The Next Wife

by Kaira Rouda

  Sounds like Tish may indeed have had something to do with her stepdad’s death, but this old news doesn’t get me anywhere.

  I type in a search: “How did Ralph Dunlop Pineville Kentucky die?”

  All that appears is a link to his grave site. But a shiver of dread tells me more. I’m not giving up. One way or another, I will find out what happened in Telluride. My mom was right all along. She told me not to get close to her, told me not to trust her. I was an idiot.

  But I’m not anymore. I don’t believe a word of what Tish told me.

  I don’t even know who she really is. I do another Google search: “Ron Pleasant Dentist Cincinnati.” He is quite easy to find. I’ll call his office in the morning.

  Before I drive away, I find the Sonos app on Dad’s phone, pick his Favorites playlist. And then I decide to go for something a little different. Metallica will do.

  I can’t prove Tish did anything yet, but I can dig into her past, among other things.

  CHAPTER 26

  TISH

  I’ve picked out my outfit for John’s funeral tomorrow, a simple, designer-label chocolate-colored dress. Sure, most people wear black, but I wear black almost every day. This little number is one of John’s favorites. It’s skintight, showing off my perfect figure. I’m also bringing photos of the two of us: our engagement in Telluride, our honeymoon in Rome, and a favorite selfie taken at the office with John leaning over my desk, just about to kiss me. So good.

  That was the moment I got him. The precise moment I had won. He’d asked me to stay late at the office, to help him with a project. Sure, I thought he might have something else on his mind, but I was fine with that as long as there was an endgame. He was going to have to put a ring on it.

  I’d locked the front door of the office, per John’s request. I’d touched up my makeup and was picking leaves off the dying plant on my desk when the door to his office opened.

  “Hey, Tish. Thanks for staying,” he’d said, walking over to me.

  I peered up at him through my thick eyelashes. “My pleasure.”

  Up to this point, he hadn’t been too overt about anything. Sure, he never suggested a friend of his for me to date, but still, if he was looking, he could have any woman in town.

  “I do need to send my mom a photo of me and my boss. She doesn’t actually believe I have a job.” That was a lie, but it worked. I would never send my momma anything.

  “That’s so cute,” he murmured.

  John leaned toward me, and I fought the urge to make the first move. All I had to do was lean up a little and kiss him, but I didn’t. He had to make the first move. So, I pulled out my phone, held it out in front of us, and said as I took the photo, “Let’s see that perfect smile.”

  I’m dizzy now, just thinking about it. There’s nothing like that first kiss.

  Oh, John. Why did you have to betray me? So frustrating. I stomp through the kitchen and notice the floodlights illuminate the backyard. A chill rolls down my spine. The lights only activate if they sense motion.

  I hurry to the keypad and set the alarm. I know I’m being silly, a “scaredy-cat” as my momma would say, but I feel better now that I know no one can get in. Uncle George told me a lot of rich folks get robbed during weddings and funerals, and I for one am not going to lose any of this to anyone.

  Outside, the floodlights have gone out. I take a deep breath, pour a glass of cabernet to take upstairs to my room. For some reason the heater has turned on, and it’s pumping out hot air. I’m almost at the top of our grand staircase when the speakers hidden in every room of the house begin blasting some horrible heavy metal song. The wineglass crashes from my hand and red liquid flies everywhere, making splatters on the carpet and walls like a crime scene. I’m shaking as I try to remember how to turn it off, make it stop.

  I pull my phone from my pocket and try to remember which app controls the music. The sound is piercing, so loud I’m sure my neighbors hear it, wondering who is throwing a party. Oh my god. I’m losing it.

  Damn it. John loves all this smart home shit. I never paid attention to how to work any of it. Frustrated tears run down my cheeks, and I’m about to throw my phone down the stairs when I see the Sonos app.

  I click on it, type in our usual password. “Your password has been updated. Please type the correct password.” Fuck.

  Now I do throw my phone down the stairs. The music gets even louder.

