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I need to start getting out more. I need to start finding the puzzle pieces so I know what my next move needs to be. I have to be careful how I proceed, though. There’s Margot to think about. I must protect her well-being at all costs. It’s not about me—it’s about her and what will be best. Furthermore, I don’t want John having any stand against me in court for custody. He already has the ammunition he could use. The thought of losing Margot sends me down, down, down to a dark place I don’t think I could recover from.
I hate to think how it might come to this. How the man I trusted with my life and, worse, my darkest secrets, is turning on me. You can only depend on yourself. Another one of Mama’s axioms is coming true. But I made my choices. I let my guard down. Now, I can’t let Margot pay the price. I will find the information I need. I will collect my evidence. An affair, criminal enterprise, whatever it is, I will do what I need to do to protect my daughter and to get us out safely and with whatever sense of security I can manage. This is my only task now, and it is, in fairness, a Herculean one.
Nevertheless, I’ve seen the way John looks at me now. I know his past, too. I know what he’s capable of more than anyone. Behind the perfect tie, the law degree, a darker man hides. Even if he’s convinced everyone, including himself, he’s put that man to rest, I’m starting to see remnants of the old John emerging. And even though the fact is terrifying, it also gives me hope I could gather my own ammunition. I could build my arsenal and take back the power position in this torrid relationship. Lovers to adversaries. Confidantes to spies. Our roles have twisted and warped.
Think, I tell myself in the shower as John gets ready for work. I’m not some weak, stupid woman. I can figure this out. How do I get to the bottom of it without him getting suspicious, though? There’s been such a distance between us. Other than dinner, I barely spend time with him. He keeps it that way, and now, I realize it’s intentional. So I guess I’ll have to come to him and catch him unaware. I’ll have to use his distance to my extreme advantage.
I say goodbye to John after my shower and spend the morning tidying the house, thinking about all the possibilities. It’s not a good idea, what I’m about to do, but there’s no way around it. I sigh, hating how every waking moment has been consumed by this mission now, by John. This is not how I used to dream about motherhood. I feel like I’m slacking in my duties, and that stings. I hold Margot as I glance out the window, and we watch Mrs. Heards pulling out weeds. Muffin suns himself on the pathway. Margot coos. I used to imagine what it would be like when I had a baby. I pictured playdates at Mommy groups, lunch with Olivia where I would push Margot’s stroller and we would chat about the latest office gossip.
It hurts to think about her, how quickly she disappeared from my life. After all those years, those moments we had. How can she just be okay with dropping off from our lives? I need her more than ever. I could use her witty banter to distract me. I could use her sage advice in this predicament I’m in. She doesn’t know the whole truth about John, of course. There are some secrets that must stay between John and me only. But she knows all she can about John, about us, about our lives. She would be able to impart a crucial perspective on our situation now. But those are the things of dreams, of fantasy. She isn’t in my life anymore. She is now a stranger.
I wonder what I will say if I see her today. I’ve played out potential scenarios all morning. I push them aside. I need to do what I can for myself and not worry about her. This is about us now.
John said he has a meeting today over lunch. He’ll be upstairs in the conference room then. That’s where he prefers to take his important meetings—if he’s telling the truth. And if not and he’s out an about, that’s all the better. When noon rolls around, I load Margot into her car seat, laboriously haul the stroller into the trunk, and head toward the office.
I pull into the visitor’s parking spot, looking longingly at the front row of parking that used to belong to me. I’m armed with my diaper bag, Margot, and my shades. I’ve put on my favorite jeans that still fit and my bright yellow top that screams sunshine. I’ve even curled my hair today. Let them all gawk and whisper about the poor woman who gave up her career for a baby or about the incident. Let the gossips crawl all over my name. At least I’ll look damn good while they do it. I think about what they’ll say, but I just roll my eyes. I’m not here for them. It’s never been about them. I strut to the front desk, pushing Margot’s stroller. I roll up to the reception desk. It feels so odd to be here now like a visitor when this place consumed so much of my life before.
“Oh, Evette, hi,” Steve says at the front desk. He offers me a smile that looks genuine enough. I feel safe enough to push the sunglasses back on my head.
“Hi, how are you? I’ve missed you,” I say, meaning it. We used to share a love of gossiping about the royals and fashion. Even on particularly exhausting days, I’d always make time to stop down and see him. The familiarity of our chats comes flooding back now as I stand before him. I didn’t realize how much I missed that simple normalcy in my day.
