My Husband's Secret

by Kiersten Modglin

  “Clara?” There it was again, and this time I startled, opening one eye and then the other.

  The room I’d been asleep in wasn’t my bedroom.

  I blinked the sleep from my eyes and sat up.

  “What?” I asked quietly, sucking in a deep breath. “Where am—” I stopped, because the answer came to me nearly as quickly as the question.

  The supply room.

  At work.

  I lifted myself from the floor as the memories came back to me.

  Luke’s dead.

  He’s gone.

  I’ll never see him again.

  I can’t do this.

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I had no true work friends, now that Luke was gone, but Elizabeth was the next closest thing. The attending surgeon reached for my head, looking me over. Her red waves were tied back in a low ponytail, a stunning contrast to the black scrubs she wore.

  “I’m not hurt,” I said. I didn’t want her to know the truth, but as I answered, I saw her face registering the scent on my breath.

  Her expression went blank, her green eyes instantly serious. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I was holding a packet of gauze so tightly, when I opened my fist, it remained stuck to it. I peeled it from my skin and placed it back on the shelf. “I’ll go talk to Cooper.” I didn’t want to talk to our boss, but anything was better than the pitiful look I was getting from her. “I need to go home.”

  She placed her hand on my shoulder, stopping me from walking away. “You didn’t answer me.”

  I cocked my head to the side, asking an unspoken question.

  “Are you okay?” she asked again, this time slowly, taking her time with each word. Her eyes crinkled at the sides, proving she knew more than she was letting on. Luke and I were quiet about our relationship. A few people knew, but it wasn’t something we flaunted. Looking back, I realized it was likely because he was trying to keep me a secret, but at the time it made sense not wanting to be too bold with our status. We wanted our careers to be viewed separately from each other. I wanted people to take me seriously as a surgeon. Though I was older, Luke was more accomplished. I’d already seen how being a man gave him an unfair advantage, even if we’d had a level playing field, which we never did. I didn’t want anyone to think that any success I achieved was owed to him.

  “No,” I said finally, shoving past her on my way out of the storage room. My success wasn’t thanks to Luke, but it was possible the downfall of my career would be. I was not okay. In fact, I was not sure I’d ever be okay without him.

  What have I done?

  Chapter Six

  Alaina

  I was standing in front of a familiar house four times the size of my tiny apartment with wide eyes and my heart racing wild in my chest. The message on my phone made me nervous, but ignoring it would be worse. I needed to know what Naomi wanted to know—what Lucas’ wife wanted to know.

  Wife.

  The thought was a knife to the heart, ripping and stabbing what was left of my resolve. Not only had I lost the man I loved, the father of the child growing in my womb, but I’d found out he’d been lying to me for our entire relationship. Lying about more than I already knew he’d lied about. I didn’t know what to do with the truth, so I’d tucked it away for now. I planned to deal with it later, but grief had to come first.

  When Naomi sent me the Facebook message that morning, a huge part of me wanted to ignore it, but I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t the moment I read it.

  The police are asking questions about Lucas’ death. I need to know if I should tell them about your involvement with him. We should talk. Can you come to my house at one this afternoon?

  She included her address and I drove by it right away, but a drive-by didn’t do justice to pulling in the drive just now. It was incredible, all brown brick, two stories, with large windows and black shutters to match the front door, and an expansive front lawn with freshly mown lines. I couldn’t picture Lucas here. Not the man I knew. The man who ate Chinese takeout straight from the carton on my living room floor and drank cheap beer with me. The man who pulled off his tie the moment he arrived in my doorway and talked to me about art and foreign films. He wasn’t materialistic, the man I loved, but the man who lived in this house obviously was. I was finding it impossible to believe they were one and the same.

  I walked up the front lawn toward the door but stopped when I realized there was another woman standing in the shaded space before the front door, nearly hidden in the shadows. She swayed when she saw me, glancing over her shoulder. Tall, blonde, and incredibly skinny, she was beautiful for her age, which was probably double mine. I couldn’t remember her name, but I knew who she was. Lucas’…what, exactly? Girlfriend, I guess. She’d said she was dating Lucas for…twelve years. Just under half my life, but I was the one he’d chosen to marry. I was the one carrying his child. I had to believe I was the one he loved.

