My Best Friend's Husband

by Cassandra Dee

  “Um, hi Stone, this is Jenny Rafferty, Margaret’s friend. I’ve met you a couple times?”

  It’s true because I’ve been over at their house a few times. I rent their guest house, after all, and Jenny is my best friend. But I’ve never really interacted with her husband before, short of a few hellos and some stilted conversation.

  “Yes, I know who you are,” he says in a deep voice. “How are you Jenny? How can I help you?”

  “Well, I’m good,” I say hurriedly. “Actually, I’m calling because I’m wondering if you’ve seen Margaret lately. She was supposed to meet me for coffee at Snowy Falls, but she never showed. It’s been an hour now. Did she call you? Or maybe she forgot?”

  There’s a pause on the other line.

  “No, she hasn’t called me, nor did she mention anything. I just got off work so maybe she’s at home. Did you try the land line?”

  I slap my forehead mentally.

  “Oh shit, I didn’t. I totally forgot that you guys had a landline actually. I’m sorry, I should have tried that. Thank you so much!”

  “Sure, no problem,” he says in a growly voice. “Bye Jenny.”

  “Bye,” I say in a small tone before hanging up.

  Oh god, I just embarrassed myself in front of my friend’s husband. Why did I do that? Everyone has a landline here in Maine. They can’t depend solely on cell service like they do in NYC because the coverage isn’t that good. As a result, most people keep both a landline and a cell phone handy, not to mention a satellite phone in case the snow gets really deep. You never know when emergency might strike, and that satellite comes in handy.

  I hang up, my heart racing. I shouldn’t be embarrassed because I was only calling out of concern. Yet, my conversation with Stone makes me feel overheated and breathless because he’s a very handsome man. Yes, I know how it sounds. I’m crushing a little on my friend’s husband, but it’s because I’m human and I have eyes, not because I’ve done anything wrong. I would never hurt Margaret; after what happened with stupid Steven, any type of cheating is completely out of the question.

  Yet Stone’s image dances before my mind. He’s gorgeous, and looks like a wild mountain man come to life. He has deep, reddish-brown hair, and a dark beard to match. He’s about six foot three, with a massive build and wide shoulders that look like they could haul a moose or a deer for miles if he had to. Plus, those eyes. Stone has amber eyes that always make my heart flutter, even though I force myself to stay brightly neutral.

  So yes, I admit it. I have a mini-crush on my best friend’s husband. It’s terrible, but it’s not criminal because I’ve never acted on my feelings. Nor does Stone see me like that at all. To him, I’m just his wife’s spinster friend who moved out to Maine after getting her heart broken in the big city. That’s hardly an attractive image, and I know he doesn’t harbor any secret feelings for me.

  I make myself finish the rest of my apple cider and get up, pulling out the keys to my battered Jeep. It’s a cold day when I step outside, and I pull my parka tighter around my curvy figure. I have no idea where Margaret is, or why she forgot our coffee date, but I hope she’s okay. I’m sure it’s nothing though. Her hunky husband will find her, and we’ll all go back to life as normal.

  2

  Jenny

  The shrill of the phone startles me from a deep sleep and I jerk awake in bed

  “Hello?” I manage to murmur sleepily into the receiver. “Is that you, Mom? It’s late. I’m three hours ahead, remember?”

  I half-expect it to be my mom, Judy, because she lives in California and has never gotten it into her head that the East Coast is in a different time zone than the West Coast. Multiple times, she’s called me in the wee hours of the night only to realize that it’s one or two a.m. where I am before apologizing profusely and promising to call again in the morning.

  But this time, a deep voice sounds into the receiver, urgent and low.

  “Jenny, this is Stone Harrison,” comes the voice. “Can you help us? Margaret is missing and I’ve put together a search party.”

  What? I jerk upright in bed, fully awake now.

  “Margaret? She still hasn’t shown up?”

  His voice is low and filled with low-grade fear.

