The Housewife(57)

“Fuck!”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, allowing myself to revel in the moment. Some love affair! Sorry I stood you up, love of my life. I was taking a nap.

“Um…” He looks around the room, then picks up his phone, a look of despair on his handsome face.

“Do you want some breakfast?” I ask, trying not to throw my head back in laughter. He raises a hand to shut me up and stabs at the screen.

I leave him to his misery. In the kitchen, I prepare breakfast, but only because I want to keep everything normal. God knows I’m not hungry. My head hurts. I keep seeing Erin’s vacant stare, her hair spread around her bleeding head like a halo. And it’s not that I liked her, but I didn’t want her dead. Why would I? I just wanted her to listen. I wanted her to help me, help Deb, get Roy arrested. Why was that so hard to understand ?

I ruminate on those matters, and it’s only when I’m washing the pan I just made scrambled eggs in that I notice.

I freeze.

My wedding ring. It’s gone.

My heart pounds in my chest. I check down the drain, but there’s no way my ring would fit through the small holes. I run back up the stairs to the en suite bathroom and check the shower, the floor, the sink, with no success. In the bedroom, I tear off the sheets, shake them loose, then get on my hands and knees and search every inch of the carpet. I pull off the pillowcases and put them back again. I look under the bed. I look everywhere, pulling at my hair, but I don’t find it.

I can’t breathe. I try to picture last night, trying to see myself actually wearing my ring on my finger, so I can work forward from that point, but it doesn’t work. I have no recollection of the last time I saw my wedding band.

I look around one last time.

If Roy’s still there, and I haven’t heard him leave yet, he’s going to ask, “Where’s your ring?” And what am I going to say? “Remember how it was a little loose? I took it to the jeweler.” He’ll be surprised because I didn’t mention it before. He’ll ask, “Was it loose?” And I’ll say, “Yes! Don’t you remember?” And then he’ll ask, “When did you do that?” “Yesterday,” I’ll say.

And then, at some point, the police will find Erin and they’ll want to talk to Roy because they’ll know from her phone records that they were talking shortly, very shortly before her death. And then, they’ll say, “We found a wedding ring,” which will raise a red flag because she wasn’t married. “Does it look familiar to you?” they’ll ask. And it will. Because it’s a very distinctive design.

My heart is racing. I have to go down there and serve breakfast. I touch my hair, pinch my cheeks, and straighten my clothes.

Downstairs, Roy is at his desk, his face ashen. “I made some eggs,” I say. “But they’ll be cold by now, so I’ll make some more.”

“No, I’m not hungry.”

I pretend not to hear him. I race to the kitchen, pull out a pan, splash a little butter into it, then turn on the burner. I pull eggs out of the fridge and beat them in a bowl. I can hear Marie dragging the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard in the utility room. I didn’t even know she was home. When did she get home? Did she get home last night? Did she see Roy in his office? Did she check on me and find the bed empty?

Of course not. Why would she do either of those things?

When the butter sizzles in the pan, I wait another few seconds. Then I close my eyes, slide the pan aside, and slap my hand down on the hot burner.





35





“What is it? What’s wrong?” Roy stands in the doorway, alarmed by my cries.

I am crouched by the stove, cradling my burnt hand in my good one.

“What the hell happened?” Roy asks.

“I was distracted, I put my hand on the stove, I don’t know…”

“Oh God.” Roy brings a hand to his mouth.

“What happened?” Marie pushes past him into the kitchen. I’m standing up now, running cold water on my hands. Marie turns off the burner and pushes the pan away. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Roy stares down at me. He looks green. “I have to go,” he says. “Will you be all right?”

I nod. “Yes. I’ll be fine.”

Marie returns, sliding past him, and drops her supplies on the table. “Here, let me,” she says, turning off the tap .

I hear the front door close. Suddenly, the pain kicks in with a bang. I’m shaking all over. I think I’m going to pass out, although that’s probably from the events of last night.

Marie leads me by the elbow to a chair. There’s a first aid kit and some bandages on the table.

I sit down, still holding my hand while she pats it dry with a paper towel. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Roy go. Maybe now that he’s gone, she’s going to hit my hand with the frying pan. Oops, sorry, I didn’t see you there.

“Am I hurting you?” she asks.

I narrow my eyes at her. Is this some kind of trick? But she seems genuine.

“No… It’s fine,” I say.

She opens the kit and brings out a jar of burn cream. She scoops a little on her finger, then gently, very gently, starts to dab it on my burnt hand.

“I took my wedding ring off,” I say.