“She’s pumped. I came early to make sure you were okay.” She puts a hand on her belly. “I just wanted to check to see if there was anything you needed, any last-minute finishing touches.”
“I think we’re all good.” I give her a warm smile. “You’ve done enough.” I let my eyes drift to Steven’s face. “Steven, Brynn’s friend is our musical act now.”
“What?” Shock registers on his face. “What happened to the usual?” His forehead wrinkles. “I thought they were booked months ago?” He looks over at the makeshift stage. “You forgot?”
“They were booked…” I’m apologetic, “… but Joe called, Lena’s sick.” I nod toward Brynn. “Brynn was kind enough to suggest a friend.”
Steven glances over at her, shaking his head in disapproval. “You must be really showing your worth to my wife.” He takes a sip of beer. The statement is snide, and I catch a hint of annoyance, not appreciation.
“Mommy, Brynn said if I ever need a babysitter again, she’d be happy to come over.” Liv grins, her eyes shining. “She loves gymnastics almost as much as I do.”
“Is that possible?” I tease.
“Hope you don’t mind.” She leans back, her tight sky-blue wrap dress hugging her frame. “I told Liv if you guys ever wanted another date night, I’d be happy to come over.”
“That’s very sweet, but we couldn’t,” Steven practically screeches. “Her usual babysitter lives right down the street.”
Brynn looks wounded. I smoothly add, “Thanks so much for the offer.”
Steven stands up looking at his watch. “I’m gonna check on the yard.”
One of the bartenders is waving at me from his station. “I’ve gotta take care of this,” I look at Liv and Brynn. “Will you two be okay?”
“Livvie, come with me.” Steven’s harsh. “You can check the yard with me.” His voice softens, “We can make sure everything’s perfect. You’re always such a good helper.”
“Come find me later.” Brynn turns to Liv, “I can’t wait to hear all about your tumbling routines.” Liv beams, the idea of talking about her favorite activity in the world irresistible. I give her a silent ‘thanks’ and head to the bartender station to answer any questions.
Over the next couple of hours, I get lost in the wave of guests and conversation. Steven and I play the consummate hosts, attentive and thoughtful to everyone else but each other. When we’re forced to stand side by side, elbows touching, it’s all I can do not to pull away like I’ve been bit. He feels the same, a side glance at me betrays weariness. He looks around at the crowd, his eyes flicking over me with no interest. His attention is consistently drawn to Liv and who she’s with.
I’m nervous about the music. The lack of time for preparation scares me. What if the band doesn’t jive without Lena and a new lead singer stepping in at the last minute?
When the first notes of an Otis Redding song leave her lips, I relax, settling into a chair near Mara, a weight lifted off my shoulders. Mara is at the party, playing coy, the only one of my friends who knows the extent of our marital issues. She pays a lot of attention to Steven—her eyes following him around the backyard as she converses. She’s met him in passing, but I don’t think they’ve ever had a conversation or been formally introduced.
I’m on my third glass of wine watching the lights play in the shadows, the makeshift dance floor filling up, our backyard wonderland the place of a dream sequence. The gathering is a mix of friends and clients, neighbors and colleagues. The drinks are flowing. A car service is at our beck and call for this night hired to drive our guests home, nobody needing to risk a driving under the influence charge. The entire idea of this fiesta is to let loose and enjoy a night off from whatever it is you are—a busy executive, a parent—and enjoy a few hours to imbibe in good food, conversation, and music.
Our neighbors have an understanding with us that this party is an annual celebration. It goes on until late, midnight or 1:00 a.m., and with only one neighbor on the right side, one behind us, and the mountain on the left, it’s never been a problem. Our neighbors next door are invited and behind us are Canadians who come to their second home after Thanksgiving.
A burly man I’ve never seen steps outside wearing gray slacks and a polka-dot tie, his eyes darting around the crowd. I wonder if he is with one of our neighbors or a friend of a friend. Maybe even a party crasher? That might make for a good story. Mara and I are still tapping our feet to the music, this time swaying next to a palm tree in the center of the yard.
