The Wife Who Knew Too Much

8

Delicate morning light streamed through the tall windows of the ski house, illuminating Connor’s face as he slept. We lay on the sofa, naked and tangled in each other’s arms, partially covered by a cashmere throw. I was cold and stiff, and I needed to pee. But I held perfectly still, fearing that, the moment he woke, my time with him would come to an end.

He stirred, opening his eyes.

“Hi,” he said, and kissed me lightly on the lips.

“Hi.”

This was pretend. There was someplace else he ought to be, another woman he belonged to. He knew that better than I did. Anxiety flared in his eyes as reality set in. He sat up abruptly and grabbed his phone from the coffee table. The screen as he unlocked it was covered with the bubbles of multiple text messages. I watched him scroll through hurriedly, watched his shoulders slump, watched as he rushed to pull on his underwear. And I knew what it meant: He’d leave, and I wouldn’t see him again.

“Was that your wife?”

He didn’t reply.

“It’s okay. I understand,” I said, reaching for my clothes.

“No. Just—there are some things I should deal with.”

“Sure.”

“I wish it were different,” he said.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

I couldn’t look him in the eye for fear I’d choke up and beg to stay. Or else, get angry, which I had no right to do, since I’d known what this was, and did it anyway.

We got dressed in silence.

Outside, the air was fresh and cool, smelling of pine and green leaves. I took a breath to banish my sadness, but the beauty of the day only magnified it. The house had lost its air of menace and looked like the glamorous millionaire’s ski retreat it was, the kind of place I’d normally never get inside, unless I was catering a party. I wished we could stay longer, that we had the right to be there together. But we didn’t. Our night together had been stolen from its rightful owner, Connor’s wife. She was the one who belonged with him in places like this. He must feel that, too. He fell into a troubled silence that hung over us like a cloud all the way back to the Baldwin Grill, where I’d left my car.

The restaurant didn’t open for hours, and the parking lot was empty. In the light of day, the restaurant looked shabby, in need of paint, the parking lot riddled with potholes from spring rains. This was my life, not that ski chalet. Connor pulled up next to my dented ten-year-old Corolla, the only car in the lot. I was fond of that car. She even had a name—Corrie. Yet the contrast between her and the sleek Lamborghini brought home a hard truth. He was rich. I wasn’t. We were about to part ways, presumably forever. He’d return to his glamorous existence, his glamorous wife. I’d head back to the daily grind—alone.

I reached for the door handle. “I hope things get better for you. Goodbye, Connor.”

“Wait. Don’t go. This can’t be the end.”

I turned back, shrugging hopelessly. “What else can it be?”

“I have meetings all day today. But afterwards, the rest of the weekend, I’m free. Can I see you?”

There was nothing I wanted more in life than to see him again. But where would it lead?

“Connor, this isn’t good for us. And it’s not right.”

He laid his hand against my cheek and looked deep into my eyes.

“Last night with you was the first time in years that I felt like myself. The world made sense again. I know I have nothing to offer, no right to ask anything of you. But if you’d let me see you—if it’s just a few hours, minutes, even—anything you’ll give me, I’ll take.”

“Say we spend another night together. What happens then? You go back to your wife, right?”

“I won’t lie to you. The answer to that is yes, for now. I want to leave her. But it’s complicated, and I can’t put a time frame on it.”

“Thank you for being honest. I love you, Connor. I really do, I always have. But this—I just can’t. I should go.”

His face fell as I flung the door open.

I ran to my car, got in, turned on the engine. The Lamborghini hadn’t budged. Connor sat there, staring at me through the glass, looking as devastated as I felt. I wanted to run back into his arms. I couldn’t. I don’t know how I managed, but I put the car in gear and drove away, second-guessing myself all the way home.

I was such a mess at work that night that everybody noticed. Not just Matt, the bartender, but my manager, Liz, whom I’d worked with at another restaurant before following her here. And the hostess, Hayley, who was a ditz, but a sweetheart. They all saw that something was wrong from the expression on my face and kept asking if I was okay. I said I was fine. But after I screwed up a couple of orders, Liz pulled me aside.

She was an ex-hippie, big-boned and apple-cheeked, with a bright blue streak in her graying hair.

“Something’s wrong. What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’ll try to focus.”

“Is it the guy from last night? The ex with the sports car?”

“Matt told you about him?”

“Uh-huh. You went home with him?”

“Yeah. Stupid. Now I’m crazy for him again, and it’s already over.”

I teared up.

“Aww, babe, don’t cry. Why does it have to be over?”

I wiped my eyes, fighting back the tears.

“He’s only in town for the weekend.”

She shrugged. “A lot can happen in a weekend.”

“And, he’s married.”

“Oh. Well, that sucks.”

“Yup.”

“You know, Bart was married when he and I first met.”