  “No, she hasn’t, and you know how cold Maine is this time of the year. I’m afraid something terrible has happened, and I’ve assembled a search party to look for her in the woods. Can you help us?”

  I blink, startled.

  “Yes, of course. Where should I meet you guys? Should I just go over to your house?”

  “If you can,” he says in a tight voice. “Some other folks are already here, but we could use your help.”

  Immediately, I tumble out of bed and into some warm clothes. I pull on my ski bib with its insulated pants as well as a thick turtleneck, a fleece overcoat, and then a huge, puffy parka on top of that. To stay warm, I also wrap a giant scarf around my neck, plunk a wool cap on my head and reach for my warmest gloves. The mountains of Maine are unfriendly during winter nights, and it’s important to dress as warmly as possible.

  Quickly, I hurry out the front door and cross the frozen stretch of ground to the Big House. It has log walls and a log roof, but to be honest, the name is just a euphemism because Margaret and Stone’s cabin isn’t much bigger than mine. Inside, it’s about sixteen hundred square feet, with a giant fireplace and three bedrooms instead of my one teensy one. On most nights, the windows are pretty dark but tonight, light streams from the cabin as if someone’s turned on every single lamp in the place.

  I step inside and am immediately assaulted by noise and confusion. The kitchen is bustling with people running to and fro and I catch sight of Stone, his reddish hair gleaming, with a distraught expression on his face.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” I ask in a breathless voice. “How can I help?”

  He turns to me, still somewhat distracted.

  “Hey Jenny, thanks for coming. Like I mentioned Margaret is missing. She never came home from the library today. I called the Sheriff, but they said that they can’t do anything until someone’s been officially missing for seventy-two hours. Can you believe that? Seventy-two hours in the middle of a Maine winter? The missing person will be gone before you know it.”

  It’s true. The temperature here can go below freezing, making the seventy-two hour waiting period absolutely ridiculous. People can get hypothermia in twenty minutes flat, and if conditions are right, they’ll become popsicles within a few hours.

  “What can I do?” I ask, rubbing my mittened hands together to stay warm.

  Stone suddenly looks weary, running a big hand through his ruffled chestnut hair.

  “Take these heating packs and put them in your gloves and boots. Take a flashlight too. We’re going to break up the search party into pairs because there’s no sense in one person getting lost in the woods on their own, and causing even more trouble. Each duo will be outfitted with a walkie-talkie, and you’re to call in to headquarters every fifteen minutes, okay?”

  “Sure,” I say, feeling cold already. My teeth chatter a bit, even though we’re still indoors. “Who’s my partner going to be? Is this headquarters?” I ask, looking around at our neighbors stuffing their own mittens with heating pads and looking grim before they head out.

  He nods shortly.

  “Yeah, I suppose so. But I don’t know who’s going to be whose partner yet. Once all the volunteers arrive, we’ll organize and get ourselves ready to go, but honestly, we can’t wait much longer. Maybe ten minutes? We need to get out there asap because the night’s only getting colder. The sooner we deploy, the better.”

  Stone turns away then, and I rub my hands together again, looking around the space. It’s a log cabin, but Margaret’s made the rustic atmosphere cheery and comfortable with brightly-colored, sagging furniture; thick plaid blankets; and a crackling fire most times when I visit.

  Unfortunately, there’s no crackling fire tonight. Instead, tightly-wound ener
gy boils through the air, and I swallow hard, trying to calm down. Jericho is filled with good people, and I know we’ll find my friend sooner rather than later.

  I take a deep breath and try and focus. Someone brushes past my shoulder, and I nod at their apology, willing the tremors in my stomach to go away. I don’t know everyone in this village yet, but some faces are familiar. There’s Mr. Dawson, the fire chief, with his German Shepherd, Maisie. There’s Willa Noughton from down the street, who looks as tough as nails. There’s also Willa’s daughter and son, William and Willow, who also look like they could wrestle a bear to the ground. I feel like the only city girl among this crowd, and to be honest, I’m a little bit intimidated about this search. I didn’t do well when my Girl Scout Troop had its wilderness module, and I’m not exactly sure how this is going to go down.

