As Rolly stirs the batter, I pick Henry up so he can dump chocolate chips in the mix. I laugh as half the contents make it in the bowl and the rest hit the Silestone counters or the floor.
“Frasier,” Meghan calls out. “No chocolate.” She stands up and rushes him out the back door of the kitchen to our huge enclosed yard.
“I’ll clean it up,” I yell. I set Henry down and grab some paper towels. I’m emptying the crumpled towels in our trash when she comes back inside.
“Aren’t you curious about the surprise?” She pauses at the counter, staring at me.
“Hmm…” I’m focused on the task at hand. “I assumed it was you wanting to go on a trip.” I don’t make eye contact, watching Rolly dip a finger in the batter.
“No.” She harrumphs. I wait for her to say more. My biggest pet peeve with women in general is their inability to be direct. I hate this passive-aggressive bullshit that Meghan tends to do when she wants me to take an interest in what she has to say. She wants me to keep asking, turning this into a guessing game. I’m not in the mood.
“What is it?”
“You don’t seem interested.”
“I hate surprises, you know this.” I give her the once over.
She shrugs. “I just hope you like it.” She gives me a shaky smile. “There’s no going back. It’s permanent. A done deal.”
Just as I’m about to ask questions, her phone buzzes.
“I gotta take this.” She’s hurried. “Watch the boys?”
I nod.
She heads outside. I glance out the small window over the sink, her back turned to me. I wonder who she’s talking to?
Probably her damned mom. That family’s more tight-knit than the Kardashians.
Disappearing from my line of sight, she walks around the side of the house.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I check for any missed calls.
Nothing.
She comes back inside and announces she’s going to yoga.
“You wanna take the boys to the Lego exhibit at the science center?” she asks. “My mom told me there’s one going on.”
Heading upstairs, she’s changed and back downstairs in five minutes, hair in a messy bun, yet she’s wearing lip gloss and perfume.
Something’s up.
I ignore the disgruntled feeling I have.
In the afternoon, I take the boys to the exhibit, watching them ooh and aah over the intricately-laid blocks that’re in the shape of a robot and various Star Wars characters. A miniature Lego town has a monorail with trains that crisscross through it, the lights flashing as it makes loops around the outskirts of town.
“Daddy, we build?” they ask simultaneously.
“Maybe just one thing at a time,” I laugh.
We stop at the store and purchase a couple of Lego sets on the way home.
I check my phone constantly. Nothing.
No texts, no calls.
It should make me feel relieved. It doesn’t. I feel tense.
I expect Meghan to be home when we’re done. She’s not.
Yoga can’t be more than an hour. What has she been doing all afternoon, I wonder.
Looking in our kitchen drawer, I search for Riley’s number. She’s the seventeen year old that lives a couple streets over.
Calling her cell, I ask if she can come baby-sit tonight.
She’s studying for a test, but I remind her she can prep here after the boys are in bed.
When she comes over, Meghan still hasn’t arrived.
She’s ignoring my calls and texts.
I greet Riley with a smile, the boys clamoring to be the first to hug her. It’s always a competition with them, even at this age.
“Oh, before I go, I have something for you.” I run upstairs, climbing the steps two at a time. Bringing down the single stud, I hold it to out to her. “I think you forgot this last time.”
She’s puzzled. “That’s not my earring.”
“No?” I ask.
“Nope.” She shrugs. “I don’t even have pierced ears.”
“Really? Hmm…maybe it’s my wife’s,” I say.
“What about…” She starts to ask and my eyes silence her, cutting off her next comment.
“Here’s an extra $50 for the late notice.” I pull a crisp bill out of my pocket. “I appreciate the last-minute help. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
She bites her lip. “Yeah, no problem.” She turns to the boys. “Ok, gentlemen, start your engines. Let’s go outside and race!”
The three of them start revving their pretend engines and vrooming, making pretend sound effects.
I get in my Suburban and contemplate where to go. I just need to get away from the house, suburbia, the life I have strangling me.
Tally still hasn’t responded or texted.
Shooting off a nasty text, I say:
You better be dead
And still…no response.
Chapter Four
Reed
There’s a bar a few miles up the street. I’ve been there a couple times, it’s an old bar that’s been gutted and remodeled. It went from being a pool hall to a hipster joint, the menu expanding along with the clientele.
The owner’s decent - he looks like the quintessential bar fly - muscular, tattooed, and jovial. He’s sometimes standing behind the bar making drinks, other times shooting a round of pool or playing shuffleboard.
Tonight, the place is packed.
Every bar stool is taken and the pub tables are shoved together to make room for one large party. The garage doors are open, the patio open tonight. All the tables and chairs are filled with patrons ranging from girls enjoying a ladies’ night to hordes of men watching basketball on the flat-screen televisions.
My mouth drops open when I see my wife, her dark hair in a braid down her back, shooting a dart at the board, missing it by inches, but laughing all the same.
What stands out is the sound.
I haven’t heard her cackle like this in a long time. It’s a guttural sound, a howl, her exuberant laugh, where her whole body shakes in response.