  “Alaina?” she asked, her voice deep and scarred from cigarettes. She’d been smoking just before she arrived, I’d bet, based on the scent that carried past me on the wind.

  I nodded, stepping up next to her. “Hi.”

  “Clara,” she reminded me of her name. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same thing you are, I’m guessing.” I jutted my chin toward the door. “Naomi contacted you, too?”

  Her gaze faltered, obviously uncomfortable, and she looked back at the door. “What do you think she wants to know?”

  “I know what I’d want to know…if the situation were reversed.”

  She waited for me to go on, but I didn’t bother, though the questions I’d have—the questions I assumed she had—were still on my tongue. Who killed my husband? Why did he choose you? Why wasn’t I enough? “Did you knock already?”

  She nodded, looking away. The awkwardness in the air was palpable, and I couldn’t help thinking, again, of the Lucas I knew so well. How could he have loved someone like Clara and someone like me the same? We were totally different. Clara looked tired and worn, while I was full of life. The fake tan she was sporting was sure to eventually give her cancer if the diet soda in her hand didn’t manage to first. Her boobs were fake, her teeth too white. I didn’t understand. How could he look at us and feel anything similar?

  The door finally swung open and the woman from the funeral stood in front of us. Naomi Martin. While Lucas claimed he hadn’t believed in social media, over the past week, I’d come to find out his wife did. Since the funeral, I’d spent many nights flipping between her Facebook albums—she wasn’t on Instagram—to catch a glimpse of what her life looked like with Lucas. My Lucas. But also hers. Also Clara’s.

  “Hi,” Naomi said, pulling me from my thoughts. She was dressed in a simple black top and jeans, a high ponytail holding her chestnut brown hair back. “Good. You’re both here. Thank you, ladies, for coming.” She stepped back from the door and held her arm out. “Come in, please.”

  Clara stepped through first, and I watched her steps slow as we made it across the threshold and into the home. The first room was a simple foyer with white, marble floors, and a curved set of stairs against the wall to our left led upstairs. Naomi led us to the left and past the stairs to a living room with high, vaulted ceilings and floor-to-ceiling drapes in a deep auburn color. The floors in this room were a stained ebony-brown hardwood straight from the magazines, but my eye was immediately drawn to the large, black and white canvases with family portraits of them. They were beautiful together, Lucas, Naomi, and their baby girl, who I’d gathered from Facebook to be named Rebecca. He looked happy, the smile he wore was undeniable, and there was no stiffness to the way he was with her.

  It hurt more than seeing it online because, here, it was real. He lived here within these walls with her. He may have even hung the pictures I was staring at. It took the breath from my lungs to look over them, and I felt as though I might pass out.

  “Please, sit,” Naomi instructed, right o
n time, walking past us and taking a seat on a gray armchair with dark brown legs. Clara sat across from her on the matching gray sofa, while I took the recliner at the far side of the room, keeping my sweater pulled away from my belly. I didn’t want them to notice the bump. I couldn’t handle it yet.

  Naomi watched me with a stiff, almost pained expression, and the moment I sat, I realized why. The chair smells like him. The smell of his mint and bergamot cologne hit me all at once, and I felt tears sting my eyes. I wanted to hold him. It was an embarrassing realization while sitting across from his wife and other girlfriend…lover, whatever she was, but it was still there, and I couldn’t shy away from it. I wanted to see him again, to kiss him. To be with him.

  There was a tray with three empty glasses and a pitcher of cucumber water on a white, marble coffee table in front of us, and Naomi scooted toward the front of her seat, gesturing toward the pitcher. “Would you like anything to drink?”

  Fat chance. I’d learned my lesson about drinking anything I didn’t prepare myself. “I’m okay.”