  But I have to try. After all, Margaret is my best friend, and I owe her. She could be alone and freezing out there in the cold, sobbing as she shivers. I have to help her, no matter the cost to myself.

  3

  Stone

  Shit, the situation is dire. My wife is missing and I’m organizing a search party to go out to look for her on a cold winter night. The weather conditions are atrocious, and I’m genuinely concerned for her health and safety.

  After all, Margaret and I have been married for a while now, and I genuinely care about her. She’s a gentle soul, with a kind and true heart and a friendly, familiar way about her. But what you wouldn’t know is that Margaret and I have been separated for about six months now. It’s hard to say what caused it.

  After all, we’ve been together for so long now that sometimes even I can’t believe we’re going our separate ways. What started as one date in college, grew to two, then three, and soon we were a couple. It was a comfortable relationship, even if there wasn’t raging passion even back then. So it seemed to make sense to get married straight after graduation, in a small ceremony with only our parents present. But despite being together years now, somehow we grew in different directions like two plants extending their stalks in opposite directions.

  It’s impossible to say what caused it. We both love Maine, and I’m dedicated to my job working construction just as Margaret’s dedicated to her position at the library. We both love Jericho and enjoy having nature on our doorstep, as well as the friendly, convivial plain-spokenness of our neighbors.

  But somehow, we just drifted apart. As a result, I wasn’t completely surprised when Margaret asked for a separation last spring.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, my voice deep as we looked at one another over the kitchen counter. She appeared the same as always, with her soft brown hair pulled into a low ponytail and her stocky figure dressed in a button down, jeans, and boots. But something about her was different because there was a fire in her blue eyes that couldn’t be concealed by her wire-rimmed glasses.

  “I’m sure, Stone,” she said in a firm voice. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and I know you have too. We moved out here to find ourselves, and I think in doing so, we’ve grown apart. Don’t you agree?”

  I took a bit of time before answering.

  “It’s not our jobs, is it? If it’s because we’re both dedicated to what we do, then I can take some time off. The guys can make do without me, and you could cut down on your hours at the library as well.”

  But Margaret shook her head impatiently, pushing her hair out of her face. Her features have always been plain, but my wife has always had an earnestness about her that’s endearing nonetheless.

  “It’s not our jobs, Stone. It’s that we’re moving in different directions. Once upon a time, we were two trains moving in parallel along the same track, but now our paths have diverged. I’m going right and you’re going left.”

  A pang of discomfort hit my heart. I’ve never been a quitter and when I said my vows, I meant them. Thus, I was willing to put in my all before throwing in the towel.

  “Do you want to see a therapist?” I asked. “I hear Dr. Ledbetter over on Ridge Road is good. We don’t have to say we’re there for couples therapy. We could say that we just need to … well, I don’t know what we’d say.”

  Margaret let out a peal of laughter then.

  “If we went to see Dr. Ledbetter, everyone would know we were there for couples therapy. This is a small town, Stone. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

  I shook my head.

  “Then we could go to Maryskill and find another therapist. It’s fine. I meant it when I committed for life, Margaret, and I’m willing to jump through hoops to make this marriage work if that’s what you need.”

  My wife got a tender look in her eye then, and gently took my hand. Her touch didn’t send thrills down my spine, but it’s always been like that between us. Our relationship has always been calm and almost platonic, like we were brother and sister.

  “I appreciate it, Stone. I appreciate your effort, and I appreciate you. But no, I don’t think that this can be solved with couples therapy. I think it’s just time to go our separate ways.”

  I looked at our joined hands, and how we loosely clasped each other’s fingers without any spark between us. She was right. Somehow, the energy between us had died, and we were mere roommates living under the same roof.

  “So what do you want to do?” I asked in a low tone. “Do you want me to move out? I can scrape together some money, although I might have to borrow some cash to put down a deposit at a rental.”

