The Ruined Wife: Psychological Thriller

by Marin Montgomery

  By the time I’ve gotten around to helping our guests to the waiting cars, thanked the bartenders and helped with tear down, it’s almost 2:00 a.m. Steven’s been cleaning up beer bottles and corking the leftover wine and packaging the food. I don’t even remember to mention Mara, her face giving me a sly glance as she headed out the door with Hal. “I know you don’t want me drinking and driving.” She gives me a wicked grin. “Night.” She kisses my cheek, silver dangling off her wrists. “Or maybe I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast.” I give her a wink and watch as she stumbles along, her hand in his.

  Steven sees them leave. “Who’s that woman?” He asks curiously.

  I chuckle, “Oh, that’s Mara, I guess she’s going with Hal.” He raises his eyebrows but says nothing. As I open my mouth to explain who Mara is to me, Brynn comes up, the fellow from earlier nowhere in sight.

  “Alastair! That was such a great party.” She gives me the only sober smile in the house. “Thanks so much for having me.”

  “You’re welcome. You’re getting a ride from one of the drivers, right?” I motion to a black sedan behind us. “Or with your husband? I didn’t get a chance to meet him.”

  “Oh, he left. I drove, and since I can’t drink, I’m parked down the street. He said to thank you.” She laughs, a twinkle in her eye. “He’s a homebody and made an appearance tonight, though he likes the couch better. He’s better in small gatherings. He’s super anxious about having a baby and being a daddy. He won’t admit how scared he is.” Steven almost chokes on a gulp of water. I reach an arm out to pound him on the back. “Did you like Andrea?” Brynn asks.

  “Yeah, she did a great job.” I secretly add, messing up my sheets. “Thanks so much for recommending her.” Brynn’s face is red, the compliment making her blush. She turns to head down the drive. “Be careful,” I warn. “Safe travels.” I watch as she wobbles down the concrete, off balance from pregnancy instead of liquored up like everyone else. Her heels in hand, cornflower blue dress half unzipped in the back, her strawberry blonde hair a tangled mess. She must’ve had a good time. Steven watches as she takes off down the driveway, then mutters, “Some women just shouldn’t have kids.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He looks startled. “Huh?”

  “You said some women shouldn’t have kids.”

  “Oh… I just mean she looks like she’s twelve.”

  “Yeah, she looks like a teenager.” I shrug. “Can we talk?”

  “Alastair, I don’t know what to say. And I’m drunk.” He has a point. We both are tipsy, the house is in disarray, and nothing we say will probably resonate tomorrow. It’s time to call it a night.

  “That wasn’t me in the pic.”

  “That was your dress.” He holds his beer out to me, his stance wobbly. “Those were your heels.” Steven pays attention, always one for an eye for detail. He picks up on nuances. He might not care about fashion like I do, preferring a pair of Levi’s and a plaid shirt over anything else, sneakers over dress shoes, but he knows what I own. He knows when I add clothes to the closet, he knows when I buy something new. I used to hide shopping bags when we were first married. He told me to cut that shit out. He pays attention to what I wear, always complimentary, his eyes usually giving a sign of approval. If he doesn’t like a style I wear, he just won’t comment, but he’s never negative.

  I nod because it is the truth. At least about my clothing, but I don’t know the man in the photo. We both head to our bedroom, heads down, our lives with each other now hung with huge question marks. Who’s lying and who’s telling the truth? We don’t trust each other. Until the other day, I thought it was just me who couldn’t trust him. Now he felt the same way about me. Silently, we peel our clothes off and head to bed. He tilts his head as he sees the unkempt bed but doesn’t say anything. It’s not until I’ve turned over to face the gray wall that I hear him shriek.

  “What the fuck is this?” He has something in his hand. I can’t see in the dark. The lamp on his side flips on. I don’t bother turning over, my eyes heavy, wishing for sleep, the stressful event of having a party finally coming to a close.

  He shoves me gently. “Alastair.”

  I grunt.

  “Turn over.”

  “Alastair.”

  I moan. “Leave me alone.”

