“Why?”
“I . . . I admit, I was attracted to her. I’d never felt that way in law school, but I did suddenly that night at the lecture. I tried to ignore it, but it was hard. I ended up seeing her a third time. For drinks again.”
I wince and have to fight the instinct to shut my eyes, like I’ve just watched a hubcap fly off the car ahead of me on a highway and hurl itself toward my windshield. But another part of me muscles in and takes control. That part is clearheaded and dispassionate, processing the information as if I’m listening to a midday market report.
“Is that why you were so weird around Sasha? Because she knows?”
I’m thinking suddenly of the orange roses, how Hugh trashed them while they were still fresh. He didn’t want any reminders of his deception blooming in front of him.
“Ashley didn’t admit anything to Sasha, but it’s clear she had suspicions. And she was playing some kind of nasty game by bringing Ashley up to both of us. Like she wanted to hurt you.”
Pot, kettle, black.
“So are you going to see her again? Do you want to?” I say, hating the questions as they spill from my lips.
“I’m not sure what I want, Ally. Things have been so tense between us.”
“And you’re really not sleeping with her?”
“No, but . . . I kissed her. After we had drinks the last time. I swear to you, though. It never went any further than that.”
Of course not, I think. He was probably too busy—and guilt-stricken when I became unhinged shortly afterward. That episode must have seemed to Hugh like the bad karma ambush from hell.
“I don’t get it,” I say, jumping from the chair and pacing behind it. “Why, if you’re fantasizing about screwing another woman, pick a fight with me that Monday night about having—”
And then it hits me. Maybe he started the fight to illuminate our differences, drive a wedge further between us and lay the groundwork for a split—or at least help him feel less sorry about lusting for Ashley.
Or maybe the fight was never about babies after all.
“Hugh,” I say. My heart aches like a hand that’s just been burned. “What was our Monday argument really about?”
He lowers his head and rakes his hair with his fingers.
“Not about kids,” he says finally, his voice breaking. “You . . . you saw a text from Ashley on my phone. You were upset and wanted to know what was going on. I told you exactly what I shared with you just now.”
I stare at him, disbelieving for a moment. “Are you telling me you’ve been lying to me all this time, Hugh? About the fight?”
“You were in such a bad way when I met you at the hospital. I didn’t want to make it worse for you.”
The revelation is crushing. I think of the endless frustration and torment. The endless questions I’ve had.
“I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to figure out what made me spiral out of control, and all this time you’ve been keeping this from me. How could you?”
“I guess I felt that if you didn’t remember, we had a chance to start fresh.”
“Start fresh? Did you ever consider how much the fight over her might have factored into my fugue state?”
“I’m sorry, Ally. I—” He takes several steps closer and reaches out to touch my arm, but I yank it out of reach.
“Get the fuck away from me.”
“Please, let’s talk this out some more.”
“There’s nothing to talk out. I don’t want you here tonight. I want you out of my sight.”
“Ally, please—”
“You can come back tomorrow once I’ve figured things out for myself, but for now you need to go. To the Yale Club or a hotel or whatever. Just go.”
He starts to speak again, then decides not to. He rises and leaves the great room. I grab a half-full bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge, pour a glass, take two gulps, and retreat to the den, tightly shutting the door behind me. I try not to listen, but the sounds come faintly through the far wall: drawers opening, the thud of a suitcase onto the floor, Hugh speaking briskly into the phone, perhaps making a reservation. Then I hear his footsteps in the corridor along with the rumble of a roller bag.
There’s a split second when the sounds cease, as if he’s paused, deliberating whether to knock. And then he moves away. Finally, from a distance, I hear the click of the front door closing.
He’s gone.
Instinctively my hands fly to my chest, pressing it, as if I’m trying to contain the surge of emotions. My husband’s attracted to, flirting with, kissing, sort of seeing, another woman. That’s bad enough, but his deceit about the fight registers as far worse. Because of his lie, I’ve been going down the wrong path in search of answers. Hugh, the person I love most in the world, fooled me in order to spare himself a shitstorm. This explains why he’s seemed so remote since my day in the ER. And no wonder he wasn’t more concerned when I disappeared. He knew I had every reason to take off without any word.
The bloodied tissues in my coat pocket had me more and more convinced that an incident outside the apartment had triggered my dissociative state rather than a rehashed fight about kids. But discovering his infidelity is a whole other story. Could that really have shaken me enough to make me come undone?
From far off, I detect the sound of a ringing phone. I swing open the door and hurry down the silent corridor. The ringing’s ceased by the time I reach the bedroom, but I discover I’ve missed a call from Roger. I try him back immediately.
“So how bad is it?” he asks.
“Bad.” I recap my conversation with Hugh, the words pouring out so fast they trip over one another. As I’m speaking, I glance around. There’s not even a hint of Hugh’s departure—no wire hangers strewn about or dresser drawers ajar—but still, the bedroom seems desolate, the loneliest spot in the universe.
“Ally, this must be gutting,” Roger says. “But could you consider giving him another chance? He didn’t sleep with her.”
“I haven’t had time to sort out my feelings yet. Besides, he seems smitten with this Ashley chick.”
“Do you have anyone who can keep you company there tonight? What about your friend Gabby?”
“Uh, maybe . . .” Part of me just wants to be alone.
“I wish I could drive into the city tonight, but I need to be here when Marion gets home and find out exactly how much more she told her brother.”
“Understood. Is there any news about Wargo?”
“No, nothing yet. Maybe he’ll confess—or throw Audrey under the bus—but we’ll hardly be the first to know.”
“At least the cops are finally closer to the truth.”
He makes me promise to touch base with him later and to also call Gabby. After we hang up, I end up shooting Gabby a brief text. Roger’s right. It would be better to have some company right now.
Are you busy? I write. Can you come back over?
Sensing she might text back any second, I stare at the screen, but she doesn’t respond.
For the first time since I’ve come up from the lobby, I wonder where her gift is. Maybe opening it will do me good. I trudge back down to the great room and scan the space for it without any luck.