Hannah
She glanced over at her husband, who was staring at the road, hands at ten and two. He drove the way he did everything else—well, carefully, with precision. The space between them was charged; they’d had words before Lou arrived, and after they’d gotten into the car. Not the way she wanted to start off this vacation. It was her fault. She needed to apologize. But.
“I—” she started, touching her finger to the empty coffee cup in the center console. But the words died in her throat.
He drew and released a breath, shifted in his seat.
“I get it,” he said, shooting her an apologetic glance.
“No,” she said. “I mean. It was wrong. Really wrong. I’m sorry.”
Last night while Bruce had been sleeping, after she’d checked on Gigi and heard his work phone buzzing in his office, she’d done something shameful. The pull of that buzzing phone was magnetic. She knew the window revealing at least part of the message would stay up on the home screen for a few minutes, so she quickly, without really even thinking, went into Bruce’s office, sat at his desk and took the phone from the drawer.
There was a message from someone entered into his contacts as Angel: R-61818200. If all goes as planned.
A password, a serial number, some kind of code? She felt her face flush. Who was Angel? It didn’t sound like a client name, and it wasn’t one she’d heard him mention. But obviously, it was work related? Right? It’s not like she stumbled on some sexting, or plans to meet. Why did she feel sick? She felt sick because she was spying on her husband.
“Hannah.”
She had practically flown out of his chair and gone through the window. Her husband stood bare-chested in sweatpants, filling the doorway.
“What are you doing?” he asked mildly, almost amused.
She sat a moment, considered lying. “I, uh, heard your phone. And—”
“And.”
“And—you’ve been acting so strangely. I—”
She couldn’t read his expression, whether it was anger or disappointment. No there was something else there—a kind of careful stillness.
“Who’s Angel?” she asked. “And please don’t say a difficult client.”
His brow knitted. “We can talk about this. But can you put my phone back in the drawer and leave my office, please?”
So calm, so level. She felt like a schoolgirl caught smoking out by the dumpsters. Her face burned and her heart was in her throat.
“Who is Angel?” she asked, still clutching the phone.
“Hannah. I can’t tell you that, okay? You don’t want me to say it’s a client. And I can’t tell you who it is or what I am doing for them. I’m sorry.”
She put the phone back in the drawer and closed it. He moved aside to let her exit. She brushed past him and went to sit out by the pool with a glass of wine, her mind spinning and turning, creating scenarios, possibilities, imagining all the worst things she could think of. Eventually, having pulled on a T-shirt, he joined her.
“I thought we trusted each other,” he said when he pulled up a chair.
The water of the Intracoastal glittered, silver on black. Across the canal there were other houses, an eclectic blend like all Florida waterfront neighbors of small ranch homes, big new McMansions, small condo buildings, bigger, newer ones dwarfing the older ones, stealing views.
“We do,” she said. “But—something is not right with you.”
There. She said it. That was the truth—whatever the reason. She knew her husband and that was how she felt. She wasn’t some insecure, paranoid wife.
“Angel is a very difficult client. I cannot discuss it. I’m sorry. I wish I could. I’m just going to have to ask you to believe in me.”
What if she told Cricket about this conversation? Her mother? No woman would accept that as an answer, right? Months from now if she found out he actually had been sleeping with someone else, she’d look back and think: How could you have believed him?
But he hadn’t denied anything. Hadn’t asked her to believe him. He asked her to believe in him. That was different. She looked at him; his face was earnest, dark eyes holding hers. Fine lines had started a debut around his mouth, his brow. He twisted his wedding band.
“Okay,” she’d said.
He’d reached for her hand but she got up and walked away from him, went inside.
“Hannah,” she’d heard him say as she slid the door closed.
In the morning—really just a few hours later—they’d bickered about what to bring. She was overpacked; he wanted to travel light. She’d picked up the wrong toothpaste. He hadn’t gassed up the car on the way home last night and they’d have to stop. Gigi watched them from her high chair, confused, maybe picking up on their strained tone. She got fussy, started flinging oatmeal.
Lou arrived and they put on the happy family act. Hannah tried to make a quick exit, after kissing Lou and her baby. She tried not to cling, but Gigi got weepy as they moved toward the door.
Mamama. No syllables on earth could tug at her heart like those. Hannah almost canceled the whole thing then and there.
But Lou soothed and distracted like a pro. “Ooh! Gigi, what’s this?”
When Lou and Gigi were happily engaged on the floor with Gigi’s toys, Hannah and Bruce left quietly, got in the car, and drove off. As they pulled off their street, Hannah cried quietly in the passenger seat.
“It’s okay,” Bruce said. “Everything will be okay.”
Now, miles between them and their daughter and last night, Hannah felt embarrassed.
“I’m truly sorry for looking at your phone, for sneaking into your office while you were sleeping. It was—horrible of me.”
“I promise you,” he said, reaching for her hand, looking over at her. This time she took it and squeezed. “There is no one in this world for me but you, Hannah. You and Gigi—you’re everything.”
She felt the words move like electricity through her skin. Your body knew the truth, didn’t it?
“I know,” she said. “I know.”
“I’ll try to be more open with you when I can, okay?”
