The Ever After

by Sarah Pekkanen

  Why wasn’t Frank answering his phone? He was probably in the center of a group, holding court, entertaining everyone with one of his endless stories. Josie wasn’t truly angry, because Frank couldn’t have known Izzy would become ill. But she was peeved that he hadn’t checked his cell phone. She never would have stayed out so long without doing so. The rules were different when you were a parent.

  She fell asleep curled around Izzy. Her phone woke her a little past two.

  “Frank?” she said. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Where are you?”

  In the background, she could hear the echo of his footsteps. It sounded as if his hard-soled dress shoes were slapping against concrete.

  “Sorry,” he panted. “I’m just getting my car from the garage now. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Izzy threw up!” Josie said. “It’s all over her room.”

  “Should I stop and get her Pedialyte or anything?”

  “Frank, it’s the middle of the night,” she said. “Just come home.”

  She ended the call and remained motionless. She suddenly felt wide awake. Her skin prickled. She lay in bed, her hand absently stroking circles on Izzy’s back, until she heard Frank’s key in the lock twenty minutes later.

  He came into the bedroom, still in his suit jacket and tie, a contrite expression on his face.

  “We were at the hotel bar,” he explained. “I didn’t hear my phone.”

  “What if the house had burned down?” she asked. “What if I’d had to take Izzy to the hospital?”

  “I’m sorry.” He approached the bed. “How is she?” He reached down and smoothed Izzy’s hair back from her face. The look on his face was so loving, so kind, that Josie felt her heart soften. It wasn’t intentional that he hadn’t heard his phone. He probably had a little too much to drink and hadn’t been paying attention to the time.

  “Her bedroom is a disaster,” Josie said.

  “I’ll clean it,” Frank said, standing up. “Let me just change. Do you need anything else?”

  “Can you get her more water?” Josie asked, gesturing to the glass on the nightstand.

  “Sure,” he said. He went into Izzy’s bedroom. She heard him rustling around, then heading downstairs. When he came back five minutes later, he poked his head into the doorway.

  “That was gross,” he said, smiling. “I threw her comforter and sheets into the washing machine.”

  “Ew, it got on those, too?” Josie asked. “Can you wash your hands before you come to bed?”

  “Yes, I’ll wash my hands,” Frank said. His voice sounded a little exasperated, but he was still smiling at her.

  The exasperated tone was what did it. It proved that this was just an ordinary night, that nothing strange had happened, and that Frank had been doing exactly what he’d said. If he’d had something to feel guilty about, he wouldn’t be acting so normally.

  Josie felt the tightness in her abdomen relax as she inhaled deeply. Frank eased into bed, gently moving Izzy into the middle.

  “I love you,” he whispered, right before Josie fell asleep.

  • • •

  The next morning, she’d woken around seven. Izzy was asleep, splayed out like a starfish. Josie touched her daughter’s forehead. Izzy’s fever had broken.

  That could have been the end of it.

  Across the room, Josie saw Frank’s iPhone on the bureau, plugged into a charger.

  She could hear the shower running, and the muffled sound of Frank’s singing. He was fond of belting out Sinatra in the morning.

  One detail from last night kept nagging at her. The sound of Frank’s footsteps rapidly slapping against concrete, echoing as if in a stairwell.

  Wouldn’t a hotel have an elevator to deliver you to the parking garage?

  Perhaps Frank had left his car at the office and had taken a cab or Uber to the dinner. That was plausible. He could have been let off at the front entrance of his office building. He could have used his key to gain access to the building, then taken the stairs down one level to the parking garage because he was in a rush.

  The thing was, Josie had driven Frank to work before, on weekend mornings when the office building was closed, to retrieve his car. Instead of entering the lobby, he’d used a device on his key chain to unlock the giant metal garage door. She’d watched it grind upward, folding into the ceiling, and then Frank had given her a wave and disappeared inside, emerging a moment later with his car.

