Someone Else's Husband(48)

Gretchen’s secret didn’t really matter, did it? And yet to call it irrelevant was a stretch, even she had to admit.



* * *



—

“You saw Hilary?” Scotty asked as Gretchen walked him out. He sounded irritated.

“Oh, yes. We had coffee,” Gretchen said warily. They sometimes liked to pull others into their spats—it was almost like they got off on it. But Gretchen had no bandwidth for Scotty and Hilary’s conflict du jour.

“What did she have to say about all this?” Irritated, for sure.

Scotty occasionally tired of Hilary’s antics—everyone did. But even his frustration usually masked a kind of good-natured affection. It seemed like Scotty secretly enjoyed his wife’s unpredictability. He liked that he had to tolerate her bad behavior. But something about his tone now—maybe she’d gone too far.

“You know how Hilary is.” Gretchen laughed lightly. “She made me feel much better.”

“Yeah, I do know how she is. Well, if you hear from her again, please tell her it would be great if she’d return one of her husband’s calls.”

“Of course,” Gretchen said as they stood at the door. “Have you spoken to Brooks, by the way? Does he know what happened?”

“Oh, no. Not unless you told him.”

He still hadn’t responded to any of her texts.

“No, no,” Gretchen said. “I texted him, but I haven’t heard back.”

“It’s a good point. He might know something. Maybe she mentioned something to him on the trip.” Scotty blinked quickly and shook his head as he rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I’ll try him, too.” He hesitated for a moment. “Listen, I just want you to—I know Richard isn’t perfect. But he loves you so much, Gretchen.”

Gretchen didn’t like the insinuation tucked into those otherwise innocuous words. “What does that mean?”

“That he loves you.”

“Not that—the ‘Richard isn’t perfect.’ What are you suggesting?” Gretchen’s face felt hot.

“I’m not suggesting anything.” Scotty looked panicked—he’d stepped into a trap.

Gretchen moved closer. “What do you know, Scotty?”

He held up his hands. “Nothing, Gretchen. I swear. All I know is that you mean the world to Richard, and I thought, under the circumstances, that might be good for you to hear.”





You met a friend today for coffee and then yoga, maybe. That’s the way you were dressed, at least. I loved watching the two of you walk together, the way you tossed your head back when you laughed. Like it was coming straight from your belly. Your laugh is one of my favorite things. Like a bud bursting into flower.

I followed you back home afterward. You stopped to pet two dogs and say hello to three babies. Explain to me how a person is supposed to not be in love with you?

Unfortunately, I did also see you with him later. I have no idea why you’re still talking to him, much less anything else. But I know that life is complicated. And that you can’t ever know the truth of someone else’s heart. Although I feel like I do know everything about yours that matters.

And I know I need to be patient. That you’ll make the right choice. In your own time.





Before


Frankie

September 8

They’re standing outside the door to my studio when I come back from the safe, brightly lit café I’ve been hiding in for the past twenty minutes. Noah paces the Great Jones sidewalk worriedly. Tall Max has his hands jammed deep in his pockets, shoulders hiked up angrily—it makes him seem even taller. Max is even better-looking than Noah, like a very intimidating Norwegian model who rarely smiles, though Noah insists he does all the time at home. I have never been Max’s favorite. He thinks I should get my own husband, Noah confessed in a moment of drunken honesty. I almost like Max more for saying it out loud—he’s funny and smart. And he’s also not wrong about me using Noah in that way.

I nearly texted Richard first, as if that picture of us, that picture he doesn’t even know about yet, means we’re in this together. Do I like the idea of him swooping in to my rescue? It feels a little lame, but there’s no denying that I wish I had a person right now. And I wish that person were Richard. The connection I feel every time I’m near him is ridiculous, childish in its absence of clear logic—unfortunately, knowing that doesn’t seem to be making it any less real.

“Thank you for coming,” I say to Max. “I know you have a dinner to get to.”

Max tries to smile, but he doesn’t get very far.

“It’s not a problem,” Noah says. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, just a little freaked out, that’s all.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Max says sharply. “Remind me why we’re not calling the police?”

“I can’t,” I say. Luckily, I’ve already worked out a good excuse. “The studio belongs to the gallery, and I think maybe I left it unlocked. I’m afraid they’ll get angry with me if they find out about the damage.”

Not bad. Also, now that I’ve said it out loud, I’m realizing it’s true.

“Okay,” Max grumbles. “But to be clear, I will be way more than angry if someone is still in there.”