by Abbi Cook
I shake my head, but I honestly don't know the answer to his question. "I don't think so. Like a weak heart or high cholesterol? Do you mean like that?"
"Anything you can think of."
"No, I don't think so."
"Can you think of any reason anyone would want to hurt your husband, ma'am?" the younger man asks, speaking for the first time.
I turn my head to look at him as I try to imagine anyone other than Alexei or me wanting to kill Adam. "No, but I don't know much about his business. The people he worked with could probably tell you more about that."
My answer is met with a strange look from Officer Anderson, but he doesn't follow up with a second question. Instead, the older man says, "We're going to need your mother's name and address so we can speak to her. It's standard procedure because we have to check out your alibi."
Alibi. Just hearing that word makes me feel sick. God only knows what my mother will say about my being at her house last night.
"I don't need an alibi. I didn't do anything."
"We just have to check everything out, ma'am."
I tell him what he needs to know and they thank me before standing up and expressing how sorry they are for my loss. I don't see them out, unable to get up as the reality of what's happened finally sinks in.
Adam's dead. I'd planned on leaving and never looking back, never speaking to my husband again, and now he's gone.
I can barely admit the truth to myself, but I don't know if my tears are for him or for me. Or if they're tears of sadness or relief.
Or of fear at the thought that the man I love had a part in his death.
As much as I don’t want to, I have to know. I run upstairs and call him, unsure if I can ask the question I need to.
“Natalie, who was at the door?”
I grip the phone tightly as my hands begin to shake. “You know it couldn’t be Adam, don’t you?”
The silence that meets my question gives me my answer.
“I have to go, Alexei. The police were just here to let me know Adam’s dead, and now they’re calling my mother to check out my alibi.”
“Little bird, you knew this was going to happen.”
My emotions unwind inside me at hearing his pet name for me, and I begin to cry. “I guess I did. I just didn’t know what it would feel like to find out and instantly wonder if the man I love did this. I have to go.”
“Wait for me. I’ll be there in a few minutes. You shouldn’t stay there anymore.”
“I’m going to stay at my mother’s for a few days. I have a funeral to plan. You didn’t think about that, did you? This is what happens with the people left behind after you do what you do.”
“Little bird…”
Before he says another word, I stop him. “Don’t call me that now. My name is Natalie. Natalie Anchoff. The widow of Adam Anchoff. The wife who needs an alibi so the police can eliminate her from suspicion.”
“Natalie, stop. Don’t do this.”
I swallow hard, unsure what to say or do now. Of course I knew what he planned to do. I just never thought about what would happen after that. I end the call without saying goodbye before I burst into tears.
Chapter Fifty-One
Natalie
My mother's phone rings twice before she answers. I don't give her a chance to say anything before I blurt out, "The police just left. Adam's dead. They’re coming to talk to you about my alibi. I told them I stayed at your house last night."
She answers calmly, "I see. I'll make sure they understand there is no way in this world that you would ever hurt Adam, much less have any part in his death, but you know how it is. They always suspect the spouse first."
I find her matter-of-fact way of dealing with this unnerving. I'd assumed she'd be beside herself considering how much she thought of my husband, but now that he's gone, she seems removed from the reality of his passing.
"You need to come stay here for a while, Natalie. I don't think you should be alone right now. Pack a bag with your things and come over. I'll be here all day."
Her offer comforts me, but I don't know if I want to go back there, even though that’s what I told Alexei. While she may not understand this, I feel like there's a lot unresolved because of what I found out about Lauren.
"I don't know. It feels odd leaving my house now," I say, unsure what to do or where to go right now.
"You're going to have to deal with a lot of issues soon enough on your own. Come stay here for a few nights. Trust me. You don't want to be alone. I can tell you that from experience from when your father died."
Her mention of my father's death confuses me. "But you weren't alone when Daddy died, Mom. I was already born."
For a moment, she doesn't say anything and I wonder if the call dropped. Then, sounding flustered, she says, "Well, yes, of course, but you were just an infant, so it was like I was alone. I had no one to talk to, no one to commiserate with. Just come here so you're not alone tonight."
"Okay. I'll come over in a little while," I relent, knowing there's no point in arguing with my mother on this.
"Good. Be sure to bring enough things for a few days. You may end up deciding that you want to stay for longer. I'll see you then."
She ends the call, and I'm left sitting there wondering what's real and what's not. I look over at Adam's phone still sitting on the placemat where he always sat and realize the simple fact that he's not coming back. He's never coming back. That's real.
That truth still seems unreal, though. Adam's never coming back. Because of Alexei. So many questions swirl around in my brain. Did I make him think he had to for me? What was Adam doing in that apartment complex parking lot? Was that where the woman he was cheating on me with lived?
Then again, what does it matter? Who cares why Alexei did it? He killed Adam. Who cares why my husband was in that parking lot? It doesn’t matter.
Worry suddenly surges through me. Will the police find out? What will happen to Alexei if they do? Will they arrest him?
Oh, God. That can’t happen!