Bart was her husband of twenty years. They had four children together.

“I didn’t know that.”

“I was with someone, too. But we were both miserable. And from the second we met, we knew it was meant to be. I’m just saying. You only live once.”

She patted my arm.

I went back out on the floor, thinking about what Liz had said. What if Connor and I were destined to be together? What if we were true soul mates, who would never find happiness with anyone else? He was going to divorce Nina anyway, eventually. I’d sent him away without even exchanging phone numbers. What if he got single and couldn’t find me? I might not stay at the restaurant forever. Maybe I’d missed my chance. Made a terrible mistake. As the shift dragged on, I got more anxious. The mistakes piled up. I served the wrong food to one table, knocked over a wineglass at another. An hour before my shift ended, I was standing at the coffee station, when I saw Liz heading my way, and geared up to beg her forgiveness.

“I clocked you out,” she said. “I’ll cover the rest of your shift.”

“Look, I know I’ve been a klutz, but you don’t need to—”

“He’s here. Your friend with the fancy car. He’s asking for you.”

“Where?”

“At the bar. I said I’d send you over. Go. You’re useless, anyway.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yes, you will. You owe me, sister,” she said, with a wink, and walked away.

I hurried to the bar, squeezing through a solid wall of customers as I craned my neck to spot him. He was wedged in at the bar, facing out, scanning the crowd for me. Our eyes met. He put down his beer and came right over.

“Don’t be mad,” he said, hands on my shoulders, looking down into my eyes intently, “but I had to come. There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have said—that I regret not saying.”

“Okay.”

“Can we go outside?”

I nodded.

In the parking lot, the air was cool and sweet after the heat of the restaurant. He started walking, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“You said you have something to tell me?”

“I do. I’m just stalling. I’m afraid of scaring you off.”

“Just say it.”

“All right. Here it is.” He took a breath. “I went to the restaurant last night on purpose, to find you.”

I opened my mouth in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m just—I guess, I’m at a crossroads. In my life, my marriage. A few months ago, things were so dark, I—well, I started asking myself how I ended up like this, where I went wrong. And I kept coming back to our summer. How it ended. I didn’t fight for you, Tabby. And nothing has been right since then.”

“So, you purposely came looking for me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Sort of. I wanted to come back to this place. I didn’t really imagine you’d still be here. But then I stopped for gas at the store in town, and that same guy still owns it. He told me I could find you there. I pumped the gas and got back in the car. I sat for a while, trying to decide what to do. I knew that if I found you, something big would happen. But then I came here. And it has.”

“The real-estate deal, does that even exist?”

“Yes. I’d been thinking about you. About this place. I wanted to come back, but I didn’t act on it. Maybe I didn’t have the guts. But when I learned the land was for sale, it was like fate. I had to come up.”

“Why tell me this now?”

He took my hands in his. His were hot, emotion coming through them like a wave.

“I couldn’t leave without letting you know how I feel.”

“You feel like your life went bad when we broke up. I get it. Things haven’t been great for me, either. We all wish we could go back and fix our mistakes. But the question is, who are you now, Connor?”

“I’m the guy who never stopped loving you. I have until Tuesday morning, and I want to spend that time with you. Talk to you, touch you, eat a meal with you. Make love in front of the fire again. I don’t care what happens after that. I don’t care if the world ends. I need you now.”

He leaned toward me, and the kiss was molten. I was done fighting this. I had no ballast—no husband, no kids, no prospects to hold me back. No reason to deny what my heart was feeling. We hurried, hand in hand, to his car. On the drive to the ski house, we couldn’t stop touching, kissing. It was a miracle we made it up the mountain in one piece. At the house, he unlocked the door, and we tore off each other’s clothes as soon as we were inside. He pulled me down the hall to a bedroom and threw me down on the bed without bothering to turn on the lights.

It was everything, and more.

In the morning, I texted Liz that I’d be out for the rest of the weekend. She wasn’t happy. So, I repeated back to her the words of wisdom she’d had for me last night. The words I told myself when I opened my eyes in the darkness, feeling sick with guilt, looking at Connor sleeping beside me and knowing it wouldn’t last. Knowing I’d pay a terrible price for feeling joy like this. You only live once.

9

That weekend was like our honeymoon. We spent hours in the massive bed, piled high with pillows, in a rustic-chic guest room straight out of a magazine. We made love by the glow of the fire in the gas fireplace, getting up occasionally to raid the gleaming Sub-Zero for delicacies or the wine tower for vintage wines. We soaked in the hot tub and watched the sun rise over the mountain from the wraparound deck. We talked of everything under the sun, from the most serious to the most inconsequential. Our families, what we wanted from life. What we’d been like as children. The personalities at the restaurant, the office where he worked, the places he’d traveled. I loved his voice, his sense of humor. I loved his eyes when he laughed and his face when he slept. We hid from reality, and by hiding, let ourselves get entangled, deeply.

