Convince Me

by Nina Sadowsky

  Cinnamon Toast leaps up onto my bed and snuggles next to me. A thin band of light snakes through the plantation shutters hanging on the bedroom window and sparks the gleam of my emerald and diamond engagement ring. I twist the antique around on my finger.

  Damn you, Justin! How could you abandon me?

  I wish for the sweet oblivion of sleep, but I am rigidly alert. With a sigh, I get up off the bed and open Justin’s side of the closet. I haven’t been able to touch any of his things since he died; I even asked Will to pick out Justin’s clothes for the funeral.

  Running my hand over the shoulder of Justin’s favorite blazer (a buttery soft navy cashmere), I lean in to inhale his lingering scent. A fresh stab of bitter grief makes my knees weak and I stumble back, the blazer clutched in my arms.

  I slip the jacket on. It swims on me in a way that I find comforting. The blazer is expensive, of excellent quality, like all the things Justin favored. I tuck my hands into the silk-lined pockets and my fingers find a crumpled slip of paper. I smooth it out and lay it on the dresser. It turns out to be a receipt for the last meal Justin and I ate out together, a favorite sushi joint. I doubt I will ever be able to eat there again.

  I pull an armful of his clothes out of the closet and fling them on the bed. I shimmy into a pair of his jeans. They flap around my legs. I twist a silk tie through the belt loops and tug it tight around my waist. Digging into a front pocket, I find a handful of scratch-off lottery tickets. This brings a small smile to my face; Justin knew the odds, but he always still believed he would hit.

  A shoebox brings a wallet I don’t recognize, stuffed with a wad of cash. I count it, fanning the bills out onto the dresser next to the receipt: $1,500. An emergency stash? The money makes me curious. I turn out every pocket, dig behind every sweater, heaping the rest of Justin’s clothes in a disorderly pile on the floor.

  I find more cash, another seven grand in total. Why did Justin have so much cash squirreled away?

  Then, in the inside breast pocket of his brown leather jacket, I find a feminine floral silk scarf. One that doesn’t belong to me.

  I finger the delicate fabric. Bring it up to my face. Inhale. It’s scented with jasmine. A shudder runs through me. I recognize both the pattern and the perfume.

  This scarf belongs to Hayley Hayter, a colleague of mine and a friend of us both.

  I remember Justin snagging one of my scarves back in the early days of our relationship, cheekily claiming he wanted to be able to always have my scent with him. A slow, creeping unease spreads through my body.

  Then it hits me like a punch. Hayley wasn’t at Justin’s funeral.

  She should have been, with all my other friends from work. I realize I haven’t heard from her either. Not a single call or text.

  Could Justin have been having an affair with Hayley? Is that why she didn’t turn up at the funeral? Why I haven’t heard a word from her?

  The discovery of the scarf twists a new lens on a night we were all out together just a couple of weeks ago. There were ten of us all told, including Will, Molly, and Hayley. Justin sailed us all past the VIP rope at a pulsing pop-up club set up in an old warehouse downtown. I danced. I drank. It got late. I got tired. I went to look for my husband to have him take me home.

  I found him with Hayley. Not with her, nothing so obvious. They were only talking. He had one hand planted on the wall against which she leaned. In the flashes of colored strobe lights, I watched as Justin arched in toward her.

  They seemed so intimate, their heads tilted toward each other, a strange urgency apparent even though I couldn’t hear a word. My breath caught in my throat as I anticipated Justin’s next move.

  I wanted to rush forward and yank him away. I wanted to stay still and see what he did next. Instead I turned away, went to the bathroom, and threw some cold water on my face.

  I felt jealous and angry, but I also knew I was tipsy and tired. So much of Justin’s energy was going into Convincer as of late that I was feeling a little neglected. I didn’t want to overreact.

  Justin found me just as I emerged from the restroom. He proposed we call it a night and I agreed. I couldn’t wait to get away from the club, but stepping out of the noise and the heat into the cool and quiet night, I felt vulnerable and exposed.

  We stood in silence as we waited for a valet to bring Justin’s car around.

  It took forever. Justin got irritated, muttering under his breath, popping his neck. I could see the rage building in him. I’d only seen it surface twice before, but that was enough to know I didn’t want it anywhere near me again. The echoes of slamming doors and shattered glass still ricocheted in my head.

  That was the very first time that I thought: This was a mistake. This whole marriage was a mistake.

  The thought thrilled me and terrified me. I shoved it away. It felt like a betrayal. Of Justin. Of myself. Of our solemn vows.

  Finally, a valet handed over Justin’s car. He tipped well (Justin always did) but delivered a venomous insult in Greek along with a beatific smile. The valet was oblivious, but I wasn’t; Justin had explained the vile expression to me the first time I heard him use it. It involves sheep assholes; no one needs to know any more. My lips tightened. I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “What?” Justin drawled as we merged into traffic. “Why so quiet?”

  “I think you know.”

  “The Greek? Come on, Annie. I was blowing off a little steam. The guy had no idea. Anyway, better that I say it in Greek than in English. Or Spanglish.”

  “You’re being a dick.”