I’m about to clap, make a joke, or acknowledge her inability to play, when my eyes absorb the fact she’s not alone.
Or playing with girlfriends.
Her companion’s none other than the owner, who wouldn’t stand out, except I’ve talked to him enough times. His name’s Jarrett, though I don’t bother to call him that.
He doesn’t touch her, yet something suggests a level of comfort between them. What boils my blood is her smile’s reserved entirely for him. Her hazel eyes light up mischievously when she looks at him, as if they share an inside joke.
My insides twist.
Jealously. I’m experiencing a feeling I didn’t know I still had.
The J-man is wearing cowboy boots and a checkered shirt, his jeans fairly tight. Too tight, I think smugly.
I pause, deciding if I should break up this party or not. She never mentioned going to the bar tonight. My hands clench at my sides at her unresponsiveness. At least to me. Now I know the reason. The silver Mazda she drives isn’t in the parking lot.
Truth is, I wasn’t looking for it, never expecting her to be in a place like this.
She starts to turn and I stride off, holding court over at the other side of the bar, giving her the side eye as I order a drink. I’m waiting…just waiting for him to make a move on my wife.
I drown one whiskey.
Waiting.
The game ends, and they high-five each other.
Second whiskey goes down smooth.
J-Man heads back to the bar, except he doesn’t do what a normal bartender would do and walk behind it, he has to make a show of it and jump over the wooden side.
He grabs a glass and chugs down water, perspiration on his forehead. A look of surprise registers when he notices me. “Oh hey, hi.” He reaches out a hand in greeting.
“Hi.” I nod to Meghan, where she’s standing at the jukebox, talking to a
blonde woman. “I see you know my wife.”
He looks shocked but maintains a straight face. “Yes, she’s quite the dart player.”
“If you mean amateur. I see she missed most of her shots.” I finish my third. “Kind of like you did with her.”
“Beg your pardon?” He slides a glass of water across the counter to me. “Not everyone goes after the married ones.” He twists his face in a grimace. “But I can start being like you and not giving a shit.” He tips his head at me. “You better hydrate and slow down on the sauce. I don’t wanna have to ask you to leave. Especially without your wife.”
I half-stand, but his eyes glue me to my stool in warning.
With that, he turns his attention to another man, who’s worse off than I am.
Standing, I start to stumble over to her, pissed off and antagonistic. The blonde girl looks at me with surprise - my shirt untucked, hair mussed, and feet unsteady as I lean against the jukebox for support.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I slur.
Meghan’s shocked to see me, and her mouth drops. “Reed.” Her face goes ashen. “What’re you doing here?”
“I asked you first.”
“Where’re the twins?” Her voice rises. She leans out to grab my arm. I swat her away. The blonde lady next to her looks appalled, taking a step backward as if I might take a swing.
“At home alone,” I joke. “With a babysitter. Duh.” I tap my forehead but manage to make it more of a slap.
I notice J-man glancing over at us.
“You were supposed to spend time with them.”
“It’s past their bedtime.” I smirk. “And yours.” I yank on her arm, and she pulls it away. “What’s wrong with you?”
J-man covers the length of the bar quickly, placing himself between my wife and I. I hate the way he looks at her, pity written on his face.
“I don’t want trouble.” He’s calm and collected, his voice steady. “Mr. Bishop, I’m going to ask you to please leave.” He hands me my credit card from the tab I started.
“You’re kicking me out?” I smirk.
“Just for tonight,” he answers smoothly. “I think you’ve had enough to drink.”
“Meghan, you’re giving me a ride,” I state.
She nods. “Fine.”
Her and him exchange a look I don’t like one bit.
“My wife can take me home.” I emphasize her relationship to me.
She turns to the blonde chick and annoying bar owner. She mutters under her breath. “I should probably leave. I better make sure the kids are okay and the babysitter gets home. He can’t drive her. I don’t want her walking home this late at night.”
“Why don’t you leave his ride in the parking lot.” J-man ignores my death stare. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t get towed.”
“Thanks.” She twists her mouth into a pained smile.
“Be careful.” He thinks I don’t notice, but I do - the concerned look on his face, the way his hand brushes against her arm. “I don’t want anything happening to you.”
I scowl.
“Give me your keys,” Meghan demands, fed up with me.
“Go to hell.” I mutter under my breath. J-Man shoots me a barbed look. Reaching in my pocket, I acquiesce, handing him my leather key ring in case he needs to move my Suburban before I pick it up. “I’ll try and grab it tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure my friends don’t steal the rims and sell off the rest.”
He turns to my wife.
He thinks I don’t hear his whisper, but I do. “Text me when you get home.”
Cracking my knuckles, I have to stop myself from putting a fist through the wall of his overpriced bar.
Chapter Five
Reed
I wake up Sunday morning, a throbbing headache causing me to lean my head back against the pillow. The spot next to me is empty, the covers untouched on one side of the bed. She must’ve slept in the guest room.
More and more, we both take turns giving each other space.
My phone rests beside me, the ringer off.
I have multiple missed calls, but I don’t recognize any of the numbers.