  “What the hell is this?” He starts to get angry, his voice rising. I flip over. He’s got a torn gold Magnum condom wrapper in his hand. We don’t use condoms. I don’t think there’re any in the house. Or maybe there are. When he cheats, I hope he at least bothers to cover his dick.

  It doesn’t help that I start uncontrollably laughing as his face scrunches up and his eyes narrow. A lock of hair falls over his face as he glares at me shooting daggers.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I can’t answer.

  “Alastair, what’s the joke?” He’s pissed.

  Grabbing my stomach, I try and catch my breath.

  “Did you fuck someone tonight?” He throws the wrapper at me. His eyes are squinting at me. That calms me down and brings me back to reality. A somber reality. “No.” I mutter, “But someone else got it on in our room.”

  “Who?” he’s in disbelief.

  “Brynn.” I wink at him. I expect him to laugh, break into a smile.

  Instead, he grabs my arm roughly. “What did you say?”

  “Brynn.” I sit up in bed. “I was only joking.” His response confuses me. Yeah, someone getting it on in our bed is disgusting, but I can laugh about it now.

  “Someone did get it on in our bed.”

  “But not Brynn and her husband?”

  “No.” I pause. “Our lead singer.”

  “The girl, Brynn’s friend. Amber?” Relief crosses his face as he settles back in his pillow.

  “Her name’s Andrea but close.”

  “With who?”

  “Nicholas, the bass guitarist.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I walked in on them, can you believe it?” I giggle. “That takes balls to fuck in someone else’s house that you’re performing a gig at.” He considers this and then starts laughing. “Eww…” he says, “… we better wash the sheets.”

  “I know, right?” I flick the used wrapper off the bed.

  “At least they used protection,” he surmises, reaching for the light. The room drowns in darkness, and I feel him reach for me. “Night, Alastair. We threw another great party. We make such a great team.”

  I mumble something, turning back onto my side, facing the wall, as I consider this. We might make a great team, great partners, parents, but what does that mean for our marriage?

  Closing my eyes, I ignore the ominous thoughts that creep into my subconscious effortlessly, never leaving no matter how hard I try to squeeze them from memory.

  Him. Her. Veronica.

  14

  The next morning, I awake to the smell of waffles and coffee, the sweet scent lingering through the house, the brewed roast causing me to sit up straight and reach for my silk robe. Liv’s voice is coming from the kitchen intermingled with Steven’s.

  I pad out to the kitchen in my slippers, yawning. “Morning, kids, what do we have here?”

  “Mickey Mouse waffles.” Liv’s excitement shows on her face. She’s standing on her step stool to reach the counter, a spatula in hand, a mini apron tied around her waist. “We didn’t wanna wake you, Mommy, but we got hungry.”

  I laugh. “That’s okay, love bug, as long as you saved me some.”

  Steven’s leaning against the counter, his grilling apron on, a sheepish smile on his face. “Coffee, babe?”

  “Yes, please.” I sink down into a chair. “Aspirin needed.”

  “I’m on it.” He grabs my favorite mug out of the cupboard, a picture of Liv on her first day of kindergarten, her hair in pigtails, her freckles showing, and a wide grin on her face. He pours me a cup and quietly opens and shuts the cupboards, so they don’t bang, the loud noises a thr
eat to our sanity this morning. He finds a bottle of Ibuprofen and pops it, taking three for himself. He sets down the coffee and hands me two.

  “Mommy,” Liv asks, “What time did you guys stay up until?”

  “What time did you stay up until?” I counter.

  “Daddy made me go to bed at nine.”

  “Except she made me read three stories instead of two.” He winks.

  “We stayed up way past our bedtime.” I look at the clock, it shows 8:00 a.m. “Did the noise wake you?”

  “Nope. I slept like a log.” Liv loved using that term. We’d started saying it to her when she was five, and she got a kick out of using it. I smile.

  “Will you watch the waffles for a sec?” Steven motions to the waffle maker. “She’s got the first one in there.” I nod, standing up and going over to Liv, tickling her from behind and watching as the red light blinks on the waffle maker, signaling one’s ready. She always told us regular waffle makers weren’t the same, and that Mickey Mouse waffles tasted better. I couldn’t argue that logic.

