily.
“Melissa.”
“I have to go back to work.”
Eyes straight ahead, I stormed out of Blue Bistro with my head held high. My husband sat motionless where I left him.
Once outside, I fell apart and stumbled to the car, tears blinding me. Thankfully, it was getting dark. Maybe the few people still waiting for a table on the veranda couldn’t see my face.
My hands trembled as I reached for my keys and fumbled for the button to unlock the car door. Shaking, I managed to climb into the driver’s seat. Hands clutched to the wheel, I pulled out of the parking lot so fast I heard gravel kick up behind my wheels.
My rearview mirror caught a disheveled Chris coming out of the restaurant, his cell phone clutched in his hand.
I accelerated and sped down the street. My cell phone began to buzz. Chris, I saw from the caller ID. When I didn’t answer, he hung up and called again. And again.
As I pulled into the station parking lot, I switched off the phone. Talking to Chris wasn’t going to do any good right now. I didn’t want to listen. What was the truth? What was a lie? There was some point in time when I used to be able to tell the difference. Now I wasn’t sure anymore.
Chapter 52
After the ten o’clock news, I went straight home. Chris was downstairs in the office, waiting for me. It was late, almost midnight; he was probably dozing.
I managed to get up the stairs and lock him out of the bedroom before he realized I was in the house. I switched off the light, crawled under the sheets, and turned up the volume on the television.
Minutes later, I could see the shadow of his feet where he stood. He hesitated before he put his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it. He knocked once, twice, then again, louder.
I didn’t answer or move.
“Melissa.” Chris’s voice sounded garbled and broken. “Open the door. I need to talk to you.”
I inhaled and blew out the air in my lungs before I tried to speak. Every word hurt. “No.”
Chris was quiet then. His hand slid down the door. He jiggled the doorknob again. It wouldn’t budge more than a few millimeters in any direction, though I knew if he wanted to get inside the room bad enough, he could smash the door down or break the lock.
“Melissa. You have good reason to be upset with me,” he called. “I know that. I’m sorry I was late. I apologize a thousand times. I couldn’t get to the phone. I thought you’d already left the restaurant until I saw your car in the parking lot.”
A likely story. No phone? At a meeting? How much of his story did he think I was going to buy into?
Every muscle in my body ached. I rolled over on my side. It wasn’t healthy to be this upset, Dr. Freeman said so. I closed my eyes and pressed my head into the pillow. Legs curled up, I pulled the blanket over me and held the edge under my chin.
“Melissa—”
I sat up and cleared my throat.
With the remote, I turned down the volume of the television low enough so that he could hear me clearly. “Chris. Go away.”
“I’m not leaving. Now or later.”
That was Chris’s answer. Fine. He could rot out there and lie in the hallway all night if that’s what he wanted to do.
One last time, I took the remote and turned up the volume loud enough to drown out anything Chris tried to say. He could beg all he wanted. He could cry and scream. With the pillow over my head, I tried to sleep. Except that didn’t work. Every time I drifted off into what seemed like a peaceful slumber, five minutes later I’d jerk awake with some horrible thought.
How long has this been going on? Why didn’t I know? How am I going to explain this to Kelly? To Candace? Where am I going to live? Should I move out? I can move to California, to be near Kelly. But wait. Shouldn’t Chris be the one to leave? He’s the one who screwed up, after all.
No, I wasn’t going to even think about it now. I just wanted to be left alone.
Propped up on my elbows on the bed, I peered into the darkness at the sliver of light from the hallway. No visible shoes or feet. Not even a hint of a shadow.
What time was it anyway? Infomercials were on instead of the news or sitcoms, so it had to be late. I squinted at the clock on the dresser, but couldn’t make out any numbers.
I grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels aimlessly. It was one o’clock in the morning. I had to get some sleep. I turned down the volume, a little at a time, expecting Chris to be in the hallway and start in again with the begging and pleading.
Nothing. The house was still. He’d probably left.
On tiptoes, I made it into the kitchen without making a sound. When I flipped on the light, Chris was waiting.
“Melissa.”
“Chris, I said no.”
“Please. Five minutes.”
I was wide-awake and angry. He might as well give me all of the rotten news all at once. “Fine. I’m listening.”
Chris paused and cleared his throat. He leaned back and put his head against the wall. “I’ve had some time to think about how this all must have appeared to you. How I’ve behaved. I’m not sure what you think, but I’d like the chance to clear a few things up. About work. About Tyler. And about my parents.”