  She shook her head, her eyes kind.

  “No, that’s not necessary. This isn’t an acrimonious separation, nor will it be an acrimonious divorce. We’ll just remain under the same roof while planning our next steps. I have a small nest egg saved up, and I can use that to move out when the time is right.”

  A lump formed in my throat.

  “You don’t have to move out, Margaret. I know how much you love this cabin.”

  Her eyes filled with tears then.

  “I do love this cabin, but I have to move on with my life, Stone, and if that means moving out, then I’ll do it. There are other places to stay around Jericho. We’ll figure it out as we go, okay?”

  I didn’t mention to Margaret that her friend Jenny had just moved into our guest cabin. Worst comes to worst, Margaret could ask Jenny to leave and move into the extra space herself. But my wife’s not like that. Her friend moved to Maine after some asshole broke her heart in Manhattan and was in need of a place to heal. My wife has never been one to throw out the needy, and that’s one of the reasons why I love her.

  But our separation was the right thing to happen. Even though we continued living under the same roof, I moved into the second bedroom, leaving Margaret to sleep alone in the large bedroom. And in the last few months, we economized and saved on everything possible. As a result, Margaret was actually going to move out just next week. She’d found an apartment in the next town over, and had been packing up her things to go.

  But no one knows. We didn’t breathe a word about our separation, nor did we change our outward demeanors. As a result, no one knows that my wife and I are on the outs, and were on our way to getting a divorce.

  But still, our separation is real. In fact, I think if you peeked into Margaret’s room right now, you’d see her things stashed in suitcases, with all the surfaces cleared and a couple of packing boxes still open. We’d been on the cusp of announcing our impending divorce to the world when this happened.

  Suddenly, there’s a cough and I turn to look. It’s my wife’s friend, Jenny. She’s beautiful with long, golden blonde hair and greenish-blue eyes. I stare at her a bit, unable to turn away, before forcing myself to look at the floor.

  Get with it Stone, the voice in my head says grimly. You’re looking for your lost and missing wife, who might be freezing to death at this very moment. You need to stop lusting after her best friend.

  The voice is right, and I stare even harder at the wooden planks of the floor. What the fuck am I thinking? I need to get my
priorities in order, especially since we’re in a state of emergency.

  Yet, when Jenny arrived I was captivated. After all, when Margaret first offered our cabin to her friend, we were already separated, and I wasn’t paying attention. I said yes to a new houseguest because I figured it would be some crotchety old maid from the city who’d been rejected by countless scores of men.

  But instead, Jenny was a breath of fresh air. She arrived on our doorstep with pink cheeks, big blue eyes, and a tumble of long, blonde hair. Her curvy figure was generous in the bosom, and even bigger in the behind. Plus, I practically laughed at her impractical outfit, but it wasn’t because she was wearing heels and pearls. It was because Jenny was dressed in the way a city dweller thinks a country dweller should dress. She had a fashionably-oversize plaid shirt on, tucked into skin-tight jeans and boots with red laces. No one who clomps through the forest really wears boots with red laces. That’s just something the L.L. Bean catalog promotes to make their clothing look especially cheery.

  But Jenny captivated my heart from the beginning. Despite her history of heartbreak, she laughed easily and had a sparkle in her eye from the smallest things. When the first snowflake fell, she ran over to show us the one that had landed on the tip of her nose. When she heard wolves baying at the moon on certain nights, she’d run over to warn us about “werewolves.” There are no werewolves in Maine, there’s just the blood-orange moon high above the treetops that gives the sense of the supernatural. Most animals stay away from humans out of self-preservation, and werewolves would be smart to do so too.

  As a result, I’ve been secretly captivated by our guest for the past few months now. Jenny is charming and sweet, with a bright smile and friendly word for everyone who stumbles across her path. Her blonde hair often glimmers in the sunlight, and I wonder what it would be like to run my hand through those glorious tresses. I also wonder what it would be like to cuddle with her curvy figure before a fire, stroking her curves as she moans musically.