Meghan knocks on the door a few minutes later. “The boys and I want to go to the Butterfly Museum. I’m going to take them.” She starts to shut the door when I call out after her.
She pops her head back in. “What?”
“I’m going to go with.”
“Oh, okay.” She shrugs. “If you want.”
“If you don’t want me…” My voice trails off.
“I want you to do what you want to do, Reed. I’ll drop you off on the way to get the Suburban so you at least have your ride.”
Cringing at the thought of last night, I take a handful of Advil and grab the bottle of mouthwash on the sink. Stepping in the shower, I take a quick one, spraying on some cologne before heading into the walk-in to grab some clothes.
I’m scouting through my padded hangers, looking for something casual, when a metal hanger covered in plastic from our local dry cleaner enters my line of vision.
It’s a striped long-sleeve shirt stuck between two similar striped shirts, nothing particularly eye-catching about either.
Except…
No, it can’t be.
It’s a Bugatachi shirt I’d left with Talin so she could wear it. She swore she slept better in my button downs than she did naked, a whiff of my scent making the difference.
I click on the app that houses her pics, there’s a shot of her wearing only this…
So how did it get back in my closet?
I shove it back between the other two shirts, as if it’s cloaked in guilt just by hanging on the rack.
Quickly, I yank on a polo t-shirt and a pair of shorts.
I glance at my phone again before heading downstairs to join them in the car.
For all the missed calls, there are no messages. Strange.
I almost ask Meghan about the reappearing shirt, but I don’t dare call attention to it. I add it to the list I’m compiling in my head of what I can’t ask my wife.
Flinching, I consider the bar owner and where she was yesterday after yoga. But the boys are in the back and they’re sponges, retaining information like no other.
My face reddens as I think of an earlier time when I had to bribe them to keep from telling Meghan something.
Last night’s memories are vague, but my wife and the bar fly were making eyes at each other. Something’s definitely going on. I’m not big on public displays of affection or public displays of humiliation, especially when my wife’s the cause.
She drops me off at my car. The boys whine until they hear I’m coming with. Meghan sits in stony silence, driving off without a backward glance.
I quickly get my keys and follow them to the exploration center, where we talk to the boys but ignore each other. They act as buffers between us.
As we’re exploring the butterfly wonderland, I hear my phone vibrate.
I scowl at the screen. Caller ID blocked.
Whoever it is will leave a message if it’s important.
“Everything okay?” Meghan asks.
“Yeah, why?” I answer.
“You made a face at your phone.”
“Just wish this client would stop being so difficult.”
“On a Sunday?” She’s skeptical. I pretend not to hear her.
A minute later my phone beeps, signaling a voicemail.
Stepping away from her and the boys, I press the ‘play’ button and listen, cupping the phone to my ear, the volume all the way up.
As I listen, the air is sucked out of the room. Everything around me, the noises, it all fades into oblivion.
“This is Officer Peter Morse from the Portland Police Department. We need to ask you some questions. It’s urgent. If you could give us a call back as soon as you receive this message. And Reed, it’s urgent,” he says again for the second time.
The way he says my na
me, the emphasis on it, sends a chill down my spine.
What else could this be about besides Talin?
Meghan ran ahead to keep up with the twins, her back to me at an exhibit on Erebia Ephiron, also known as Mountain Ringlet butterflies, a dark-brown type with black-centered orange spots found mainly in the Scottish Highlands. The conservation areas are swarming with parents holding children against the plate glass, instructing them not to tap on it as each child ignores their instructions by pressing their fists against the tempered panes.
I walk slowly towards her, my instincts yelling at me to go in the other direction.
Her head flips around when Henry yells, “Daddy.”
“Ohmygod, what’s wrong?” She reaches a hand out, trying to hold mine. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I shake my head. “I’ve got to go make a call.”
“Right now? Reed…”
“I’ve got to make a call.” My voice breaks.
“What happened?” Her eyes widen in fear. “Are your parents okay?”
“I’ll be back.”
“Reed, is it them?”
“No.” I don’t want her to think one of my parents is hurt or dead. That’s unfair. She was there when I got the call about my brother.
She wants more information, her mouth opening and then shutting, her eyes sharpening.
“I’m going to head home. Glad we stopped for my vehicle,” I add.
“Do you want us to come with?”
“No,” I say more forcefully than I mean. “No, that’s okay.” I soften my voice. “You still have the hands-on learning center and some more exhibits to see.”
“You want us to stay away for a bit?” She twists her face into a frown.
“Meghan.” I turn to stone. “I’m going to need some time alone.” She’s hurt, and her eyes crinkle at the corners like when she’s about to cry.
Lowering my voice, I say, “You might want to get a sitter later. We’re going to need to talk.”
She bites her lip, trepidation in her eyes, as she turns back towards the display, the boys immersed in the flight of the winged creatures.
Hanging my head, I turn to walk outside, each step heavier than the first.
Nothing matches the weight that’s crushing my insides. I have a haunted feeling like my life’s about to change.
All the Pretty Lies Page 5