  He hadn’t taken the stairs, because it was faster to enter through the garage directly.

  And he’d been in a rush last night.

  Josie looked at his iPhone again.

  “Fly me to the moon,” Frank sang. He always took long showers, often draining their small tank of hot water.

  Izzy was still sound asleep. Zoe must’ve been, too, since she hadn’t come into the room.

  Josie lifted up the covers and slid out a leg. The mattress shifted and creaked as she stood up, but Izzy slept on.

  She walked to the bureau and stared down at his phone. She swept her index finger across the screen and typed in the code.

  If someone—say, Karin—had asked Josie to articulate what was going on in her head at that moment, she would not have been able to explain her actions. She was operating on instinct alone. But she was aware that she didn’t expect to find anything on Frank’s phone. She was looking at it for reassurance, not because she truly doubted her husband.

  There was one new text.

  It was from a woman whose name Josie recognized instantly. Melissa was a sales associate Frank had worked with for the past year. Frank had mentioned her several times.

  Josie knew Frank admired her professionally; she was smart and hardworking. Josie had met her once or twice and had found her to be pleasant if somewhat bland. Melissa wasn’t particularly attractive, either—or at least, Josie had never considered that she might be to Frank. She was tall and gangly, with knobby elbows and knees. Her complexion was pasty and her hair a mousy brown.

  Josie had never considered her a threat.

  Melissa had texted Frank at 6:58 a.m., just a couple of minutes ago. Perhaps the buzzing sound of an incoming text was what had woken Josie.

  She stared down at the message, feeling her skin prickle again.

  Fun night. Let’s do it again soon.

  Had Melissa written more? Only the opening two lines were displayed on the screen. If Josie touched the text, the entire note would appear—but then Frank would also know she had opened it.

  She touched the text.

  The green dot next to the message, which indicated it was unread, disappeared. Now there would be no hiding from Frank what she’d done.

  But Josie hadn’t needed to view it, after all. The full message was only those two lines.

  Josie carefully set the phone back down on the dresser and walked over to the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress’s foot.

  Fun night.

  The rushing water ceased, and Josie could hear Frank, humming now, pull back the curtain. There was a rustling noise that she knew meant he was rubbing a towel over his hair. Next he’d put on his thick robe, the one she’d gotten for him at L.L.Bean for his birthday, and he’d spread shaving cream on his cheeks.

  Let’s do it again soon.

  That phrasing. It seemed deliberate. Cautious. Purposefully vague. Perhaps in case someone other than Frank saw the message.

  What, exactly, had been fun? The industry dinner, or something else?

  Melissa lived in a small apartment building downtown. Josie knew this because Melissa had hosted a cocktail party months ago that Frank and Josie had attended, along with many of their colleagues.

  Josie and Frank had parked on the street that night. Josie closed her eyes and tried to visualize the apartment building. But she couldn’t recall whether it had a basement garage.

  Frank had been running when he’d phoned her back. He’d been out of breath. Frank, who had never been big on exercise. If he�
�d been innocently hanging out in a group after the dinner, would he have run to his car? It seemed more like the action someone might take if he was guilty of something.

  She heard the buzz of Frank’s electric toothbrush. He would open the bathroom door and walk into the bedroom at any moment.

  She waited. The bathroom door swung open.

  “Sweetie?” Frank sounded surprised. “You okay?”

  She looked up at him. “Melissa texted you. I read it.”

  “Okay,” Frank said. He remained standing in the bathroom doorway. He seemed utterly calm. “What did she say?”

  “That she had a fun time last night and wanted to do it again soon.”

  Frank took a step closer to Josie. “Yeah, I talked to her a lot last night. She’s had a rough year. Her dad got really sick—he needed a bone marrow transplant—and she had to help her mom through it all. I think she was happy to get out.”

  Josie’s brain felt thick and sludgy. It was difficult to think.