She nodded. But as she’d lain awake last night she’d decided that if they didn’t have trust, they didn’t have a marriage. She’d have to accept that he was faithful and good, until he was walking out the door with another woman. She wasn’t going to be a snooping, accusing, and anxious wife. She’d never been that in her life. She wouldn’t let baby brain, new mom anxiety, whatever, turn her into a person she didn’t want to be.
She glanced down at her phone.
“You’re not still watching them,” said Bruce, eyes back on the road, hands back on the wheel.
They’d passed the last town what seemed like hours ago and they were on some winding back road, trees all around. She noted the beauty, the peaceful silence of it. But barely. She only had one bar on her phone. Her connection was wavering. The video feed was glitchy and slow.
“They’re having lunch. Gigi loves it when Lou cuts her cheese sandwich into little squares like that.”
She watched guiltily on the security camera, Gigi in her chair at the table happily eating her sandwich, Lou slicing an apple at the counter. Lou knew about the cameras, of course—one in the great room, one in Gigi’s room, one monitoring the outside front and another from the back. She probably didn’t know that Hannah would be tuning into it obsessively over the long drive.
“Hannah,” said Bruce with a patient smile.
She envied his calm, his ease. In all her years with him, she’d only seen him truly angry twice and never with her. For her, and for Gigi, he seemed to have endless patience with all their isms and quirks. Obviously, even with his wife snooping in his office.
“You’re a good mom, the best mom,” he said.
How pathetic that she needed to hear that.
“Good moms don’t leave their babies,” she countered.
Bruce gave her a light eye roll. “In the care of a loving, competent grandparent? Yes, they do. All the time.”
“Right. They do. Of course they do.”
Reluctantly, Hannah clicked off the camera, stowed the phone in the door side pocket. She looked out the window. Trees towered, creating a canopy over the road, blocking the sun so totally that the headlights had flipped on.
“Wow,” she said. “Middle of nowhere, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Bruce. “It’s nice. Except, I’m not sure we have a signal anymore.”
He glanced at his phone, which was mounted on the dash with the maps app running. They were just a blue dot in a sea of green.
She looked at her own phone. No service now. She’d had it just moments ago.
“I think we’re officially off the grid,” he said.
She pushed back a little wave of panic. Mako had sworn there would be Wi-Fi at the house. He knew she didn’t love leaving Gigi and wouldn’t be comfortable out of contact with Lou. Mako himself would have to work some; no way he could—or would—go all weekend being disconnected. He wouldn’t promise that just to lure her out there, just to get his way—this fantasy of an Instagram-able friends and family weekend for which he’d pushed so hard. Would he?
She forced herself to relax, to be present.
The road wound, and Bruce followed it. She rolled down the window to be greeted by a fresh-smelling coolness. Something in her loosened and relaxed. She inhaled deeply, looking into the spaces between the trees. She remembered how she liked the solitude and calm she found in nature, so different from their busy, chattering, town life. How she could hear herself think when things went quiet. She liked the sound of her own inner voice.
Bruce was calm; he always seemed to know the way to places. Even places that they had never been. They called it BPS, Bruce Positioning System. She took her husband’s hand, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. He was solid. The rock in her life.
“It’s all fine,” he said. “Liza said we might lose service, texted the directions. We’re good.”
And sure enough, after a while they saw a glow up ahead.
When they made the final turn, a huge home hulked at the end of the drive, the sky a vibrant blue punching into the deep green black of the trees behind it.
Mako had called it a “cabin.” The pictures she’d seen online hadn’t done it justice. Maybe it was a cabin—in that it was constructed from wood. But the photos on the site had made it seem woodsy, cozy.
“Wow,” she said.
This was an Architectural Digest dream, expansive with towering windows and vaulted roof. There was a huge wraparound porch, another big balcony on the level above, both furnished with plush seating. Elegant landscaping cast shadows on the circular drive as Bruce brought the car to a stop. Through the double-height glass front doors, she could see inside to the beautifully appointed living space. Was that a bear head mounted over the mantel, though?
“Wow,” Bruce echoed. “Leave it to Mako.”
Now he seemed tense. His shoulders were slightly hiked. Something about her brother and his ways. She knew that much. She put her hand on his shoulder and felt him relax beneath her palm.
“Hannah.” Bruce turned to her. And on his face, there was an expression she hadn’t seen before. Something in her clenched. All her doubts and worries clamored for attention again.
“I—”
I’m having an affair.
I need a break.
I hate your family.
But then Mako was bursting out the front door, Liza behind him waving. Hannah felt an irresistible pull to them, started moving to get out, wanting space from whatever dark thing Bruce was going to reveal.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered when he put his hand on her arm.
But that dark expression was gone. And it was just Bruce again, a half smile blooming on his lips. Lips she intended to kiss a lot this weekend. Because that’s what they needed—more kissing, less talking, less worrying.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just sorry—for making you worry. I’m sorry that I can’t always tell you everything.”
“It’s okay,” she said, and meant it. “I trust you.”
“Can you believe this place?” Mako boomed, opening her door and offering a hand to pull her into his embrace. “What did I tell you?”
“It’s amazing,” she said, feeling his strength, his solidity. Her brother.
She looked around at deep evergreen contrasting the brightness of the cerulean sky, the stunning view of the purple mountains behind the house. The air was clean, filling her lungs. Suddenly, she felt a million miles away from their mundane day-to-day, from their problems, her worries.
If Gigi were with them, she could see herself staying in this peaceful place forever.