  “Lighten up.” Justin gave my knee a quick squeeze and flashed me his brilliant smile, before turning his gaze back to the road.

  I felt belittled. I went cold and still. I was furious.

  I wished I’d drunk a little less.

  “I needed that! Fucking great night, wasn’t it?” Justin queried. “That DJ was lit.”

  “Yeah. Lit.”

  “What’s up, Annie O? Are you mad about that valet? You can’t blame a guy for wanting to get his wife home quickly after a night out. Particularly when she looks this hot.” His hand slid up my leg and I pushed it away.

  I bit my tongue. Until I couldn’t. “If I look so fucking ‘hot,’ what were you doing with Hayley Hayter?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw you,” I stressed, irritated with the games.

  “Honestly, Annie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hardly even saw Hayley all night except to say hello and goodbye.” The look he gave me was pure injured innocence.

  “I saw you together! For god’s sake, Justin, just tell me the truth.”

  “I don’t know what you think you saw, but you’re mistaken. Why would I be interested in Hayley when I have you?” Justin flashed me the smile that had melted my heart so many times before.

  I wanted desperately to believe him. But if that was the case, what had I seen? Had my jealous imagination taken a casual farewell and twisted it?

  Justin turned the conversation then, animatedly telling me about an admittedly funny encounter he and Will had with a couple of Will’s former colleagues that I had only been able to observe, and not hear, in the noise of the club. He wound up to the punch line, delivered it. I gave a begrudging laugh.

  His simmering anger had melted away. I didn’t want to bring it back to the surface. It was late. I was tired. I wanted my husband to take me home. I swallowed the bitter pill of my jealousy, anger, and fear, and let Justin off the hook. I convinced myself it was all in my imagination and I didn’t think about it again.

  Now I stare at the richly scented scarf twisted between my fingers and the poison pill explodes in my gut.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  WILL

  When Justin returned from a ski trip to Mammoth head over heels for a girl he’d
met, I at first greeted his enthusiasm with good-natured skepticism. After all, Justin possessed the eager excitement of a golden Lab; he was endlessly erupting in enthusiasm over a new idea or a new person he’d met; it was part of his charm.

  I soon realized that his feelings for Annie were different. I thought this was a good sign actually. As much as I appreciated Justin’s energy, he burned the candle at both ends and I was sometimes afraid he would burn out. In his first few weeks of dating Annie, he seemed calmer and more focused.

  Things were cooking at work, with Justin more excited every day about the technological advances the team was putting together. Our small band was humming along to our target launch date. Justin’s romance seemed like a logical progression of sorts.

  He finally asked me to meet her, after several weeks of what I will admit was ruthless ribbing on my part. Justin seemed unexpectedly nervous, which I found kind of endearing.

  And I liked her. More than liked her. Annie aroused something protective in me. I didn’t want to compete for her; it wasn’t like that. I just wanted to keep her safe. I still do.

  That night at Skyspace was crazy fun: the thrill of having a private advance tour of the various exhibits; the exhilaration of flying down that glass tube on the outside of the building; the easy pleasure in finding the three of us striding the pavement at the end of the night, arms linked, a happy trio. I was giddily expectant—thrilled that Justin was so content and sure that this enviable state would flow over to me, as did so much of Justin’s spirit.

  Now I pound on Annie’s front door, frantic. “Let me in, Annie,” I shout. “We need to talk.”

  Finally, she cracks the door open, and I push inside. “Did you notice who wasn’t at the funeral?” I press as soon as I’ve crossed the threshold.

  “Hayley Hayter,” Annie replies with a bitter edge to her voice.

  “What? No.” I look at her in confusion. “Warren Sax.”

  “That’s less surprising. He’s a notoriously reclusive billionaire and she is one of our best friends. Supposedly.”

  “I don’t know why you’re going on about Hayley. Listen to me. Warren Sax has never heard of Justin.” Annie stares at me like I’m speaking in tongues. I elaborate. “Never met him. Didn’t even know his name.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous. Why would you even say that?”

  “I spoke to Sax myself. Your cousin Lizzie got him on the phone for me.”

  “Oh.” Annie crosses her arms over her chest, bracing herself for what’s coming next.

  “Everything Justin told us about Sax—working for him, his putting up the seed money for Convincer—none of it is true, according to Sax himself.”

  “Then who did put the money in?”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  I look into Annie’s eyes and only see despair. She’s wan and listless and I feel a bit brutish for having dropped this bomb. We stand in silence for a long time. It’s only then that I notice Annie’s wearing Justin’s blazer over nothing more than a black bra. A pair of oversized jeans are secured around her waist by one of his silk ties.

  “Do you think Justin killed himself?” Annie finally asks. Raw pain hoarsens her timbre.

  “What? God. No. I don’t know. It was an accident, right? The police said.”

  Annie challenges me. “Justin was different right before he died. Surely you felt it too. Absent in a way? Distracted. I couldn’t get through to him. He always seemed somewhere else. And the Valium? It’s just not like him…”

  I nod, weighing her words. I’d also sensed Justin was not fully present lately. I thought it was just the pressure of our imminent launch and didn’t make too much of it. I was distracted too, focused on managing so many spinning plates I needed a top hat and a magician’s assistant.

