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I tried with all my strength to keep it together, but I feel like I’m about to lose it right here in the center of this rude bitch living room. My insides were on fire after reading the signature that flashed in front of me. Katie Morgan-Reynolds is Mrs. Dr. Erik Reynolds, and so was I. But that didn’t make any sense.
I looked at the form before looking back at Katie. My eyes made their way back to the paper in my hand again before they landed on this woman I met only minutes ago.
“Is there anything else?”
Why is she so nasty? I would slap her across the face if I thought I could get away with it. I quickly shut that thought down, though. I don’t look good in stripes, and I despise the colors orange, brown, or faded prison blue.
Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Wait-a-minute! Maybe this is just one big coincidence. Katie signed her name Mrs. Dr. Eric Reynolds. E-R-I-C. My husband’s name is Dr. Erik Reynolds. E-R-I-K.
But . . . He . . . Erik’s name is . . . I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what I’m saying. Hell, I don’t even know who I am right now. I also don’t know why I came here, but I’m leaving.
“Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. We look forward to seeing you back at Fenmore’s very soon.”
She nodded right before I turned and headed for the door. I’m going back to Fenmore’s to finish the audit. No early night for me, just Shaun, blue ink, black coffee, and a lot of paperwork.
I turned back to Katie before I stepped out. “Thanks again.” When I went to leave, I stopped in my tracks. I faced her. “Where does your husband practice?”
Her forehead wrinkled when she asked, “Excuse me?”
“Your husband . . . He’s a doctor, right?”
I’m not going anywhere! I came here for a reason so now is the time for me to stop pretending that I don’t know what that reason is because now. . . I do. I thought Erik, what have you done?
“My husband’s practice is none of your business.” Katie turned her nose up toward the ceiling when she answered me.
“Is he a dentist?”
When she answered, “Yes, my husband is a dentist,” I felt as if I had stopped breathing. This situation isn’t just a coincidence. This isn’t a soap opera. This is my life!
Oh, God . . . What is happening? What is going on here?
“Look, Mr. Byrd, I am very busy. Thanks again for stopping by.”
I quickly asked, “Where is your husband right now?”
“Why are you asking questions about my husband?”
I then asked her, “What does he look like?”
She answered me with, “Trust me; you don’t know him.”
“What kind of cologne does he wear?”
“Excuse me?”
There go those wrinkles in her smooth forehead again.
“Where did he sleep last night?”
“I’m calling the police!”
“He won’t be home tonight, will he?” She headed for her phone as my voice raised an octave. “He won’t be home tomorrow night or the night after that.” She dialed nine-one-one. “He will be back Sunday morning, won’t he?” She paused. “And the morning after that, and the morning after that.”
She slammed her phone face down. “What are you talking about?!”
“Who is your husband?”
She stood toe to toe with me. “The question is, who the hell are you, and what do you want?”
“I’m not Courtney Byrd.”
“I want you to leave! I’m calling the police department.” She left me standing there again.
“I’m Courtney Reynolds!” This time she stopped in her tracks without turning back to me. “My last name is Reynolds, just like yours. I have a Range Rover just like yours. I have a home just like yours. I have a ring just like yours. And I have a husband just-like-yours.”
She turned and ran back over to me. “What are you trying to say?”
Her trembles were visible.
“Your life . . . Your life is my life—every single part of it.” I held the back of my hand out in front of her. “Look at my ring! Canary diamonds just like yours.” She didn’t look at my left hand that was frozen in her face. “Look at it, damnit! It’s just like yours!”
“Would you stop saying that! Nothing about you or your life is ‘just like mine.’ You sound crazy standing there. I have a husband who has a wife—one wife, me! Not you. Not a man, motherfucker! He married a woman, not something like you.”
“Don’t you dare stand there and try to insult me! Bitch, who do you think you are? Or better yet, who do you think I am?”