  “We were all hanging out at the hotel bar,” Frank said. He moved a step closer. “Other people were there, too. You remember Dean, right? He was with us. And Cindy.”

  “So if I called Dean and Cindy, they’d tell me they were at the bar with you until two a.m.?” Josie asked.

  Frank nodded. “Of course. Sure. Call them if you want.”

  He couldn’t be lying. His expression radiated sincerity.

  “Okay, I may just call Cindy,” Josie said. That didn’t provoke a reaction. “And the next time you see Melissa outside of work, I want to come.”

  “Sweetie!” Frank looked wounded. “Of course! You would have been there last night if they’d let us bring spouses.”

  Zoe woke up a moment later, and Josie went downstairs to pour Kix cereal into bowls and slice up oranges.

  “You okay?” Frank said before he left for work. He was holding one of his to-go mugs with flowers and butterflies drawn on it. We love Daddy, Zoe had written. Frank’s forehead creased as he looked across the kitchen at her. “Come here, Josie.”

  He folded her into his arms and whispered, “I love you.”

  She inhaled his woodsy cologne and closed her eyes, her ear pressed so closely to his chest that she could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. This was real; this was the truth. He simply could not have been with another woman seven hours ago. It was impossible.

  “I love you, too,” she said, clinging to Frank.

  “I’ll be home early tonight,” he promised, and she finally let him go.

  But as soon as the door closed behind Frank, the words in the text floated back into her mind. It was as if Melissa were leaning close, whispering them.

  Would a hotel bar really remain open until two on a weeknight? The kitchen tile felt cold under Josie’s bare feet and she shivered. Frank hadn’t been upset that she’d read his texts. Did that indicate guilt, or was he merely being kind because he knew she’d had a rough night and was feeling fragile?

  It would be easy enough to check. She’d feel better once she confirmed that small fact. Then she could let this go completely.

  She settled Zoe in front of a video, then she ran upstairs and put on socks before she found the reservations number for the hotel chain and dialed it.

  She was transferred around until she finally reached the concierge at the Chicago location where Frank’s dinner had been held. The concierge was initially confused, thinking she wanted a reservation at the bar, but she managed to convey her question.

  “No, miss, our bar has last call at twelve o’clock,” he said.

  Josie froze. She felt as if she were going into shock. “So no one could be there at, say, one o’clock?” she asked. Her voice sounded strangled.

  He lied, Josie thought. He was with Melissa, in her apartment.

  “Well, sure, they could be,” the concierge said.

  “Wait—is the bar closed or open after midnight?” Josie asked. She rubbed her forehead.

  “You see, the bar has last call at twelve, but the seating area for it is in an open area of the hotel, with lots of couches and chairs. So if your group wants to relax there, that would be fine. You just couldn’t be served drinks that late.”

  Maybe Frank hadn’t lied.

  “So last night, people could have been in the bar area until one thirty or two?” Josie asked. The concierge still seemed to think she wanted to make a reservation; it was critical that he understand what she was asking.

  “The bar area is open all night,” the concierge said. “It’s more like a lounge for our guests. We have complimentary water and newspapers there as well. There is plenty of seating for large groups.”

  He’d probably still missed the point of her call, but he’d given her some information. Josie thanked him and hung up. She felt more uncertain than ever. Was it plausible that Frank and his friends had hung out for nearly two hours without any alcohol being served? Perhaps they’d all ordered drinks for last call at midnight. They could’ve nursed their cocktails, then switched to water.

  She tried to picture it. Soft, comfortable chairs and couches. Everyone settling in after the long dinner. And Frank did always hate to leave a good party. They could have lingered, a small group of good friends who didn’t get to see one another enough. Frank was a night owl. He wouldn’t have felt the lateness of the hour the way she would have.

  Maybe she should go to the bar area. Perhaps if she saw it for herself, she’d have a better understanding of what might or might not have happened.

