He was so quiet she thought he’d fallen asleep, but then he flipped over on top of her and began to kiss her, his tongue slipping between her lips as his knee spread apart her legs.
She wasn’t ready for him and sucked in a breath as he entered her, but didn’t ask him to stop. He pressed his face into her neck, his arms on either side of her head. He finished quickly and lay on top of her, breathing hard.
“I love you,” Nellie said softly.
She wasn’t sure if he’d heard, but then he lifted his head and kissed her gently on the lips.
“Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you, my Nellie?” He smoothed back her hair.
She shook her head.
“You were smiling down at a little boy in the airport; you looked like an angel. And I thought you could save me.”
“Save you?” she echoed.
His words were a whisper: “From myself.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
YEARS AGO, SHORTLY AFTER I’d first moved to New York, I was walking to work, taking in the sights: towering buildings, snatches of conversations in multiple languages, yellow taxis darting through the streets, and calls from vendors hawking everything from pretzels to fake Gucci purses. Then the flow of foot traffic abruptly stopped. Through the crowd, I could see a few police officers gathered ahead, near a gray blanket someone had left crumpled on the sidewalk. An ambulance idled at the curb.
“A jumper,” someone said. “Must’ve just happened.”
I realized then the blanket covered a shattered body.
I’d stood there for a minute, feeling as if it was somehow disrespectful to cross the street and walk past the scene, even though the police were directing us to do so. Then I saw a shoe by the curb. A low-heeled, sensible blue pump, lying on its side, its sole slightly worn. The kind of shoe a woman might reach for to wear to a job that required her to dress professionally but also be on her feet for long stretches. A bank teller, maybe, or desk clerk at a hotel. A police officer was bending down to place the shoe in a plastic bag.
I couldn’t stop thinking about that shoe, or the woman it belonged to. She must have gotten up that morning, gotten dressed, and stepped out of a window into the air.
I searched the newspapers the following day, but there was only a tiny mention of the incident. I never knew what had made her commit such a desperate act—if she’d been planning it, or if something inside her had suddenly snapped.
I think I’ve figured out the answer, all these years later: It was both. Because something inside me has finally cracked open, but I’ve come to realize I’ve also been heading toward this moment all along. The phone calls, the watching, the other things I’ve done … I’ve been circling around my replacement, drawing closer to her, assessing her. Preparing.
Her life with Richard is beginning. My life feels as if it is ending.
Soon she will step into her white dress. She will smooth makeup over her clear young skin. She will wear something borrowed and something blue. The musicians will lift their instruments to serenade her as she slowly makes her way down the aisle, toward the only man I ever truly loved. Once she and Richard look into each other’s eyes and say “I do,” there will be no point of return.
I must stop the wedding.
It is now four A.M. I haven’t slept. I’ve been staring at the clock, going over what I need to do, playing out the various scenarios.
She hasn’t moved out of her apartment yet. I’ve checked.
I will be waiting to intercept her today.
I imagine her eyes widening, her hands flying up to protect herself.
It’s too late! I yearn to scream at her. You should have stayed away from my husband!
When it’s finally light outside, I rise and go to my armoire, and without hesitation I select Richard’s favorite emerald silk dress. He loved the way it brought it out the green in my eyes. Once it hugged my body, but now it is so loose I clasp a slim gold chain-link belt around my waist to cinch it. With a precision I have not attempted in years I apply my makeup, taking time to blend my foundation, curl my lashes, and apply two coats of mascara. Then I remove the new tube of Clinique lip gloss from my purse and run the sticky, soft pink wand over my lips. I slip on my highest pair of nude heels so my legs look long and lean. I text Lucille that I will be out today, aware that her response will almost certainly be that I should not come in ever again.
I have one stop to make before I go to her apartment. I’ve booked an early appointment at the Serge Normant salon on the Upper East Side. I will be finished and at her place in plenty of time.
It wasn’t difficult to find her schedule; I know what her plans are for today. I slip out quietly, without leaving a note for Aunt Charlotte.
When I arrive at the salon, the colorist greets me. I see her eyes go to my roots, which I never did touch up. “What are you looking for today?”
I hand her a picture of a beautiful young woman and tell her to match the warm, buttery shade.
The colorist looks from the photo to me and back again. “Is this you?”
“Yes,” I say.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
SOON THE MUSICIANS would play Pachelbel’s Canon as she walked down the aisle with her father’s handkerchief—something blue—wrapped around a bouquet of white roses. “Have and hold … honor and cherish … till death do you part,” the minister would say.
Nellie was leaving for the airport in a few hours. She tucked her new red bikini into one of her two suitcases and checked her to-do list. Her wedding gown had been shipped ahead to the resort by FedEx, and the concierge had confirmed its arrival. Her toiletries were all that remained to pack.
Faint white rectangles showed on the walls where her pictures had hung. She was leaving behind her bed, dresser, and a lamp. Sam had a lead on a new roommate, a Pilates instructor who was coming by tomorrow. If the new roommate didn’t want Nellie’s furniture, she had promised she’d arrange to have the items hauled away. “I’m going to pay rent until someone else moves in, too,” she’d insisted.