She grabbed her head when she screamed, “Why are you here?! Who sent you? Was it my sisters? My parents?! Who did this? . . . Who sent you here to say these things to me!” She was beyond hysterical. She became panic-stricken right in front of me. “Answer me, you freak! Answer me! Was it Epiphany? Kyle? That investigator? Was it . . . Was it my . . . Who sent you here? WHO SENT YOU?!”
I was crying too, but nothing like her, yet. “Look out your patio.” From where we were standing, I could see the top half of my house peeking out through the big, tall pine trees. “That’s my home back there, Katie. The home Erik and I share.”
“Stop it! You don’t know my husband . . .You don’t know him so shut your mouth! What would Eric want with you? MY HUSBAND IS NOT GAY!”
I needed to sit down or at least catch myself before I passed out. I took a step toward the sofa, but my legs wouldn’t go any farther. All I could do was pray I didn’t faint right in front of this woman.
Katie watched my every move. Her eyes dug into my spleen as her silent tears streamed out of her eyes. She hated the words that came out of my mouth. She hated me for being the one that’s standing here telling her something she never imagined she’d be hearing. I could tell she wanted me dead. I could tell she wanted to die. And how did I know? Because I wanted to die. I wanted to be released from this nightmare, or at least make-believe none of it is happening. But it’s no use. I could pretend all I wanted to, but the fact is . . . my husband has a wife, and her name is Katie.
“Just tell me why you’re here. Who sent you to me?”
“I’m trying to tell you . . . what I’m trying to say is . . . Look, I think your husband is my husband, too.” Our heated words restarted.
“And I’m telling you that’s impossible! Eric is my husband. Do you hear me? My-husband!”
“Katie, would you just listen to me.”
“I’ve heard enough!” She stopped wailing and looked at me. “My sisters didn’t send you here, did they? You came here on your own. I’ve seen it all before, though. My husband is a nice man. He’s also a nice-looking man, so it’s easy for someone like you to be attracted to someone like him. It’s also easy for you—” Was she turning her nose up at me? “—to take my husband’s kindness and turn it into something else. But what you did today only makes you look bad and confirm my assumptions of you people.” Before I could defend myself, she came back with, “You, however, surprise me. Just from looking at you, one would think you were different from those people.”
Okay, bitch, who are those people? If she would shut up long enough, I could ask her.
“You’re nice and clean—no visible stubbles. You smell good. You’re well versed. You own a restaurant.”
I thought it’s a tapas bar, bitch!
“You seem educated. I’m shocked that you would stoop to such a level.”
“Is that what you think of me? I’m just some gay dude that fell in love with your charming husband’s smile one day, followed him home, and decided to tell his wife that I’m not only in love with him, but he and I are also married? How foolish does that sound?”
“That’s exactly what this is! Why else would you be here if no one sent you?”
I shouted out at her, “I’m here because my husband is Dr. Erik Reynolds! I’m not just some sissy nuisance that showed up on your doorstep with some invented story; I’m telling the truth!”
“You’re cute. I mean, really, really cute.” She wasn’t crying anymore. “If I was single, and you weren’t the way that you are, you and I might actually have a shot.”
Really? Was she seriously standing in my face mocking me? This couldn’t be happening. Erik, who is this woman?
Now I was hysterical. “Look, I can prove to you who I am!”
“Sure, you can.”
“Go look at my Range Rover; we have the same SUV with the same licenses-plates!
Look . . . I came here because my instincts told me something wasn’t right. First, Erik seems to have this infatuation with the name Katie, so when a Katie Reynolds flashed across my desk today, my antennas went up. That’s why I came here. I wasn’t sure what I would find, but never did I think I would come here to find you.”
She still didn’t believe me. She was looking at me like I was a madman.
“Here, Katie . . . I’ll prove it to you. I’m not lying!” I flung open the front door, so I could show her my Range that was sitting two houses down. I’ll prove it to Ms. High and Mighty exactly who I am. I’ll show her that . . . I . . . I . . . I couldn’t show Katie anything because my Range Rover was gone. My truck had vanished . . . and so had hers.