  At the same time, Clara said, “Please.” She cleared her throat for the hundredth time as Naomi poured her a glass, then she poured one for herself. She took a sip, letting it settle on her tongue before she began.

  “So, I know you probably weren’t expecting to hear from me. If I’m being honest, I had hoped I wouldn’t have to hear or think about either of you again.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was being polite or verbally assaulting us. Her expression was still and cool, yet her tone was warm.

  “But, I’m afraid this couldn’t wait. I know we all probably have questions about Lucas…about what he meant to each of us and how exactly he made…” she gestured to each of us, “this work, but right now my main concern is to get answers about what happened the day he died.”

  Her words sat squarely on my gut, and I swallowed. A cold sweat formed on my brow. What does she mean? What does she know? What is she asking?

  “The police are still treating his death as suspicious, and…if either of you know anything, I’d…well, I’d really like to know.” She brushed a stray tear away from the corner of her eye, the shell she was hiding behind disappearing all at once. “I’d like to be able to give my daughter some answers about what happened to her father one day.”

  “Are you asking if…we… What? If we killed him?” I asked, venom in my tone. Was she serious?

  “Of course not,” she said. “I’d just like to know what happened. What was going on with him on the day that he died. Where his head was. If it was an accident, or God forbid, suicide, then so be it. But if there’s more to it…the police would like to know, and frankly, so would I. Had either of you seen him that day? That week? Is there anything you can tell me about what might’ve been going through his mind? Maybe he’d been having trouble with a patient…or someone else? Is there anything suspicious you can think of at all?” She ran her hands over her knees. “I just want to know the truth.”

  “The truth about what, Naomi? What do you think happened?” Clara asked, reaching for her hand across the table. She froze, pulling it back. “I’m sorry. I feel like I know you. Luke told me so much…” She trailed off, rubbing her finger across her bottom lip. “It’s not my place.”

  “Lucas lied to us all about…” Naomi rolled her eyes, batting back tears. “About so much. I don’t want all of the truth. I’m…not sure I can handle all of it, but I’d like to know enough to get the police to close the case. To put this to bed so my family and I can move on.” She sniffled, rubbing a finger under her nose delicately. “As far as I know, the police don’t know anything about either of you, but if you can help them, help us… Well, it would be very appreciated. If you loved Lucas like I assume you did, we all want the same thing, right? I just want to know the truth of what happened.”

  Clara took another sip of her water, sitting back as we each waited for anyone else to speak first. We each had secrets, that much was obvious. We had reasons to want Lucas’ case to be closed. Whoever spoke first, it wouldn’t be me. I had no idea what I wanted to say, other than nothing. I wanted the conversation to be over. I wanted to go home, where I was safe.

  I swallowed, rubbing a hand over the small bump beneath my top without thought.

  “Right now, the police don’t know you two were involved with my husband. If we can resolve the matter between us, I don’t see any reason to involve them. I know we’re all hurting right now, and shocked, of course, but that’s no reason we can’t work together to get to the truth. Is it?” Naomi asked.

  Clara cleared her throat, and I was sure she was going to begin to tell her version of things. “Maybe you should tell us what you know first. Just so we know…what happened between you two and where we need to fill in the blanks.”

  “What are you implying?” Naomi demanded.

  “Nothing, of course. It’s just… Well, we loved him too, like you said. I’d like to know the truth just as well as you would.”

  They both looked at me, waiting for me to agree. The truth. It was a funny thing, wasn’t it?

  Chapter Seven

  Naomi

  Ten Days Before Lucas’ Death

  A hand slid over my torso, rousing me from sleep. I rolled over, one eye squeezed shut as I inhaled sharply. He pulled me into him, his fingers trailing across my skin toward my back.

  “Good morning, beautiful.”

  I rubbed the messy, dark hair from his eyes. “Good morning.” My voice was gruff with sleep, but he pressed his lips to mine, waking me up completely. “What’s gotten into you this morning?”

