Someone Else's Husband(13)

“Are you sure? I feel like I should—”

“What you need to do is take care of yourself, Gretchen. If Richard has been arrested, there’ll be nothing to do but prepare for the arraignment.” He stood. “I’m on this. You don’t need to worry.”

“Are you sure?” But Gretchen felt suspended between collapsing and vomiting as she pushed to her feet. It was true: She needed a break.

“Gretchen, not only will you kill me if I don’t handle this, but Richard and Hilary will too,” he said. “I promise. Go home, rest. That’s what Richard would want, and Hilary would insist. Let me do my job without worrying about you. This whole thing is some bullshit mistake. Overreacting will only get you in deeper trouble. That’s the way these things are.”



* * *



—

In the end, Gretchen had Sam drop her at the bottom of Central Park and then walked the rest of the way home. Twenty-nine blocks along the park, the rhythm of her legs, the chilly morning air steadying her. It wasn’t even 8:00 a.m. yet. There weren’t that many people to see her pajama bottoms, which really did look like pants anyway.

It was also calming to focus on the task at hand—getting to Oppy’s welcome assembly. When it was over, she could tell Cassandra about the situation with Richard. But the truth was that she was still holding out hope she wouldn’t have to. That Scotty would get the police to come to their senses between now and when the curtain came down.

By the time Gretchen was turning in to her building, she was already imagining how she’d graciously accept an apology from the police. So she was startled when she came face-to-face with Joseph, who was still on duty. He looked equally alarmed to see Gretchen—ashen, actually—but he tried to cover, smiling broadly. Even so, the whole thing was terribly awkward. Joseph was young and rather new and, under the best of circumstances, he vacillated between overly familiar and overly formal, so she wasn’t surprised when his eyes shot to the ground as if he were embarrassed for her, or maybe for himself. Both, probably.

Gretchen cleared her throat. She would not be made to feel humiliated. Not when none of this was their fault.

“Well, good morning, Joseph,” Gretchen said, bright and crisp. Defiant. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, eyes still down.

“Have a lovely day,” she called as she strode to the elevator.

As soon as the doors shut, Gretchen found herself blinking back tears. She forced her shoulders square. Fanned her eyes with her well-manicured fingers. Pretend. To survive, she was going to have to pretend. And Scotty was right. She was just exhausted.

Gretchen’s relief at reaching the apartment was short-lived. As she swung open the door, she could see that it had been utterly ransacked. In every direction, drawers were open, their possessions strewn about the floor. Detective Reyes had warned her, but nothing could have prepared her for the extent of the damage. Across the foyer in the living room, she could see that even the couch cushions had been lifted and tossed around.

Gretchen was still standing in the entryway when she heard a key turn in the lock behind her. Lita. Their housekeeper. Lita had lived in with them ever since they’d moved into the apartment, but since Becks left for college, she worked only nine to five. Sometimes Gretchen thought about inviting her back to live. They were so fond of each other, and the house was so empty without the children. But she was worried Lita might feel obligated, and if Gretchen was completely honest with herself, Lita did seem happier now that she was living out.

“Good morning,” Lita called cheerfully as she entered. But her smile fell and her hand went to her mouth when she saw the chaos. “Ay, dios mío!”

Gretchen nodded. “Yes, it’s a mess,” she said. “Tu hermana?” Lita sometimes called her sister when there was a big project. And getting everything back in order definitely fit the bill.

Lita nodded gravely. “Sí, sí.”

Gretchen still didn’t speak much Spanish despite several genuine attempts with Duolingo—which was somehow slightly racist, according to Elizabeth. Simply employing Lita was also apparently racist, or so Elizabeth had proclaimed in high school—though neither Richard nor Gretchen could understand how paying someone far above market rate and providing health insurance and other benefits like vacation days could possibly be a bad thing. It was true that the language gap meant Gretchen’s conversations with Lita were limited, and that did always seem a little wrong. However, at the moment, her limited Spanish meant Gretchen was spared having to explain why the apartment was in such a state.

Instead, Gretchen excused herself upstairs, glancing down at her new watch. Gaudy, it was gaudy. Gretchen had pushed the thought away when she first saw it because it had seemed cruel and ungrateful. But even after all these years of living with great wealth—partly earned by him!—Richard did still occasionally stumble in this regard. It was cute, most of the time.

Of course, none of this would have happened if Richard hadn’t gone on the trip to begin with, and the watch was a reminder that it was Gretchen who’d eventually acquiesced. Richard and “the boys”—as he liked to call his college group—took an “adventure trip” nearly every year, hadn’t missed one since graduation. And Richard was certainly capable of such activities, even in his mid-fifties. He was an experienced hiker—Patagonia, the Alps, the Dolomites. And he was fit: He’d run the New York City Marathon twice, the last time only a few years ago. And after all he’d been through as a child, he was calm and resourceful, exceptional in an emergency.