No, it won’t. He’s done this before. It’s his job. He won’t get caught.
His job. I silently say that to myself and close my eyes. The man I love is a killer. Not just my husband’s killer but other people’s. A hit man who kills people for money.
I can’t think about that anymore. Who he is. What he does. How much I wish all of this didn’t make me afraid of him.
My mind shifts into the most logical mode I can manage, and I begin to list all the things I’ll have to do for Adam’s funeral. But I was married to him for years, and I know little more about him at this moment than I did than on our wedding day. Fifteen years older than me, he owned a real estate development company. I don't know any of the people he worked with. Not their names, where they live, nothing. He never once in the entire time we were together mentioned even a single one of them in any conversation with me.
No wonder the police look at me with such suspicion in their eyes. What kind of wife doesn't know any of her husband's business associates? After being married to someone for over six years, I should know something about him, but the truth is, I know very little.
And now I have to arrange a funeral for a man I barely knew. I don't think I can do this. My mother's right. I need to go there for a few days.
I do very little commiserating at my mother's house because just like with Lauren's disappearance, my mother doesn't want to discuss Adam's death either. By the second day, I tire of sitting around getting lost in my head thinking about Alexei and ignoring his texts while she tends to her garden, so I call Dr. Trevino's office and hope to get an appointment that day.
The receptionist sounds different when I ask her if the doctor has any available times today, like she's more sympathetic than usual. Is it possible she knows about Adam? I dismiss the thought as silly, but then again, I have absolutely no idea if she knew him or not.
"The doctor would like you to come in immediately, if that's
possible, Natalie. Can you get here this morning?" she asks in a polite voice so foreign to her.
"Okay. I can leave now and be there within the hour, if traffic isn't too bad."
"He'll see you then. Thank you."
Fifty-eight minutes later, she escorts me into Dr. Trevino's office and leaves me with a tepid smile that makes me think she must know something about what's happened. Or maybe it's all in my mind. I don't know. I feel like I'm saying that all the time now, but it's the truth. I don't know.
My therapist extends his arm to offer me my usual chair for our sessions and takes a seat in his usual place. His notepad and pen sit waiting for him on the little table next to his chair, and I can't help but notice how similar the officer's was to his.
Before he begins, I say, "I'm guessing you thought it would be a good idea to get me in here as soon as possible because of what happened. I'm not sure I'm dealing with it well, but I'm trying."
Dr. Trevino narrows his eyes in clear confusion. "I don't know what you mean, Natalie. I only told Linda to offer you an appointment today because I knew how distraught you were last time when you had to wait a day to come in. What's happened?"
All my suppositions about her knowing Adam fly out the window, leaving me wondering if I'm able to be a good judge of anything these days. Taking a deep breath, I make my announcement of my husband's death to the doctor.
"Adam was found dead in his car the other night. The police aren't sure what happened—if he died of natural causes or if it was murder."
I promised I wouldn’t lie to Dr. Trevino anymore, but I can’t bring myself to admit what Alexei did. I just can’t.
The shock I'd expected to see that day I revealed my true name settles into the doctor's face, and his mouth drops open for a moment before he regroups and forces it closed. "I am so sorry, Natalie. How are you feeling? I know you're probably still in shock, so if you'd like to make this for another day, I'll absolutely understand."
Lowering my head, I answer with the truth I think I can only share with him. "I don't know how I feel. I went to my mother's the other night because I didn't want to be around him anymore. I think I must be in shock because I haven't cried too much."
"That's completely understandable. Don't beat yourself up about that, please."
I look up and see him wearing a supportive smile that makes me feel better. "I've been feeling guilty that I haven't been crying and sobbing all over the place. I never wished him dead, doctor. I didn't want to stay with him anymore and planned to leave him, but I didn't want this."
"Of course not. I'm sure no one thinks that."
"It's worse than that, though. Maybe I did want him dead. I had a nightmare of my husband covered in blood and trying to strangle me and I definitely would have killed him in that dream if I didn’t wake up. I'm not sure what's real or not anymore."
Dr. Trevino nods his head like what I'm saying is normal. It doesn't feel normal.
"Remember what I said about nightmares and waking dreams not being literal. They're often more symbolic. I can't imagine you wanting to harm a soul, to be honest."
Now he sounds like Alexei. If I’m so gentle, how has my life turned out like it has then?
I shake my head, unsure of so much. "I don't know what to think anymore. And now the police have been checking my alibi and I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to plan a funeral for my dead husband. I never knew his co-workers or anyone he associated with when he left the house, other than the people at the Preservation Society that I belong to and the country club. It's like we were two strangers living in the same house. No wonder we could never get pregnant. The universe probably knew we couldn't be good parents. We didn't even know the basics about one another."
My confession appears to surprise him, if the doctor's eyes opening wide for that briefest of moments is any indication. I know. It's not right. People who are married generally know something about the other person after six years.
"I caution you to not be too hard on yourself, Natalie. You're allowed to be human, and humans make mistakes. They don't see things the way they always should."