  Just then there’s a pounding at the door. “It’s security, ma’am. Open the door.” Damn it. The community’s security guard has been summoned. I don’t know how much he makes, but who would want his job? Hassling housewives and fining teenagers for driving their parents’ cars too fast. Worthless sense of security, if you ask me.

  I hurry and yank open the door, setting off the security alarm. Sirens blare all around us as the house is illuminated inside and out. My head is about to explode. Red wine is all over my yoga pants.

  “Ma’am, calm down. Are you all right?” The community guard is looking at me like I’m certifiable.

  “I can’t get the music off. My husband controlled all of it on his phone. It just turned on. It won’t stop,” I cover my ears with my hands. I’m in a panic. I can’t think. I need the music to stop.

  The guard is in my face. “The alarm. You need to shut it off or you’ll have all kinds of first responders here.”

  My phone rings. It’s the security company. Oh my god.

  “Mrs. Nelson. Are you safe?”

  “Yes. I set the alarm off by accident. Please make it stop.”

  “What is your safe word?”

  “Ashlyn.” Ironic. His daughter is the safe word. If there is trouble, the panic word is “Kate.” He thought that was funny, at the time.

  “We’ve notified the authorities this is a false alarm. Thank you, Mrs. Nelson. Have a great night.”

  The sirens have stopped, and the lights return to normal nighttime setting, but the music is still blasting. “I don’t know the password. John must have changed it.”

  “Can you call him? Get him to tell you the new one.” He’s yelling, and he looks at me like I’m an idiot.

  “He’s dead,” I yell.

  Just then the music stops. Thank goodness.

  “Praise the Lord,” the guard says simply while shaking his head. “You gonna be OK?”

  “Yes, thank you.” I close the front door. I turn to the stairs and note the wine mess everywhere. Sonja will be here tomorrow.

  She can deal with it.

  I’m beginning to hate my life about now, and that’s not good for anybody. Just ask John.

  CHAPTER 27

  KATE

  It’s one habit I cannot break. Every morning I roll to my right, and I’m stunned when I feel the cold sheets and realize John’s side of the bed is empty. I have to remind myself John is gone. It’s funny how much muscle memory guides us. I know, intellectually, he’ll never be coming back. Ever. Yet I reach for him.

  I don’t want to imagine John as a pile of ash. But I can’t help it. I do. I know he didn’t feel anything, especially not the fire. I want to know if he felt the pain of a heart attack—the official cause of death according to the death certificate—but no one knows. Tish told us she was asleep upstairs. That she left John asleep on the couch downstairs, passed out because he drank too much. Poor John.

  I make my way out of bed and into the bathroom. I avoid looking into his empty closet because it is a reminder that he is gone forever, the shelves holding only a thin layer of dust.

  I’m brushing my teeth when I see Ashlyn’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’s already dressed in a black suit, her long hair pulled into a high ponytail.

  “You’re ready early,” I manage before finishing up.

  “I’m going to go over to the cemetery. I’ll meet you there,” she says, and there won’t be a discussion.

  “No problem. I’ll catch up with you. I know it’s a tough day, honey,” I say, careful to keep my tone ne
utral. I don’t want a fight, not today.

  “You’ll be OK getting there?” She is about to add something else but shakes her head.

  “Yes, no problem.” I check my makeup and decide to apply more. My typical minimalist approach doesn’t cover the sudden loss of color in my cheeks, the circles under my eyes.

  “I love you, Mom,” she says, and then she’s gone.

  My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter. It’s Bob Atlas, our corporate attorney and longtime friend to both John and me.

  “Glad I caught you. We need to talk.” Bob doesn’t waste time on niceties. That is fine with me. Today, I welcome the business distraction.

  “Bob, John’s funeral is in an hour.” I take a breath and let out a sigh.

  “Yes, I know. I’ll be there.” Bob sighs in return. “Can I give you a ride over?”