Brynn’s at the bar, in deep conversation with one of the bartenders who looks to be about her age. A glow comes over her when she sees the gentleman outside, and his strides cover half the yard to reach her. “Brynn.” He pulls her into a hug and kisses her cheek. “Hey, sorry it took me so long to find the place.” She whispers something in his ear, and he chuckles. She turns back to the bartender, another drink pushed across the counter, and the male takes a glass of red while handing her a glass of water.
This must be her husband. He’s cute, I muse.
“Aly?” Mara’s asking me a question. I turn to her. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I’m lost in thought.”
“What’s new?” Her face is tight. “Who’s that handsome young man?”
“I’m unsure, but he looks taken by my employee.” I laugh. “It’s her husband.”
“That’s her, the cute blonde?”
I shake my head. “Yes, she’s amazing… and pregnant.”
Mara gulps another glass of wine, her face ruddy from the alcohol. “You better never quit having these parties.” She smiles wickedly. “I always get some eye candy.”
I roll my eyes at her, watching her back away from me, an unsteady hand reaches out for the palm tree. “I’m going to make the rounds,” she slurs. Mara’s notorious for her shameless flirting and her giddy laugh. It’s fun just to watch her try. She’s never had a problem bagging men. Her personality and smile are infectious. Sitting back, I watch the magic happen. Her arm is reaching out casually to touch the hand of a gentleman sitting at a table near the stage.
Glancing around, I take in the scene. People are dancing, eating, some sitting on patio furniture, others at tables, some resting on the grass, shoes off, making themselves comfortable—exactly the kind of atmosphere I want. A smile crosses my face. I get lost in the music, concentrating on Andrea, her long, dark hair swaying as she sings into the microphone, her hips sashaying. She’s very bohemian, a long-patterned skirt, skimpy tank top, barefoot, a tattoo of a butterfly on her right foot, the blue polish dancing in the moonlight as she shakes her feet out, feeling every verse. I shiver, her voice gives me goosebumps.
I allow myself to get lost, an occasional guest stopping for a quick chat or to offer their compliments on the party. There must be close to a hundred and fifty people scattered across the yard at tables, sitting on the grass, perched on lawn chairs, or dancing. I hear Andrea’s voice announce a fifteen-minute break as she slides the mic into the stand.
Checking around, I don’t see Steven or Liv. I wonder if he’s putting her to bed. I don’t even know the time, my watch nestled in my jewelry box, not a fit with this dress. I stand up to check the last place I sat for my phone. It’s not there. My dress doesn’t have pockets, and I didn’t want to carry it around with me all night. I must’ve left it inside.
As I head to the side of the patio, I frown. There’s an outline of a person in the master. At first, I think it’s Steven, his makeshift shadow behind the curtains. The patio doors are locked from the inside, our bedroom and office are off-limits for the party.
A second body appears next to his, so close they look like one person.
I gulp, my mouth opens and closes.
Fighting the urge to start banging on the glass, I tiptoe around the side of the house. It’d be risky to get busted at a party with your wife in attendance, but Steven hasn’t struck me as the most logical lately. I enter through the kitchen door which leads me to the hallway.
Stepping in
to the house, it’s eerily quiet compared to the radio in place of the band and the din coming from outside. For the number of guests, our empty home seems to be a cover-up, the streets void of noise, minimal cars, most people taking an Uber or a Lyft to get here since a ride home is provided. The windows are dark, and the lights are off, the only glow coming from candles on the granite counters and the fireplace mantle. I check that the front door is locked. Guests were asked to come in the side gate, the only people who had access earlier were the caterers.
Slipping my heels off, I walk down the hardwood floors toward the master.
I lightly knock on Liv’s door. We told her she could lock her door tonight so she wouldn’t be disturbed. Leaning my ear against the wood, I don’t hear a peep. She must be asleep. Thank goodness, I say to myself.
Closing my eyes, I brace myself at the master door.
It’s like a car accident. You don’t want to see, but your eyes can’t afford to look away, the grim reality that life can indeed be short-lived, the horror of bodies, blood and a white sheet over a lifeless human being. My marriage mirrors this, a heartbeat that was strong and sustained, now on life support.