She could tell Sam didn’t want to accept the offer, especially since Richard was paying for her trip to Florida and had just covered the cost of the locksmith.
Nellie knew Sam couldn’t afford the apartment on her own. “Come on,” Nellie had said as Sam sat on Nellie’s bed, watching her finish packing. “It’s only fair.”
“Thanks.” Sam had given Nellie a quick, hard squeeze. “I hate good-byes.”
“I’ll see you in a few days,” Nellie protested.
“That’s not what I mean.”
Nellie nodded. “I know.”
A moment later, Sam was gone.
As Nellie wrote out that month’s rent check, the phone rang. She’d been staring at her signature, realizing she might never again sign her old last name. Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, she thought. It sounded so dignified.
Nellie checked caller ID before answering. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, lovey, just wanted to double-check your flight number. It’s American, right?”
“Yeah. Hang on.” Nellie opened her laptop and scrolled down through her emails to find the airline’s confirmation, then read the information aloud. “It gets in at seven-fifteen.”
“Will you have had dinner?”
“Only if you consider a package of peanuts a meal.”
“I can cook for you.”
“Let’s keep it simple—why don’t we just pick up something on the way home?… By the way, did you pick out your spa treatments yet? Richard booked us massages and facials, but you need to let them know if you want a deep-tissue or Swedish or whatever.… Did you see the brochure he emailed you?”
“He doesn’t need to do that for me. You know I have trouble sitting still for those kinds of things.”
It was true; Nellie’s mom’s preferred form of relaxation would be taking a walk on the beach at sunset, rather than lying facedown on a masseuse’s table. But Richard hadn’t know
n that. He’d wanted to do something special. How could Nellie tell him her mother had rejected his gesture?
“Try it. I bet you’ll like it more than you think.”
“Just sign me up for whatever you’re getting.”
Nellie knew she was far from the only daughter who chafed at what seemed to be veiled maternal barbs. “So much processed sugar,” her mother had murmured the last time Nellie ate a bag of Skittles in front of her, and she’d asked more than once how Nellie could stand the “claustrophobia” of Manhattan.
“Please at least act excited about it in front of Richard.”
“Lovey, you seem so concerned by what he thinks all the time.”
“I’m not concerned. I’m appreciative! He’s so good to me.”
“Did he ask if you wanted to spend the day before your wedding getting a facial?”
“What? Why does that even matter?” Only Nellie’s mother could get her so riled up about a stupid spa treatment. No, not stupid! It was Richard’s gift.
“Let me just say something. You’ve told me that facials make you break out. Why wouldn’t you tell that to Richard? And he bought a house you hadn’t even seen. Do you want to live in the suburbs?”
Nellie exhaled through her teeth but her mother continued, “I’m sorry, but he seems like he has such a strong personality.”
“You’ve only met him once!” Nellie protested.
“You’re still so young, though. I’m worried you might fade away.… I know you love him, but please stay true to yourself, too.”
Nellie was not going to do this; she’d walk away from the fight her mother seemed determined to pick. “I have to finish packing. But I’ll see you in a few hours.” After some wine on the plane has fortified me.
Nellie hung up the phone and went into the bathroom to gather up her toiletries. She arranged her cosmetics, toothpaste, and lotions in her travel kit, then glanced in the mirror above the sink. Despite the fact that she hadn’t been sleeping, her skin looked perfect.
She strode back into the bedroom, picked up the phone, and called the resort’s salon to cancel her facial. “Can I get a seaweed body wrap instead?”
She was only spending a few days with her mother before Richard would fly down and they headed to the resort for the wedding; she’d be able to get through it. Plus, Sam and her aunt would be flying in a day early and could help serve as buffers.
She laid the toiletry kit in the still-open suitcase and tried to close it. But she could barely zip it halfway.
“Dammit!” She tried to force down the lid.
The problem was, she still had no idea where they’d be going for the honeymoon. She’d guessed someplace tropical because of Richard’s comment about the bikini, but even warm-weather islands could turn chilly at night. She’d packed casual dresses, beach cover-ups, athletic wear, a few evening outfits in case there was a dress code, as well as heels and flip-flops.
She’d have to start over. She began pulling out of her suitcase all the items she’d carefully folded. Three fancy outfits instead of four, she decided, also tossing one of the pairs of heels into the brown packing box by her closet. And the floppy beach hat that had looked so cute in the J.Crew catalog might not make the cut.
She should’ve figured this out sooner; her plane was leaving in three hours and Richard was on his way to pick her up and drive her to the airport. She refolded her clothes and managed to fit everything but the floppy hat in her bag. She stuck it on top of the dresser; she’d leave it for Sam. Now she just needed to double-check that she hadn’t forgotten anything, since she wouldn’t be returning to her apartment again, and—
Her father’s handkerchief.
A few mesh pockets lined the inside of her suitcase, and she was certain she’d tucked it into one. But she hadn’t seen it when she’d unpacked the bag.
She unzipped her suitcase again and felt around for the soft pouch, her movements growing frantic.
All her clothes were getting wrinkled, but she shoved them aside to grope inside the mesh pockets. She couldn’t find the pouch; her socks and bras and panties were still there, but nothing else.