  “And now, this information about Sax? What else don’t we know?” Annie demands.

  “What are you getting at?” I ask sharply. “Where’s all this coming from?”

  “I think Justin might have been having an affair with Hayley Hayter,” Annie admits, eyes full of pain and shame.

  I’m incredulous. “I can’t believe that; he was completely committed to you.”

  Annie shakes her head softly. “I don’t know. There are so many unanswered questions. So many things I may never get answers to. It’s fucking torture.”

  I’m afraid to tell her that I’m beginning to suspect the answers to her questions will be far more painful than living with uncertainty. And that I may be compelled to go dig for them all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CAROL

  My boy went away to college. It felt like I’d snapped my fingers and he was all grown up. The devastation that consumed me was staggering. This is a common sentiment, I’m aware, perhaps particularly acute in single mothers; nonetheless I was unprepared for the gale-force hit.

  I’d expected newfound freedom and time, all of which I was going to use to date (rather than prowl), socialize with friends, maybe take a class in something frivolous that interested me.

  Instead I found myself inert, barely dragging myself to house showings and the office when necessary and crawling back into bed without bothering to get out of my clothes as soon as I got back home.

  Dating seemed like a stupid chore. My handful of genuine friends had lives already firmly enmeshed with people who’d found more time for them in the past. Attempts were made, but I realized belatedly that you get out of friendships what you’ve invested. Many situational friends, moms from Justin’s school or his extracurriculars, faded away along with those activities. I looked at a few websites, considered pottery or Italian lessons, and felt completely pathetic.

  Desolate emptiness.

  I don’t know how else to describe it. After years of focus on Justin, on his health, his emotional well-being, his education, his every choice and opportunity, he was existing out in the world without me. It felt like my very beating heart was stripped bare of the protection of skin and muscle and rib cage, exposed and vulnerable to all of life’s evils.

  Sleeping took up an inordinate amount of my time. I’d perk up when Justin called full of excitement about his classes, his new friends and experiences. I swore I’d never let him know how I was suffering. I wanted him to fully embrace every opportunity that came his way.

  My “phone fake” became honed. I would sound cheerful and completely on the ball in conversation, only to click off and slink back into the pillows and the black hole of my despair.

  When it was finally Parents’ Weekend, I drove to Justin’s school vibrating with anticipation. It was the first time in weeks I’d bothered with my appearance, even managing a visit to the salon the day before for a haircut and color. The drive was pleasant enough. It was a crisp, clear day and as I headed north I was treated to trees flaming with a rich array of autumn colors.

  The campus was bright with welcoming banners. I found a place to park and walked over to meet Justin at his dorm as we had arranged. There was a spring in my step and I could feel the smile already forming on my lips.

  I remembered dropping him off here the last week of August. How I stood watching him from under the shadow of an oak tree as he barreled off into his new life without even a backward glance at me.

  “Wait up!” he’d called to a group of young men, and they parted to include him and swallowed him up. I watched them until I couldn’t pick out which one of the bobbing heads was his.

  Completely lost in my thoughts, I collided head-on with a tall man carrying a bouquet of flowers. I apologized, and took him in as I did: gray hair, lots of it; strong eyebrows and amused eyes.

  “Quite all right,” he assured me. “No harm done. Tell me the truth,” he continued, gesturing with the bouquet. “Are these as ugly as I think? They were all I could find in town, but I suspect my daughter might prefer me empty-handed.”
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  The flowers were indeed sad and sorry, blue spray-painted carnations several days past their sell date. His woebegone expression made me laugh.

  “I’m sure you can make up for it with a good meal somewhere. From what I’ve heard from my son, the dining hall food is not great.”

  “Is your son a freshman?” the man asked.

  “Yes. Your daughter?”

  He nodded. “Hasn’t been easy. Her mom died when she was seven and it’s been just the two of us ever since. It’s the longest we’ve ever been apart and I’m a nervous wreck.”

  I was completely charmed. How could I not be? Our experiences were so similar and he was so sweetly open about his struggle that it made me feel a little less overwhelmed by my own. “I’m an only parent too,” I offered. “Since my son was ten. I totally get it.”

  I advised him to ditch the carnations and he tossed them away with a rueful grin. We walked toward the dorms together and discovered we both had dinner reservations at a local seafood restaurant, rated one of the best in the area.

  Justin was in front of me then, rushing into my embrace with unabashed need. As my arms circled him and I inhaled his familiar scent, everything else disappeared.

  Justin took me to a sample freshman seminar. We toured the new sports complex. Nibbled the “tastes of Connecticut” offerings presented in a series of booths on the quad. We happened to run into Justin’s favorite professor, a forthright woman teaching a required economic theory class, who, as he said, “had lit up his brain.”

  Later, as the two of us dissected what we had gotten out of the sample seminar on myth and archetype, I felt my own brain awaken. The idea of a class of my own didn’t seem impossible or far-fetched now, but positively brilliant.

  We arrived at the seafood restaurant five minutes before our reservation. My tall friend who’d abandoned his carnations that morning stood in the vestibule with a girl unmistakably marked as his daughter by her height and full dark eyebrows.