My hand grabs the door handle. I bite my lip as I turn it.
There he is.
In our bed.
But he’s not alone.
My eyes weren’t playing tricks.
In the dark, I see his skin, naked, the minimal hair on his chest. His belt’s unbuckled, his pants down. She’s on top of him, her hair twisted in a knot on her head as if she pulled it up to get down to business. Her mouth is on him, her dress now hitched up around her waist.
More bare skin, her ass.
Limbs tangled.
I gasp.
My mouth opens to scream. I reach for the light switch at the same time my heel hits the floor with a thud. Their bodies pause as the noise and lights bring them to the present.
13
There’s a scream, a woman’s voice, high-pitched as he grunts, the light washing the room in a brilliant glow. She topples off of him, covering her nipples with her hands. The bed was made, now the comforter’s crumpled, the pillows tangled. He’s leaning into her as if it will cover his nakedness.
“What the hell’s going on in here?” I grip the crown molding around the door. I don’t want to risk waking up Liv or causing a scene for the other guests, this is humiliating enough.
Her knot is coming undone, the chestnut hair falling out, long pieces hanging down her back. Clothes are scattered on the floor. Her long skirt, tank top, and flip-flops are half shoved underneath my bed. His tweed pants, t-shirt, and Converse sneakers are flung haphazardly on the hardwood.
“I’m sorry.” She stammers, her face flushed either from the sex or from being caught. Maybe a combination of the two. He still doesn’t say anything, looking at me with a doe-eyed look. His hands are still around her waist, trying to cover her from behind.
“Do you typically screw people in your employer’s homes?” I bend down to pick up their clothing and toss it on the bed. “If you’re done, can you please get dressed and get out of my bedroom?”
He finally speaks. “Are we still going to get paid?” I know his concern is Joe and Tom, the drummer and other guitarist.
“I’m not keeping your paycheck.” I snort. “Though I’m half-tempted to make you wash my sheets.” I flip the light switch back off and turn to exit. “You guys have two minutes to get out of the house.” I shut the door quietly and wait outside. I count to sixty in my head as the doorknob twists slowly. They both exit, their heads down, ashamed. Andrea pauses, “Mrs. Adams, I’m really sorry.” She sighs. “Are we able to finish our set?”
“Yes, that would be a good idea,” I say.
“Mrs. Adams,” she whispers. I nod. “Can we please keep this from Brynn?”
“That’s a lot to ask since she referred you.”
“I know, I just, it’s a thing.”
“What’s a thing?”
“I like to have sex at the moment when it strikes. The music, it felt so on tonight, you know?”
“Andrea, you can’t seriously be telling me you drop your skirt wherever you’re performing.”
“It just felt right.”
“Let me give you some advice. You’re a fairly young girl. Don’t have sex in other people’s homes. Or at least make it to the bathroom. For all you know, we could’ve had cameras.” Her eyes widen at the thought she was being recorded. “And no encounter should be worth losing your pay over.” She tilts her head and nods, biting her lip as she shuffles past me.
I sag against the wall putting a hand over my heart. I thought sure it was Steven in here. This constant paranoia over his actions is driving me up a wall. Him fucking someone in our bed while a party went on. A year ago, I would’ve thought that was ludicrous. Now, his behavior and what he’s capable of are up for constant scrutiny.
Shutting our bedroom door, I open the office door sure my phone is on Steven’s desk. I don’t bother turning on the light, scanning my eyes over the room. A phone’s resting there, but it’s his, the case his favorite football team, the Arizona Cardinals, the black, white, and red enveloping his phone.
Swallowing hard, I sit down at the desk. I peep over my shoulder, making sure the blinds are closed, the backyard filled with people. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. The screen glows as I tap on the Home button. A picture of Liv comes up, her smiling over cake at her last birthday. He has two different pictures, one for his home screen and one for when you unlock it.