"My husband was fifteen years older than me, so I guess I thought he would go first. I just didn't realize I wouldn't be a blubbering mess because of it. My mother probably thinks I'm a heartless soul because I don't spend all day and night crying."
"Are you staying with your mother?" he asks, but I notice he isn't writing anything down during this session.
"Yes. I went there the other day because I didn't feel safe and you said I should leave if that happened. Adam attacked me, which is why you can probably still see the bruises through my makeup, and I left and went to her house. She asked me to come stay with her again today."
"So the last time you saw him you two fought? What about?" Dr. Trevino asks, of course having no idea that the answer involves him.
I sigh as I remember that last fight between Adam and me. "It started with my seeing you for therapy sessions. He told me I couldn't come here anymore, and I told him how much I thought you were helping me. Then he threatened me with being put away again, and I guess something inside me snapped. I got up from the kitchen table, but he was on me before I could get away. He was screaming about me being with Alexei, which seems pretty rich since he was sleeping with another woman. It was horrible. I was so scared. He had his knee pushed into my back, and he pressed my head to the floor. The first chance I could, I grabbed my purse and left. The last thing I saw as I backed out of the driveway was him standing there staring at me, and then I drove away."
"I’m so sorry you went through that. He had no right to hurt you. I want you to remember that because it’s only natural that now you’d be feeling guilty after his death."
I look away at hearing that since I know why I feel guilty and it has nothing to do with our last fight.
“Natalie, I want you to remember you’re strong. You decided not to stay around when someone was hurting you. That’s your right. It's also important to remember that he was an adult and responsible for his own choices.”
I want to change the subject. Suddenly, talking about Adam and his death irritates me. Or upsets me. I'm not sure which, but I don't want to talk about my dead husband anymore.
Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat and say, "When I was at my mother's the other night, I found evidence that my sister was pregnant before she disappeared."
Dr. Trevino's expression changes in rapid-fire succession from comforting to surprise to his usual calm. His voice shaky, he composes himself to say, "Okay. How did you find that out?"
"I found an at-home pregnancy test she took hidden away under her mattress. I tried to talk to my mother about it to find out if she knew about the baby, but she refused to discuss it at all."
Now Dr. Trevino casually picks up his notepad and pen and begins jotting down notes. I wonder if it's a protocol thing with therapists. Maybe they aren't supposed to take notes when someone's talking about their spouse dying. Then again, he takes notes about my sister disappearing without a trace, so what would be the difference? Maybe it's the mannerly thing to do, not taking notes when someone's husband suddenly dies.
"How do you feel about that? That your sister was pregnant," he asks and writes down the word FEELS.
"I'm not sure. I don't think I should feel anything about it, to be honest. Then again, I tried so hard to get pregnant for the past six years so I could give my husband what he wanted more than anything else in this world and I couldn't do it. But I was supposed to and she wasn't, so that makes a big difference."
My last statement makes the doctor look up in surprise. "What do you mean she wasn't supposed to?"
"She wasn't married. She was only sixteen. My mother would have been furious to find out she got pregnant without being married. That's why I'm pretty sure she didn't know because she would have made Lauren get rid of it."
"Do you know what happened to the baby?" he asks with a sad look in his eyes.
I hadn
't considered that question until this moment. Did she have an abortion? Or is she somewhere out there in the world pregnant and getting ready to be a mother at this second? I don't know, but I want to.
"I have no idea. I didn't think about that before you asked me the question. Jesus, there's so much I don't know about my sister. Put her in the column with Adam. People I don't know a damn thing about. How is that possible? I grew up with Lauren. How is it possible I don't know what she'd do with a baby?"
With each word, I get more frustrated. What kind of person am I that I know nothing about the damn people in my life? They vanish, and I know not a thing about who they were or what they did with their life? They die and the same thing happens. I've lost two of the people closest to me in the past six months and they're like ghosts to me.
Dr. Trevino gives my arm a gentle pat to calm me down. "Don't be too hard on yourself. As I said, people often feel like they didn't have enough time to get to know everything about someone who's left our lives. We can never know everything about a person, Natalie. It's just the way life is. You're not expected to know everything either."
That's not going to be enough this time. I may have willingly let myself be kept in the dark because my husband preferred it that way, but my sister's different. I need to know what she was going through. She may not have told any of us, but I can't believe she didn't want to. She probably just felt we were all too busy attending to our own lives.
Sadly, I have to admit to myself she wasn't wrong. That doesn't have to be the way it is now, though.
And just as that thought enters my mind, another one comes right behind it. "I want to find my sister. I want to know if I have a niece or a nephew by now. I have to find out if that’s why she left without saying a word to any of us. I can't let two people just disappear from my life and me not know who they really were."
"I want to caution you to be careful, Natalie. I know you've experienced a great loss with your husband's passing and you're feeling like you're to blame in some fashion, but sometimes it's very jarring to find out what was going on in a loved one's life. You may find out your sister wasn't the person you thought she was," he says calmly, like he's hoping to talk me out of what I want to do.