  That sounds much better than driving and arriving alone. Corporate counsel seems the perfect escort today. “Sure.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. And Kate. I am so sorry. Heart attacks sneak up on people all the time. I just never pictured that could happen to John.” He hangs up before I can reply.

  John did have a heart condition, but he had been stable, on medicine for his high blood pressure. He was in great shape, and it was time to celebrate the success of the IPO. But none of that matters because the fact is, he died.

  Everyone is sorry. Now he’s just a memory.

  Today, I’ll likely be relegated to sitting in the second row of folding chairs at the service, I imagine, like a second cousin or a crazy aunt. But this will be the last time Tish hijacks my family’s spotlight. That’s a promise.

  I pull on my black dress, add a strand of pearls, and slip on my sensible heeled black pumps. It really doesn’t matter what I wear, I know.

  This service is simply something to endure.

  I’m surprised when the doorbell rings. Time seems to be slipping, speeding up, and then slowing down to a crawl ever since we received the news of John’s death. Days pass slowly, but this, just now, the time between Bob’s call and his arrival, seems to have happened in a blink of an eye.

  As I hurry downstairs, I realize I’m grateful for the company, grateful for a friendly, familiar face who is on my side. I open the front door and a wave of summer air rushes in. Even this early in the morning, it’s already a hot one.

  Bob’s salt-and-pepper hair is thinning but still covers his head, and his forehead is lined with experience, deepened with sorrow. I know he’s going to offer the usual sympathy line, so I speak first.

  “Thanks so much for driving me. I really wasn’t up for going alone,” I say, stepping out into the surprisingly warm and sunny summer day. Aren’t all funerals supposed to take place on overcast winter days? There should be a rule about that.

  Bob opens the passenger door for me, a black sedan that seems fitting transportation to a funeral. He slides into the driver’s seat and doesn’t say a word. I’ve found Bob to be a remarkably neutral business adviser. When John and I had disagreements, Bob would not take sides. Instead he would carefully weigh both points of view. I value his counsel.

  I take a breath. I have told myself this will be the last time I have to see Tish, ever. After this, she’ll return to wherever in the swampy south she appeared from, taking a large chunk of our fortune with her.

  “How’s Ashlyn?” Bob asks as we pull into the parking lot of the cemetery.

  I’ve only been here once. It was when John and I picked out our burial sites. He thought it was practical not to saddle Ashlyn with any decisions should something happen to both of us. Like a plane crash on a business trip, he’d explained. I think, maybe, it had been Bob’s idea. Something with the estate, but I don’t know now. All I remember is the way it made me feel to be here, contemplating death in the middle of life, cementing us as a team for eternity, or so I thought. And now, we’ll be using John’s half of our crypt.

  “Ashlyn came ahead. She’ll be here.” I answer logistics because I don’t know how she is, not really. “Bob, was it your idea for John and me to secure a burial place next to his parents? Are you the reason we reserved spots in the mausoleum?”

  “Yes, they were going fast, and it’s the best mausoleum in the city, but god knows I never imagined him needing to use it so soon. It’s tragic. At the height of his success, this happens. Had he been having heart issues?” Bob asks the twenty-million-dollar question.

  “You knew about his high blood pressure, but he was on meds, so it seemed under control. You’d need to ask his wife, I suppose.” John never discussed his high blood pressure, never wanted anyone to know about it, likely not even Tish. He wanted to seem to be her age, not ours.

  I clear my throat. “As you know, the last few months were very stressful, with the IPO. I think the stress, combined with the altitude in Telluride, was hard on his heart.”

  Bob shakes his head as he pulls into a parking space. “He never should have done it.”

  “The IPO?” I ask.

  Bob pats my hand. “Married that woman. Such a fool. I told him he had it all.”

  It wasn’t enough, though. I’m not sure what to say, so I just smile at Bob.

  “Ready?” Bob asks. “Let’s get this over with. None of it is how John imagined it would be, I can tell you that much.”

  That much is entirely true.