  Steven was gone for a couple of minutes, and when he came back in, we had a couple of waffles ready to eat. “You sit down.” I say to Liv, “Grab the syrup, and I’ll keep them going.” I take over as she grabs the syrup out of the fridge along with the butter. He pauses behind her, staring in at the contents. Instead of joining her at the table, he hurriedly says, “I gotta run an errand.”

  “An errand?” I frown. “At eight in the morning?”

  “We’re out of OJ.”

  “That’s okay, we can make do without it. You don’t have to leave for that.”

  “I don’t want cranberry.” He motions to the container Liv is setting on the table.

  “The waffles will be cold.” I frown. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I just have a wicked hangover.”

  “And orange juice will help?” My eyebrows knit together.

  “What’s a hangover?” Liv asks as I’m about to ask another question.

  “Never mind,” we both say at the same time.

  “What is it?” She looks from me to her dad. Finally, he answers. “It’s how grown-ups feel after a long night.”

  “Oh…” She giggles. “Like when I stay up all night at a sleepover.”

  “You better not be staying up all night.” He tugs on a strand of her hair halfway joking. He stands. “Do you need anything from the store?” I can’t meet his eyes, the lie out there between us. I shake my head no, not trusting myself to answer.

  My phone rings as he’s leaving. I look after him, his upright posture, his jeans hanging on his hips, sneakers on his feet. Where are you really going? I silently ask him.

  I hear a ring coming from the kitchen. My phone. I never did find it last night. It’s not on the counter. I look around, wondering where it would be. Did I set it in a cupboard last night? Frantically, I open the junk drawer, searching under old mail and bills. Loose change rattles around. It’s stuck between a receipt for CVS Pharmacy and a flyer for carpet cleaning. How the hell did it get in here?

  I miss the call but see it’s Mara. She picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey, lady, you ready for some mimosas?”

  “Mimosas?” I grimace. “You might as well have asked if I wanted eggs.” I hate eggs. The smell makes me nauseous, their texture makes me gag.

  “The best cure for a hangover is to keep drinking.”

  “Sure it is. What do you want? You have a good night...?” I start to say Hal but then pause, Liv staring intently at the phone. She sees and hears everything.

  “Hal is and was amazing. Three times.” She laughs. I join in, but I can’t concentrate. She’s carrying on about her night, and I pretend to listen, my thoughts drifting to Steven.

  “What’re you guys doing today?” she asks.

  I force myself back to the present. “Um, I don’t know. Cleaning up. Maybe a hike.”

  “Boring,” she says.

  “You need a ride home?” I push the syrup around on my plate.

  “No, Hal’s gonna give me a ride. You guys wanna do breakfast? I still haven’t been introduced to your husband formally.”

  “We just ate.” I make no mention that Steven took off like a bat out of hell.

  “Okay, well talk to you later. Love you.” She disconnects.

  I sit back. “Was that Aunt Jade?” Liv asks.

  Shaking my head no, I stand up. “Let’s clear the table off,” I say. Absentmindedly, I clear the dishes, dump the remaining waffle mix, and load the dishwasher. I wipe off the waffle maker and put it away, staring out the front windows waiting for Steven’s truck to come speeding up the driveway. The closest grocery store is only a couple of miles away. I look at the clock. It’s been twenty minutes, and he’s not back.

  My head screams at me that I was stupid not to follow him. What could I have done? Told Liv we were going on a little road trip to check up on daddy? I didn’t want to bring her into this. She was the innocent one. Did he go to meet a date from the app?

  It was weird because I hadn’t seen any dating apps on his phone. I kept scrolling through different screens but didn’t see one. I’d even clicked on different icons to see if they were stored elsewhere. Maybe he only accessed them from a computer or had them hidden in a spot I wouldn’t think to look on his phone. Did he go to meet that Veronica chick?