But we couldn’t hide forever.

On Tuesday morning, Nina sent the jet to collect him. He dropped me at my car on the way to the airport. In the parking lot, I clung to him, wetting the front of his shirt with tears. He took my face in his hands.

“In our hearts, we’re always together. I need you to remember that,” he said.

“What does that matter, when you’re going back to her?”

He wiped my tears away with his fingers, then kissed my cheeks, my nose, my forehead. His mouth found mine. I knew the kiss would only prolong the torture, but I couldn’t help myself. I kissed back.

“It matters. It means everything. It’s you I love. I hate that we have to be apart,” he said.

“You’re not a prisoner. You could stay here if you wanted to.”

He tangled his hands in my hair, looking at me, deeply, desperately.

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated. Meaning, that’s a lot of money to walk away from,” I said, my voice raw with hurt.

“No.”

“Why go back if not for the money? If you’re going to tell me she’s unstable—”

“She is unstable. She’s threatened suicide before.”

“That’s not the real reason.”

He sighed and looked away.

“Hey,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Tell me the truth. I can take it. You say our love is so pure, that you’re your best self with me. Well, be yourself. Not some fake version of you. I want the real thing.”

“Even if it’s not pretty? Even if I really haven’t changed that much from when I was afraid to face life without my grandmother’s money?”

“Even that.”

He looked at me for a long time. Then he nodded, his hazel eyes glittering with resolve.

“All right, then. The truth is, there’s a prenup. If Nina divorces me, I get ten million. If I leave her, or if she finds out I’m cheating and kicks me out because of it, I get nothing. Ten million, Tabby, versus nothing.”

That took me aback. I’d never seen an exact estimate of Nina’s wealth. I knew it was vast—so vast that I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Ten million, though—that, I could understand. He was right. Ten million was a lot of money to leave on the table. Still, this didn’t feel right.

“To Nina, ten million’s chump change,” Connor was saying. “She won’t miss it. But I could live on that for the rest of my life. We could. Do you understand? I’m going to leave her. I just need to do it in a way that doesn’t trigger the prenup.”

“Is that even possible?”

“I have to make her think a divorce is her own idea.”

“How?”

“I’ll figure something out. Otherwise, you know what happens? I lose my job at Levitt Global, because she’d never let me keep working there. I signed a noncompete, which means I’d basically be blacklisted, unable to work in that industry. I’d have nothing.”

“I don’t care. I’ll take you flat broke. It’s how I live already.”

“I appreciate that. But wouldn’t you rather have me with ten million?”

That question sounded flip to me. I yanked my hand away. “This just feels wrong.”

“You told me I could say anything.”

“I don’t feel right, being part of that kind of deception.”

“You’re not part of it. This is on me. It’s my marriage. I’m the one who’ll end it. I was going to, anyway. You just made me certain. Besides, it’s not only for the money that I want it to end clean. I don’t want to hurt her the way Edward did.”

“How long will this take?”

“I don’t know. A while.”

“And during that time, we don’t see each other. We don’t talk.”

“Hey,” he said, leaning close, “I’m not okay with not talking to you. As for seeing each other, maybe—”

“No. You don’t want her to know about me. If she has you followed, if she has the passwords to all your accounts, she would find out.”

“Maybe. Yes. Okay, you’re right.”

“We can’t see each other. We can’t talk.”

“You have to believe me, that I want to be with you,” he said, sighing. “It’s just complicated. There’s a lot at stake.”

His phone was buzzing with texts.

I looked away. “Your plane is waiting. You’d better go. So, don’t call me, and I won’t call you, I guess.”

He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned in. “Tabby. Don’t give up on me.”

I tried to look away, but his eyes were mesmerizing.

“Wait for me? Please? I love you. I’m going to get free, and then we’ll be together. It’ll be worth the pain, I promise.”

He wrapped me in his arms. I wanted to believe him. But I didn’t.

“I love you,” I said.

We kissed, and in my mind, I thought we were saying goodbye.

In the days after we parted, I was consumed. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I burned for him. I sleepwalked through my life not seeing what was in front of me, not hearing what people said. My senses were filled with him. His mouth, his hands, his skin, his hair, the way he smelled. It was like a low-level fever that I’d been able to manage until I saw him again in the flesh. Now the disease raged, and it ravaged me. Plus—the guilt, the shame, the humiliation. I’d slept with a married man, and he’d left me to go back to his wife. Grandma Jean didn’t raise a fool, or a home-wrecker, yet there I was, both. I spent my days staring at my phone, willing it to ring, and staring at his number in my contacts, trying not to call. I was lost.