  Bob slips out of the car and opens my door, helping me out. I notice the parking lot is quite full, but I don’t know if these are regulars visiting grave sites of loved ones or people here for John. I realize I don’t know who was invited to the funeral. My parents wouldn’t have come if they’d been invited, and all of John’s family members are deceased. They’re all here.

  The cemetery has a parklike feel, if you don’t focus on what’s beneath. Mature trees, rolling green lawn, the oldest in the city. And the mausoleum where we purchased our his-and-her drawers are the most “requested” and “desired” in town, at least that’s what the man told us when we reserved our slots. John’s own parents have a similar setup. John and I had an awkward laugh about it afterward, the afterlife next to my in-laws. A girl’s dream.

  Bob is beside me, and while I’m grateful for his support, I’d like to step inside alone. Unsupported. Since John left three years ago, I’ve learned how to stand on my own. He forced the lesson. And I’m a quick study. I’ve practiced my eulogy speech in front of my bathroom mirror. It’s short, sweet, and thankful: a reminder to everyone in attendance that EventCo is fine, even if our cofounder perished. Our beloved cofounder perished. I scratched both out. I’ll say, “EventCo is in my capable hands, even as we mourn John’s loss.”

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  CHAPTER 28

  ASHLYN

  On my drive to the cemetery, to take my mind off where I’m going, I call dentist Ron Pleasant’s office. Dentist Pleasant has a nice ring to it. I’m surprised when his answering service puts me right through to him on a Sunday. It’s not really an emergency.

  “Look, I don’t know what you want, Terry Jane, but you better leave me alone. Do you understand? The nerve of you, calling after all these years. Let me guess, you’re in trouble again? Well, you’ve come crying to the wrong mark. I won’t be fooled by you again. And I’m a married man,” Ron said in rapid fire, like he’d been waiting to say this for years. He sounded anything but pleasant.

  I suppose I do know why I was put through to him. I pretended to be Tish. I clear my throat. “Actually, Dr. Pleasant, my name is Ashlyn, and I’m calling because I think Terry Jane hurt my dad. Like she hurt you, only worse.”

  I hear a big sigh. “Damn it. I finally got over that woman, and I don’t want to hear her name again.”

  “She married my dad, and now my dad’s dead,” I say, and tears spring to my eyes. “I really need your help. You were married to her, too. Did she try to hurt you? Please help me. I miss my dad, so much.”

  “I’m sorry, I am. And I’m sorry your dad had anything to do with he
r. She met me, married me, I fixed her teeth, gave her a place to stay, new clothes to wear, and then one day she was gone. No note. Nothing. She didn’t hurt me physically, but emotionally and monetarily, I was a mess for a long time.”

  “That stinks,” I say.

  “Sounds like I might have gotten off easy,” he says.

  “You didn’t ask her for a divorce,” I am speaking through sobs. I can’t help it. I’m mad and sad all rolled into one. “That’s what she said. She told me you left her. I felt sorry for her.”

  “No. It’s the other way around. I had to get the court to give me an annulment. She just left,” he says. The sadness in his voice matches mine, but the anger doesn’t. Mine’s more visceral, more raw. “I wish I could help you. But I can’t. My advice. Stay far away from her.”

  I finish the rest of the drive to the cemetery wiping tears away. I’m mad at myself for falling for Tish’s lies. And I’m mad at my dad for falling for her, too.

  I park and look around. It’s surprising how few cars are here. I make my way across the parking lot, my flats crunch on the gravel path leading up to the ornate mausoleum. Stained glass windows and heavy, dark wood architecture give the outside of the building a somber, church-like feel. If it was dark outside, I’d be freaked out.

  I open the door to the creepy place where my dad will be buried and walk inside. Tish stands up front with a ghostly white guy. Behind her are drawers full of dead people, including my grandparents. I almost turn around. I feel sick.

  Tish spots me first. “Ashlyn, darling, come in.”

  The first thing I think is she’s wearing brown when she should be wearing black. The second thing I think is why did she cremate my dad. He has a drawer reserved. One of those right behind her. His whole body would have fit just fine.