  Liv wants to watch some Saturday morning cartoons, so I give in but only for an hour. I decide to do some checking on his computer. I boot up the Mac, type in the password, the same as his phone, and go to his emails. He said I had sent an email asking for a divorce. It’s in his inbox, and just as I’m about to click on it, I see another email. This one is from Marareadytomingle@gmail.com. I’m unfamiliar with this email address, is it from my Mara? It’s certainly not one she’s ever used. When we communicate via email, it’s usually her business one. Intrigued, I click on it. It came at 7:54 a.m. today.

  Steven.

  We really need to talk about what happened. I don’t want there to be any hostility between us, nothing left unsaid. You’ve hurt me, and it’s a hurt that’s not going to subside anytime soon. Time has passed, but I don’t think either of us feel any closure. I need you in my life. We both do.

  All my kisses.

  My mouth is dry, reading the email sends heart palpitations fluttering in my chest, threatening to escape by pounding their way out of my chest cavity. Why is a Mara emailing my husband this type of message? I tap my fingers on the desk. This email is from this morning, and my Mara’s down the street at Hal’s house. When would she have time to shoot off an email? I check the signature line, but it doesn’t say sent by iPhone. She could’ve turned that off, but why? Did she call me to check where Steven was? Is she the reason he tore out of here?

  Hal lives three doors down. I decide to investigate, see if she’s at his house. She didn’t bring her car, but maybe I can think of a reason to knock on his door. I’ll pretend to check on her, make sure she got home okay. I throw on some sweats and switch from slippers to flip-flops. Liv’s in front of the TV, her eyes never moving from the screen. I sigh. “Hey, love bug, I’ve got to run down to Hal Pritchard’s house. You wanna go with?” She barely reacts, twisting a strand of her hair in her hands. “Liv,” I say sharply.

  “No, Mommy,” she tilts her head toward the television.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.” I don’t feel bad leaving her since I can see our house from his. I walk, almost run, the three houses to get to his single-story, a mid-century modern with a front yard full of cacti and a bright yellow exterior. He added on a garage and has a love of motorcycles. His house looks quiet, but any vehicles would be in the garage. I knock. No answer. I pound the door again. Nothing.

  Maybe he already left to take her home. She could’ve sent that email and then left with Hal. It’s been over an hour now since she sent it. Steven left shortly after eight. Did he see the email and take off to meet her? She called and asked us to breakfast. Maybe to test
that we weren’t leaving? I sigh. And what about Veronica?

  I pull my cell out of my pocket and dial Mara. She doesn’t answer. I’m tempted to call Steven, but as I start to dial him, I hear his truck rumbling up the road. He rolls down the window, “Alastair, what’re you doing?” Clenching my hands next to my sides, I turn to look at him. “Just taking a walk.”

  “Livvie watching cartoons?”

  “Yep.”

  “You want a lift?” He chuckles, our house one driveway up. I force a smile. “Ha-ha.” He pulls in the driveway and opens the garage. When he parks, I pause waiting to see what he does next. Did he even go to the grocery store? I want to comment on the amount of time he was gone, but I don’t. I bite my lip until it almost bleeds.

  He gets out lugging a couple of bags of groceries behind him. “I figured I might as well pick up some more groceries.” He carries the bags in, motioning me forward when I offer to help. “I got it,” he says, kicking the side door open.

  Liv’s still glued to the television, barely acknowledging us when we walk in. Steven sets the groceries down, except he reaches in and grabs a smaller plastic bag from inside. I pretend I don’t notice, putting cereal in the pantry, the orange juice in the fridge, sneaking a glance at him as he hurriedly pushes the small paper bag into his pocket.

  “Mara called, asked us to breakfast,” I say conversationally.

  “She at Hal’s?”

  “Yeah, they wanted us to meet them.”

  “That must mean the night went well. I still don’t think I’ve ever officially met her.”

  Liv interrupts, “Who went to Hal’s?” We both look at each other and roll our eyes. Nothing gets past that kid. As we’re thinking about our response, she’s on to the next subject. Pizza.

  “Can we go to Peter Piper’s tonight?”

  I don’t know how to answer. I used to spend my weekends with my family, not wondering if my husband was elsewhere, his thoughts consumed by someone else. I look at him.