She sat on the edge of her bed and dropped her head into her hands. She’d packed most of her things a few nights ago. She’d been so conscious of that blue square of fabric; it was the one irreplaceable item she was bringing for the wedding.
A knock on her open bedroom door made her gasp. Her head jerked up.
“Nellie?”
It was only Richard.
She hadn’t heard him come in; he must have used the new key she’d given him.
“I can’t find my dad’s handkerchief!” she cried.
“Where did you last see it?”
“In my suitcase. But it isn’t there anymore. I tore everything apart, and we have to leave for the airport, and if I can’t—”
Richard looked around the room, then lifted up the suitcase. She saw the square of blue and closed her eyes.
“Thank you. Did I really not see it? I thought I looked there, but I was so frazzled, I just…”
“It’s okay now. And you have a plane to catch.”
Then Richard walked over to the dresser and picked up her new beach hat, spinning it around on his index finger. He placed it on her head. “Are you wearing this on the flight? You look adorable.”
“I am now.” It even went with her jeans and striped T-shirt and the slip-on Converse sneakers she always wore when she flew, to save time during the security check.
Her mother didn’t get it. Richard fixed everything. She’d be safe with him no matter where they lived.
He lifted up her suitcases and headed for the door. “I know you had some good memories in this place. We’ll make new ones, though. Better ones. Ready?”
She was stressed and tired, her mother’s comments still stung, and she’d never lost those damn eight pounds. But Nellie nodded and followed him out the door. Richard was sending a mover to pick up the brown packing boxes she’d left stacked in her closet, as well as the things she’d put in his apartment building’s storage unit, and deliver them to the new house.
“I parked a couple of blocks away.” Richard set her bags down near the curb. “Be back in two minutes, babe.”
He strode off, and Nellie looked around her street. A delivery van idled a few doors down and a couple of men were wrestling an oversize chair out of its back.
But other than for those guys and a woman waiting at the bus stop with her back to Nellie, the street was quiet.
Nellie closed her eyes and tilted back her head. Feeling the early-afternoon sun against her cheeks. Waiting for the sound of her name to tell her it was time to go.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
MY REPLACEMENT DOESN’T SEE ME coming.
By the time she senses my approach and shock fills her eyes, I am very close.
She looks around wildly, probably trying to find an escape.
“Vanessa?” Her voice is incredulous.
I am surprised she recognizes me so swiftly. “Hello.”
She is younger than me, and her curves are more generous, but now that my hair is back to its natural hue, we could be sisters.
I’ve anticipated this moment for so long. Remarkably, I don’t feel any panic.
My palms are dry. My breathing is steady.
I am finally doing it.
* * *
I am a very different woman today than when Richard and I fell in love all those years ago.
Everything about me has transformed.
At the age of twenty-seven, I was a buoyant, chatty preschool teacher who hated sushi and loved the movie Notting Hill.
I palmed trays of burgers at my part-time waitressing job and rummaged through secondhand-clothing stores and went out dancing with my friends. I had no idea how lovely I was. How lucky I was.
I had so many friends. I’ve lost every one of them. Even Samantha.
Now all I have left is Aunt Charlotte.
In my old life, I even had another name.
The first time we met, Richard nicknamed me Nellie. That was all he ever called me.
But to everyone else, I was always—and am still—Vanessa.
* * *
I can still hear Richard’s deep voice as he would tell the story—our story—whenever people asked how we met.
“I spotted her in the airport lounge,” he’d say. “Trying to roll her suitcase with one hand and holding her purse and a bottle of water and a chocolate-chip cookie in the other.”
I was returning to New York from visiting my mother in Florida. The trip had been a good one, despite that going home always conjured painful memories for me. I missed my father more than ever when I went back to my old house. And I could never escape the recollections of my time at college. But at least my mother’s erratic moods had somewhat stabilized thanks to a new medicine. Still, I hated to fly and I felt especially anxious about being in the air that day, even though the sky was a swath of azure dotted with only a few cottony clouds.
I noticed him right away. He wore a dark suit and a crisp white shirt and was frowning at his laptop while he typed.
“This little kid started pitching a tantrum,” Richard would continue. “His poor mom had a baby in a car seat and was at her wit’s end.”
I had that cookie, so I gestured to the mother, asking if I could give it to the crying boy. She nodded gratefully. I was a preschool teacher; I knew the power of a well-timed bribe. I bent down and gave the child his treat and his tears evaporated. When I glanced in Richard’s direction a minute later, he’d disappeared.
As I boarded the plane, I passed him, seated in first class—naturally. He sipped a clear liquid from a glass. His tie was loose around his neck. He’d spread a newspaper open on his tray but was watching the passengers file in. I felt a magnetic pull when his gaze stopped on me.
“I watched her thumping that suitcase down the aisle,” Richard would say, drawing out the story. “Not a bad view at all.”
I wheeled my blue suitcase to row twenty. I settled into my seat and performed my usual preflight superstitious rituals: I slipped off my Converse sneakers, closed the window shade, and wrapped a cozy scarf around myself.
The Wife Between Us Page 14
