Someone Else's Husband(95)

“Hello, Frankie.”

A moment later, Kito was inside squatting beside me, checking my numbers: 92 over 89. Solid, by any measure. I’d had to stall and stall before slipping the pulse oximeter onto my finger, chatting until my heart had slowed.

“You will be okay,” Kito said. “We will watch carefully, but we are headed down now. You should quickly improve. We will have breakfast and then set off.”

“Thanks, Kito,” Richard said. “We’ll be over in a second.”

After he left, Richard sat back down on his sleeping bag. The silence grew long and heavy.

I will not let myself confuse need with love.

“You really spent the whole night in here?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Richard said, his eyes on his watch as he adjusted and readjusted it. “I was worried.”

“Thank you,” I said. “For looking out for me.”

As the sun broke over the horizon, it set the inside of the tent on fire. We were face-to-face, Richard’s hat off, his hair tousled. I was close enough to notice the streaks of gray at his temples, the fine lines near his eyes. And yet he still looked youthful to me, and his eyes glittered with kindness. How different my life might have been if I’d met someone like Richard first, before the Senator. Before everything about me got turned inside out.

“I’ve wanted to look out for you since the second we met,” he said. Each word felt weighted. Deliberate. He was quiet for a beat. “Do you know what I mean?”

“I know exactly.”

He took my hand. But somehow the moment felt like an ending—inevitable, sad, necessary. I don’t remember who let go first.

A minute later, or an hour or five, we were packed up and headed down the mountain.

Two days later we were on our way home. In between had been hours filled with grief and gutting phone calls to the States, informing people about the accident. No calls for me, of course. I didn’t have anyone I needed to tell. And so my trip ended in a weird, stunted kind of grief. I hadn’t known Van well, and yet I knew him in such a strangely intimate way, which left me with no place to put his death.

All I had left was my longing for Richard, which also felt somehow like grief. And my hope, cut short by tragedy—which made it easy to ignore all the other problems with our connection. We still felt like an unsolved puzzle when we said goodbye at the airport.

A puzzle I knew I should not bring home to New York.



* * *



*

I have my reasons for ending up at Richard’s apartment building—I’m scared, I need a place to go, I can’t reach anyone else. But I could have tried more people. I could have waited at some brightly lit café until Thalia woke up. I can still leave now. It’s not too late.

And yet, he’s part of the situation. Richard has a right to know the context, to understand how dangerous the Senator might be. There is a very real possibility he will go to Richard’s wife—just out of spite.

But deep down, I know none of these is the real reason I’m here. I can’t leave the puzzle unsolved

A moment later I’m inside Richard’s immaculate marble lobby, an extravagant arrangement of fragrant lilacs on the reception desk helmed by a tall, young doorman.

“I’m here to see the Falks. They know I’m coming.” I smile and motion to my outfit, trying not to hate myself for my very deliberate, very false use of they. “I got locked out of my apartment. Sorry about the…no shoes.”

The doorman leans over, eyes widening when he spies my bare feet. “Oh, yeah, you can’t…No.”

“Can you please call up? Or I can just go…” I gesture toward the elevator.

He frowns as he snatches up the phone. A moment later, his voice is much softer and more submissive. “I have a young lady here, a…” He looks my way and raises his chin, asking for my name.

“Thalia,” I say, hoping that Richard will remember. Another lie so easily told. And now Richard and I have yet another secret. How many more before we are comprised entirely of lies?



* * *



—

Richard is standing at the door when I step off the elevator. He waves me into the apartment like an excited teenager, and I feel a pang of regret. Whatever my legitimate reasons, this is why I really came.

The hallway is as fancy as the lobby, lavishly textured yet tasteful wallpaper, a delicately patterned, luxurious runner setting off polished hardwood. The carpet squishes between my bare toes as I make my way to Richard’s door.

Richard smiles, shaking his head. “What happened?” he asks in a loud whisper, pointing at my feet.

I put my finger to my lips. I’ll tell you when I’m inside. And then I am. Inside. Standing in Richard’s stately marble foyer, which opens to a gleaming kitchen on the left, a sprawling living room lined with massive windows on the right, an elegant staircase in between. A duplex. It’s all pristine, sparkling white, dotted with navy-blue accents in the living room, mint-green in the kitchen. It’s so…serene. That’s my first reaction.

My second reaction hits me with stunning force. I am a trespasser in this woman’s home, pure and simple. I am invading a place of serenity that she created for her husband and children. Worse, I’ve convinced myself there’s something noble about what’s happening. Or fated. That I have no choice. But everyone chooses, all the time. I’ve decided that how I feel is more important than pretty much anything else. Including what’s right.