Weeks passed. The weather turned hot, and everywhere I looked, people went about their happy lives. Couples walking hand in hand. Moms at the grocery store, pushing chubby toddlers in shopping carts. I’d never known that peace, that contentment. And now I didn’t even want it. I wanted to walk into the fire. After years of feeling numb, I was back where I started—obsessed with Connor, believing he was the one road to nirvana.

I threw myself into my work, looking for a distraction. I got a part-time job as a data-entry clerk in the billing department at a local insurance company. But typing payment codes into the computer left my mind free to wander. I sat there reliving every caress, until I could hardly see the screen. I took extra shifts at the restaurant so I wouldn’t be alone in my apartment at night, tossing in my bed, touching myself like he was with me. But every time I passed the table where he’d sat, I stopped in my tracks, like I saw him there.

When I was alone, I gave in to the exquisite torture of searching photos of him online. Connor wasn’t the newsworthy one. Nina was, so every picture of him was of the two of them together. And they were together—still. Connor and Nina at a charity gala in New York, a gorgeous couple in their finery, smiling for the cameras. Or on the terrace of a restaurant in the South of France, eating lunch with a famous film director and his actress wife. Connor in a white shirt and sunglasses, his arm slung casually across the back of Nina’s chair. Frantically, I searched the dates. The photos were new. They didn’t look like a couple headed for divorce. They looked content. Not madly in love, perhaps, but undeniably together. How was that possible, after the time Connor had spent with me? He’d seemed so in love. He said he was. And I’d believed him.

Had it all been a lie? Probably. After all, it’s not like I hadn’t shown poor judgment in men before. Derek. My ex-husband. Can’t get much worse than that.

Derek Cassidy was a mechanic at the auto repair shop where I got my car serviced. He had clear blue eyes, amazing biceps, a leather jacket, a motorcycle, and a pickup truck. He was ex-military like my dad. His bad-boy aura should’ve been a warning, but we met not long after Grandma died, and I was feeling too alone in the world to listen to the voice of reason. All I saw were good looks, a steady paycheck, and the fact that he’d chosen me.

It was only after we were married that things got rocky. He was secretive. He had a temper. I’d threaten to leave, he’d promise to do better. And it would get better, for a while. Then, one night on a dark road, the cops pulled us over. And I learned that Derek had been dealing pills out of his truck. There was a hidden compartment underneath the floorboards. I knew nothing about it, but I was in the passenger seat, so they arrested me anyway. I could’ve had the charges dropped if I gave information. But Derek threatened me, and I knew him well enough by then to take him at his word. I pled guilty to a misdemeanor possession charge with a guarantee of no jail time because my lawyer said it was the best I could do. I got five years’ probation and fired from my good job at the hospital because they couldn’t have someone with drugs on her record.

That black mark is there to this day, holding me back from better things. Derek, on the other hand, I did manage to shake. He went away for five years, and I divorced him while he was in jail. He wasn’t too happy about that.

Once burned, twice shy. I dated here and there after Derek, but I was always leery of getting serious. Nobody got through my armor until Connor came back. And he’d left me dragging through my days, feeling like the hollowness inside would never go away. That’s why, after several weeks passed with no word from Connor, I let Hayley at the restaurant shame me into going on Tinder. She’d just gotten engaged to a guy she met on there. A nice guy, who owned a lawn-care company and went to church with her on Sundays. When I told her one time too many that I had no weekend plans, she grabbed my phone out of my hand and insisted on making me a profile. I don’t know if I was reckless, or stupid, or just desperate. But I let her do it, figuring it couldn’t do any harm. Wrong.

At home that night in the privacy of my apartment, out of curiosity I opened Tinder and started browsing eligible men in my geographical area. None of them could hold a candle to Connor, and I was about to give up when I found myself staring at a photo of my ex-husband. I couldn’t believe it. What the hell was Derek doing on there? I’d set Tinder to show me profiles within a twenty-mile radius. He’d gotten out of jail a year ago and moved to Florida. I’d heard that from enough people to accept it as fact. Whenever I woke from a bad dream about Derek, the thought that he was a thousand miles away always comforted me. But if Tinder was showing me his profile, that could only mean one thing.

He was back.

If I’d seen his profile, had he seen mine? If he had, would he come looking for me? I jumped up and drew the blinds. I double-locked the door, looked in both closets, and pulled my shower curtain aside. Then I sat back down on the sofa, my breath coming in fast spurts. After he went to jail, I’d moved from the small house we’d rented together into this ground-floor studio in an apartment complex. My address was not listed anywhere online that I was aware of. On the other hand, Derek and I knew people in common who knew where I lived. My apartment faced the parking lot and had two large windows with flimsy locks. I knew my neighbors well enough to smile and exchange pleasantries, but none were friends I could turn to in a moment of need. If I screamed loudly, I was pretty sure they’d call 911, but that was small comfort. I took a butcher knife to bed with me that night, and barely slept.