Someone Else's Husband(34)

Gretchen shuddered. She couldn’t help it. She pulled her hand away and clasped her palms together. “Why?”

Deborah shook her head gently, frowning. “There was a woman who showed up here earlier this week. I was just wondering if it could have been the same person.” She seemed disgusted—but at the woman, not Richard. “Richard wasn’t even here. She made it all the way up to our floor even though she was in a state—makeup smeared, hair falling out all over. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. I have no idea how she got past security. But she was quite pretty, I suppose. If you like that sort of thing. I was just wondering if it could be the same person.”

“No, no,” Gretchen said, though already she had doubts. “I can’t imagine she’d have that kind of audacity…They barely knew each other.”



* * *



*

The first time Richard had called from Africa, the connection had sputtered and stalled, but then there he was, finally, standing in an emerald-green clearing, a stunning mountain in the distance ringed with white, puffy clouds. Richard was grinning like a much younger man. Utterly elated—Gretchen hadn’t seen him so happy in years. Maybe not ever. It had been right to let him go, no matter how worried she was. And she was still worried.

“Look at this place!” Richard had beamed, turning in a circle so Gretchen could see his surroundings, rays of light exploding behind him as the sun set. “It’s stunning! Completely unreal.”

It was incredibly magnificent even through the phone. In the distance, Gretchen could see cocktails arranged on a table set at the edge of the hill—linens, stemware, a reasonable-size bar. A sundowner. A small group, ten or so people, stood around the table. It was hard to make them out at that distance, especially in their hats and other gear. But Gretchen thought she spotted Van. A former NFL player, he was always hard to miss.

“Is that Kilimanjaro behind you?” Gretchen asked.

“No, that one is Meru,” Richard said. “It’s shorter, but much steeper, apparently.” He turned and pointed. “Kilimanjaro is that one.”

The mountain towered in the distance. A behemoth. “Oh, my,” Gretchen said, even more concerned now, but vowing to keep it to herself. “That’s stunning, and, oh, my, very tall! How are you feeling?”

“I feel fantastic! Really good,” Richard said. “Is everyone at home okay—you, the kids?”

“We’re all absolutely fine,” Gretchen said. “You just focus on taking care of yourself and coming home safe.”

“I will,” Richard said, his face turning serious in the way it did when he wanted Gretchen to know that he was really listening. They were quiet for a long moment. Just staring at each other. Even with thousands of miles between them, Gretchen felt the years, in a good way. The best way. “Let me introduce you to everybody!”

The camera jumped around then, pointed briefly at the sky and then the grass, until finally it was on Richard’s face again. He’d walked over to the group at the table. He’d also fixed his hair. “These are our guides, Kito and Bakari.” Sticking his face into the frame, Richard pointed the camera toward two smiling men, one older and stockier, the other young and thin. “You guys are going to keep us safe, right?”

“Absolutely!” Bakari called out, lifting his bottle of Coke toward the camera. “You have nothing to worry about—Richard and his friends will all be fine!”

Richard then shouted toward Van, Brooks, and Scotty in the distance. They were standing with some other people, one of whom could have been a woman; it was hard to tell with all the gear. Gretchen hadn’t considered that others might join the expedition, much less that one might be female. Maybe she was part of a couple. The other figures were either guides or climbers—they were too far away to be sure.

“And the guys—hey, guys, wave to Gretchen!”

As Richard turned back to the camera, something about the light in his eyes made Gretchen uneasy. His face was filled with pure hope. With excitement and possibility. It was a look she had seen on her husband’s face only once before. The day he first looked at her.



* * *



*

“Let me show you a picture, see if you recognize her,” Gretchen said. She needed Deborah to confirm the woman she’d seen was not Frankie. Gretchen tapped her way to Frankie’s website and handed the phone to Deborah.

“Oh, no, that’s not her,” Deborah said, squinting at Gretchen’s phone, a relieved hand to her chest. It seemed they’d both been worried about the same thing. “I’m sure it was nothing. Like I said—Richard wasn’t even here, and I never mentioned it to him. The woman never came back, either.”

“And she didn’t say who she was?”

“No. And I didn’t ask.” Deborah made a face. “I just escorted her downstairs and out of the building. Goodness, she prattled on the whole time in the elevator about how sorry she was to be a bother. Except, of course, she looked like a person who made it her business to bother. You know the type. The kind of woman who looks to a man to solve all her problems. And if that man happens to be someone else’s husband?” Deborah shrugged and raised her hands in the air theatrically. Then her expression softened as she reached over and again squeezed Gretchen’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t you worry about Richard’s responsibilities at the office. I will take care of things here. People don’t need to know everything about everything. You just focus on taking care of the family.”