“Girl, I’ve missed you, too. What are you up to? Coming back?” he asks, glancing over the desk at the stroller.
“No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just here to visit John over lunch.” I wave my hand in the air at the mention of coming back as if it was a hobby I just gave up and not my whole life. Brush it away, make it disappear. Put it in an envelope and toss it in a box under the bed.
“Sure, no problem. But I think he’s in a meeting. You might want to stop and ask his new secretary.” Steve rolls his eyes and shakes his head, which tells me exactly how he feels about her. Steve applied for the secretary job, but John didn’t feel he was “serious” enough about his work. I would have picked Steve. The mention of the secretary reminds me of what else has changed. Cassie. Ugh. I forgot I’d have to see her for this plan to work.
“Great. Just what I need today.”
“I hear you. Listen,” he says, leaning in. “Between you and me, take a look at her hair when you go in there. She claims she’s a natural blonde. Please. And that earring gauge she has is so gross. Like, are you not in a professional office? Did someone not give her the memo?”
I smile. Steve always makes me feel better. He lets me pass the front desk, and I head back to the familiar hallway. I hang a right to the legal department, where Cassie is perched.
Chewing her gum loudly, she looks up at me with her baby blues and her neon blonde hair. Steve is right about the hair, but I begrudgingly have to admit she is absolutely gorgeous. Damn gorgeous. And she can’t be any older than what? Eighteen? My stomach churns a bit at the thought of how much time John is here with her. Hours and hours with perky, tight bodied-Cassie who even I can see has kissable lips. Could this be his secret? She is the exact opposite of me, her dewy, young skin and blonde hair a sharp contrast to my haggard, sagging face and black hair.
“Can I help you?” she asks, blinking as she spins side to side in her chair like a kindergartner in her school desk for the first time. It’s just as I imagined. Her long, bejeweled nails clack on the keyboard in front of her.
“I’m John’s wife. I’m here to see him for lunch,” I say with my chin tilted slightly upwards. I shouldn’t have to introduce myself. Back before her time, I never had to introduce myself around Anderson’s—especially not in John’s department. I think about all of our lunches spent giggling in his office. I think about the time we shut the blinds and christened his desk, the paperweight flying to the ground as we giggled and shushed each other.
She slaps her lips and looks down at her computer screen. I stare at her, trying to read any anxiety or discomfort at my title. There is nothing. She’s either got the best poker face, or she isn’t what John’s been spending his time doing.
“He’s in a meeting. I’ll let him know you stopped by.” Her fingernails return to clacking out something on the keyboard. It’s like I’m a fly she waved away, something insignificant in her daily work.
“I’ll just wait in his office,” I murmur, shoving past the desk towards John’s office. This was what I was banking on. I smirk at my own cleverness. I shove the stroller past hurriedly, with confidence. Luckily, she doesn’t stop me or threaten to call security. I exhale. I’m in.
Once inside the familiar box, I shut the door. Margot is asleep in her stroller still, so I park her in the corner. I probably have some time, but not too much. The meeting could be short, which means John could be back at any moment. My eyes dart around the office, trying to figure out where to start as the pressure builds.
The drawers of course. John is maniacally good at hiding details about himself. As a lawyer, he is cautious, prudent about confidentiality, and careful not to be too open with others. I can’t imagine that whatever is going on, he’ll have left clues in his office. Still, there might be something I can use, something I can follow. I have to try—and I have to at least rule out the secretary/affair situation.
I slide open the metal drawer carefully, the one that doesn’t creak. I fan through post-it notes and some files for some upcoming contracts. I dig to the bottom, where I find a few peanut butter cups stashed. I’ve never seen John eat candy. He’s always worried excessively about this body image. Still, this isn’t quite the secret I was looking for. I move to the bottom drawer and pull it very carefully. I cough a bit when I get to the sticking point to mask the screech. Again, nothing but the usual items.
I turn my attention to his computer. Should I? Do I have time? I glance anxiously at the door, holding my breath to see if I hear footsteps. Nothing. I tap my foot, my stomach in knots. I decide to go for it.
My heart pounds so loudly, I think I might have a heart attack right here. I crack open the laptop. The familiar home screen flashes, a picture of us at the courthouse on our wedding day. My eyes dart back to Margot. Still sleeping. I hold my breath again. I hear Cassie laughing at the desk. Shit. I hope he isn’t back. Time is running out. My fingers fly to the keyboard. I type in the password, the one he uses for everything.