  He kissed me again, his lips fresh and minty. He smelled of soap; he’d already been in the shower. His eyes trailed across the room, and I followed them to where a tray of food sat on my dresser. The smile on my lips grew shamelessly.

  “Happy Birthday,” he whispered, reminding me. His face pressed into the side of mine. He kissed my temple. “I love you.”

  I rubbed my eyes, popping my back as I sat up. “Thank you, baby.” He jumped from the bed and rushed across the room, grabbing the tray and carrying it toward me. “Where’s Becca?”

  “I didn’t want to wake her.”

  I took a sip of my coffee, enjoying the perfect amount of caramel creamer. Lucas was always good about remembering just how I liked it. “You could’ve been a barista in another life, you know?”

  He twisted a piece of the comforter between his fingers. “How do you know I wasn’t?”

  “Maybe you should be again,” I teased. “You might be better at this than surgery.”

  “For my patients’ sake, I hope not,” he said with a snort, then sighed. “Maybe one day when we’re living in the south of France, I’ll open up a coffee shop.”

  “And we can live above it in a tiny apartment with a balcony,” I said, playing along with the fantasy. “Of course, we’d have to summer back home where there’s air conditioning.”

  He laughed. “Yes, of course. Our shop would only be open in the winter, and you could sit on the balcony every morning all snuggled in a blanket and smell my coffee brewing.”

  “Or you could just bring me a cup of coffee every morning. Then I wouldn’t have to just smell it.”

  “I could do that here,” he said, one brow raising. “And then we wouldn’t have to worry about vandals destroying the shop in the summer. Can you imagine insurance on a vacant restaurant six months out of the year?”

  “Fair enough. I guess France will just have to wait.” I giggled, taking another sip of the coffee. “What should we do today?”

  “It’s your day, gorgeous. What do you want to do?”

  I stared at him incredulously. “You mean you don’t have to work?”

  He smiled with just one side of his mouth. “Just for a few hours. I’ve already told the chief I’m coming home early to spend it with my beautiful wife on her birthday.”

  “And Cooper was okay with that?”

  He ran a hand down his side playfully
. “When you look this good, you can get away with almost everything.”

  I rolled my eyes, setting my coffee down and lifting the tray to place it on my nightstand. “Prove it,” I teased, turning back to him. His hands traveled up my waist, tickling my skin. Hands of a surgeon—every movement was precise and intentional as he spread the warmth of his palms across my bare skin.

  “It’d be my pleasure,” he whispered, connecting his lips with mine. The pit of my stomach tingled with desire as he shifted his weight on top of my body, his kisses growing fevered.

  “Mommy?” Becca’s tiny voice interrupted us, and Lucas rolled off me, breathing heavily.

  “Good morning, pumpkin,” I said, not missing a beat as I held out my arms for her. She watched us from where she stood in the hallway. I cast a silly glance at Lucas, who shook his head, an exasperated look on his face. He patted the cover on top of my tummy.

  “Come wish Mommy a happy birthday, Bec,” he said. At his invitation, she hurried across the room, bouncing up on top of me and giggling.

  “Happy Birthday, Mommy,” she cheered, bouncing up and down. Lucas pulled her over, kissing her forehead. “How old are you?”

  “Old,” I said with a laugh.

  “You have to take care of her while Daddy’s at work, okay? Deal?”

  She twisted in his arms with glee. “Deal!”

  He leaned forward, kissing my forehead. “Don’t lift a finger today, you hear me? I have two surgeries this morning, both minor, but I’ll be home right after.”

  I nodded, watching him leave the bed and then the room. I looked at Becca, who was snuggled into my arm, her brown curls messy from sleep.

  “Want some breakfast?” I pulled the tray over onto the bed again. “Sit still, okay?” I warned as she sat up, fully prepared to devour the breakfast.

  She clapped her hands together excitedly just as my phone chimed. “Okay!”

  As she dug into the biscuit waiting for her, I reached for my phone, unplugging it and pulling it to me. Blinking and leaning my head back, I read the message on the screen.