  She’d do it. She’d take Izzy into the city for lunch, then make up an excuse to wander through the hotel.

  With that settled, Josie turned her attention to the laundry and breakfast dishes.

  She’d intended to go into the city around noon. But first she had to run to the store to pick up rug cleaner. When she pulled back into her driveway at around eleven thirty, she discovered Izzy had fallen asleep in her car seat. Josie let her doze while she ran into the house and saturated the rug with the spray cleaner. When she went back outside, Izzy was still sleeping. Josie picked her up to carry her into the house, thinking Izzy might need to nap a bit longer after her rough night. Josie settled her on the couch and covered her with a blanket, putting cushions on the floor in case Izzy rolled off.

  Josie finished scrubbing and vacuuming the rug, then she sank into the recliner next to the couch, intending to just close her eyes briefly. But she slept for nearly an hour and a half. By the time she woke up, it was too late to go into the city and still make it back in time to pick up Zoe.

  She’d go another time, Josie told herself. But already, the errand seemed less urgent. She was warm and drowsy and the intense emotions that had battered her last night and this morning were fading. Frank had texted while she’d been sleeping—How are my beautiful girls doing?—and Huck was whining to go out the back and Josie needed to make one more pass over the rug because it still smelled a bit.

  The pull toward everyday life had already begun to reassert itself.

  • • •

  At the time, Frank’s explanation seemed plausible, when Josie held it up against the scanty facts she’d secured. Only much later would she begin to question whether she truly believed Frank, or only wanted to believe him. But, at least on that afternoon, as she looked at her sleeping daughter in the cozy living room of the home she loved so, the distinction didn’t occur to her.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  * * *

  Present day

  “TELL ME YOUR THREE happy things,” Sonya the therapist said.

  Josie wrapped her arms around the chenille pillow that she’d pulled onto her lap again. It was soft and squishy, and she wondered whether Sonya had chosen it for those reasons.

  “I had drinks with my friends. Then I took my daughters out and we all got manicures; that was kind of a big deal because it’s expensive and I usually do my own nails. And I bought some trashy magazines to read.”

  “How did it feel when you di
d those things?” Sonya asked.

  “Everything reminded me of the affair.” Josie sighed. “I talked about it during drinks. The manicurist pointed out I’ve been biting my cuticles. And in the magazines—my God, is everyone having an affair? It seemed like it was all about celebrities being caught with strippers.”

  “So the reminders are everywhere.”

  “I can’t escape them,” Josie said. “It’s like if I manage to stop thinking about it for thirty seconds, then, bam! I drive by a Starbucks, or a song comes on the radio and the lyrics are all about cheating. Or, the song is by Gwen Stefani and it makes me think about how she caught her husband with the nanny or whatever. I overhear someone talking about the new Kristen Stewart movie, and I instantly remember how she cheated on Robert Pattinson with that director years ago. It’s like the six degrees of separation game, but everything in my world is one degree away from cheating.”

  Sonya let Josie’s words sit for a moment. “You are experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder.”

  Josie looked up in surprise. “I am?”

  Sonya nodded. “In many ways, a discovery like yours can feel like a death. It’s a tremendous loss. With time, you will find that those constant reminders ebb. You’ll be able to find joy in everyday activities at some point, I promise.”

  Josie sighed. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said.

  Sonya glanced down at the yellow legal pad that was resting in her lap.

  “Has Frank found a place to move into yet?”

  “Yeah, an apartment,” Josie said. “He’s subletting it from a woman who is moving to Asia for six months. It’s already furnished, so he doesn’t have to deal with that.”

  Sonya jotted something on her notepad. Josie wondered what her notes said: Married twelve years, two kids, affair. Those were the bullet points of her life.

  “That will make things simpler, if he doesn’t have to furnish it. Especially since you haven’t made a decision yet. And when does he move out?”

  “In a few weeks.” Josie dropped her head into her hands. “How am I going to tell the girls?”