Denied. Wrong password. He’s changed it. When did he change it? Shit.
Footsteps. Heavy. Familiar. I have no more time. I close the lid, scramble from his chair, and head over to Margot. I plaster on a smile to hide my tension and suspicions and hope my forehead isn’t too sweaty. When the door flies open, I order myself to turn slowly to see John. He is shocked at first. And then, just like John himself, it all changes. His face twists to a new emotion.
Frustration.
“What the hell, Evette? What are you doing?” He tosses the files from his hands onto the desk. They scatter. His eyes dart about the room, as if I’ve been caught red-handed. I remind myself to play it calm. He has no idea that I’ve been snooping. Or at least, he has no proof.
“I wanted to surprise you,” I answer softly, walking toward him meekly, coyly. I sway my hips in the way that always used to work on him.
John hovers awkwardly near the doorway, glancing to the hall then to me. I keep my eyes on him, looking demurely at his face. I can’t get him to put his guard down, though. Still, I keep trying to play the role.
“I just missed you. We missed you.” I plaster on the charm that used to so effortlessly be mine.
He exhales loudly and crosses over to me. I stand expectantly. But the way he stalks over, the expression on his face. My stomach plummets. I inch forward, putting myself in front of Margot as if protecting her from a prowling tiger. John grabs my wrist. I gasp.
“Don’t come here unannounced. I’m trying, Ev. I’m trying to keep things going. I’m working so fucking hard here so we can keep the life we have. Don’t you see that? You can’t be here. Not after everything that happened. I can’t even believe they let you in.”
Tears sting my eyes, but the pain in my wrist is deeper. I struggle to get away, but he lets my wrist go quickly, flinging me aside. He stomps to the corner of his office, his hands gripping his hair. It looks like his hands are shaking.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters through gritted teeth.
“We’re going. I’m sorry. I just—”
He spins around. “Do you ever think about me, anymore? What you’ve done to me? And what you're doing to my career when you come waltzing in here?”
“I just wanted—”
“I don’t care what you want right now. I don’t. When do I get to be a little selfish?” he asks. “Huh?”
That stings. A lot. Mostly, because I know deep down, he’s right. No matter what’s going on, he’s at least correct about this. I’m not completely innocent in this demented game. I hurriedly grab the diaper bag and sling it over my shoulder. This was a mistake. What did I think I would gain from agitating the bear, especially in the office? There are no allies here. There are no allies for me anywhere, but especially not here.
“I’m going.” I keep my eyes on the ground as I push the stroller to the door. I fight back tears. Be strong. Don’t let him know he’s hurt you.
At this, John panics. He rushes to the door and cracks it open slightly. I wonder if his mistress was meeting him here. I wonder if that’s why he’s so pissed. I ruined his rendezvous. Then again, at least he’s looking nervous. At least he’s trying to keep his secret. That’s something, even though it’s piteously minuscule. He still cares about me enough to try to shield me.
“I still love you, John,” I whisper. The words slip off my tongue, rogue entities fighting to be heard. I regret saying them, but it’s too late. I can’t peel them back.
The missiles land, but they do not detonate. Instead, they mollify him as well. He turns to look at me. His face softens.
“I know, Ev. I love you, too.” A pause. A glimmer. An assurance. And then, it’s gone in a puff of smoke. The magician’s dove has flown away. There is no real magic to behold here.
He quickly ushers me out of his office. I push Margot’s stroller, my head down. Why does this feel like a walk of shame? Cassie doesn’t say anything. Just snaps her gum. He walks me past Steve, who also stays silent. When we are out of earshot of anyone, John reaches for me again. I flinch this time.
“Ev, I’m sorry. I am. It’s just—”
“I know, John. I know things have changed. I know I shouldn’t have come. I don’t belong here anymore.”
He caresses my arm, then my cheek. He wipes a wayward tear from my face, one I tried so hard to keep back.
“I’m sorry, too,” he says. And I almost believe him.
I plod to my car, leaning heavily on the stroller’s handle as my mind flails about. What do I do next? What the hell do I do next?
Margot whimpers in her backseat as I drive us to a house that feels more like a prison, like a lie, like a sepulcher of the marriage, the love story we once had.