I press the passcode, ready for disappointment. It works. He must’ve changed it back. Shady as fuck. A picture of me comes up, a big smile on my face as I’m staring at him wearing an oversized straw hat and big goofy sunglasses. This should make me feel comforted, but it does the opposite. This was when we were trying on costumes for a Halloween party. I found these items in the party store last year.
I push on the text message icon and scroll down.
Something was unsettling about the other night when his old roommate, TJ, texted him. He showed me the text, yes, but it could’ve come in at any time.
He had a few text messages today from colleagues and friends confirming the party and our address. Then there was the message from TJ. His message didn’t come in until 8:37 p.m., and we had just gotten home then. He lied. I look at the text below it. It says Veronica. Who the hell is Veronica? My mind races. When I click on the message, I feel faint, my breathing speeding up. There’s a text chain between him and this woman.
The message that night was from her.
Veronica: When are we going to meet up?
There’s no response to her from him unless he deleted it. The only other message came in from her at 4:57 p.m. that afternoon.
Veronica: We need to talk.
He didn’t send a message back.
I relax, exhaling. Is this the one-night stand? Is she going to meet with him so they can continue as if nothing happened? I pause, leaning back in the chair to think. I don’t want him to know I saw the message between him and this woman. He’d know I’d been snooping, and though our policy has changed, I don’t want to make it obvious I’m searching through his phone. I don’t want to ruin the chance of catching him if this isn’t over.
Sighing, I turn the phone back over and leave it on his desk. This doesn’t answer the question of where I left my phone. I glance at the bookshelf and the chaise lounge, sometimes leaving items on them. I also search in my closet thinking I might’ve put it down when Steven and I got busy earlier. I check around but don’t see it, the pink plastic cover usually a dead giveaway.
“Alastair.” I hear Steven’s voice. “You in here?”
“Shh...” I mutter. “Liv’s asleep.” I head toward his voice in the kitchen.
“I know, I put her to bed.”
“Such a good dad,” I mutter sarcastically.
“Can you stop?” He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on edge. “The party’s
about over, and we need to thank our guests for coming.” I follow him outside where Andrea and the band are finishing up their rendition of “Your Body is a Wonderland” by John Mayer. I see Andrea shoot a glance at the bass player, a wicked gleam in her eyes. I almost choke on the sip of wine I’ve just swallowed. “What’s so funny?” Steven is curious watching my eyes drift back and forth between Andrea and Nicholas.
“Nothing.” I grab his hand. “Let’s go do this.” It’s customary that we always say a couple of words before closing down the party. After Andrea finishes, Joe grabs the mic and reminds everyone that this is the last song and he better see everyone out on the dance floor. He riles the crowd up as he starts singing “Only the Good Die Young” by Billy Joel. We wait by the stage when we’d typically be dancing. We hadn’t locked arms once all night. I see Mara eyeing us from where she’s moved on to our divorced neighbor, a tall, bald, stockbroker named Hal.
After the song ends, Joe says, “And now a word from our sponsors. Without further ado, Steven and Alastair Adams.”
Keeping a fake smile on my face as Steven starts his speech, I glance around the audience. “Alastair and I are so thankful and happy to be able to share this night with you. We love this tradition and will keep it going as long as we can.” He looks over at me and gives me a tight smile, not daring to reach for my hand. “We have a car service outside, a few different vehicles that will give you a ride home. All we ask is that you not drink and drive.” He turns to me, “Alastair?”
I take the mic from him. “We’d also like to thank the Blues Troupe for headlining again. We’re sorry Lena’s sick but thank you, Andrea, for filling in and making this night go off with a bang.” As soon as I say the words, my face blushes crimson thinking of her getting it on. I turn my head to her and the rest of the band. “Thank you, guys, so much. Also, thanks to the caterers and wait staff for making this a success.” I hold up my drink in the air, “Cheers.” Everyone raises their drinks for a toast, our usual ending to the Fall Fiesta. Steven reaches in for a quick peck, our usual smooch an affectionate lip-lock of the past. We’re both upset. Him for no reason, though by the sight of that picture, I have some explaining to do.
The Ruined Wife: Psychological Thriller Page 10
