“Oh, please,” Emily said impatiently. “Everyone knows everything. That is not the point.”
I was afraid to leave them like that. To leave things in that state. But I needed air. Only now did I realize that I hadn’t even taken off my coat.
“I’m going out for a moment,” I said. “I can’t listen to this. But first I want to see Nicky.”
I walked past them to my son’s room. He and Miles were building a parking garage with Legos.
“Hey, guys,” I said. “That’s cool.”
The boys hardly looked up.
“Hi, Dad,” Nicky said.
“Hi,” said Miles.
I kissed the top of my son’s sweet head, and grief washed over me.
“Mom’s home,” Nicky said, matter-of-factly. As if she’d never been gone.
“I know that,” I said. “Isn’t that great?”
“Is my mom still out there?” Miles sounded worried. Did he think it was his mom’s turn to disappear?
I only wished that Stephanie would disappear, though I wouldn’t wish that on Miles.
I said, “Your mom’s in the living room with Nicky’s mother.”
My home didn’t feel like home anymore. It had been invaded and destroyed by my wife and her friend. I couldn’t get them to leave without resorting to the kind of violence they’d accused me of. I needed to get out. I went to my room and pulled together a suit, a change of clothes, some travel stuff, my sleeping pills, and my laptop.
I said goodbye to my wife and Stephanie. They didn’t answer. They didn’t seem to hear me. They’d poured themselves glasses of white wine and were stretched out on opposite ends of the couch.
I drove to the station and took the first train back into the city. I checked into the Carlyle. It was way more expensive than we could afford, but I told myself that times like this are what money is for.
I called in sick to the office and spent the day in bed. In the evening I went down to the magnificent Carlyle bar, with the Ludwig Bemelmans murals. I’ve always thought it was one of the most stylish and sophisticated places in New York.
I needed style; I needed sophistication and service. My life had gone dark and lonely and rough. I didn’t want to think about how much happier I’d been when I’d believed that Emily was dead.
I ordered a civilized martini (straight up, extra olives) from a civilized waiter, and when it came, chilled perfectly, I looked around at this civilized place and, after the second martini, imagined that things between me and Emily—and now, I guess, Stephanie was in the mix—could be settled in an amicable and civilized way.
I went back to my room, took two pills—twice the recommended dose—and tumbled into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, I showered in the luxurious bathroom and used every expensive bath product. I smelled like a floral bouquet. I ordered coffee from room service, tipped the waiter well, and dressed.
At work I went straight to Carrington’s office.
I was dreading this conversation. I was going to ask if Carrington knew a lawyer who might (I’d have to be circumspect about this) take my case, if needed, at company rates.
What would I tell the lawyer? Once again, I couldn’t think straight. My wife had scrambled my brains, as it were.
Carrington tilted back in his chair and rolled away from his desk.
He said, “Good God, Sean. Are you the only person on the planet who hasn’t seen this?”
He spun the monitor around. In order to read the screen, I had to lean over or squat in front of his desk. It was all terribly awkward.
On the screen was a Facebook page. The profile picture was of Carrington’s wife in her garden with an armload of rhubarb. It was Lucy Carrington’s page.
A headline said,
Mommy Blogger Solves Mystery.
Hear what this mom has to say about her friend’s disappearance.
Carrington handed me the mouse.
“Click on it. Wait. Come around. You can sit in my chair. I don’t have to be here when you read it.”
I said, “You can forward it to me.”
He said, “I don’t know how to do that.”
He left. I followed the links to Stephanie’s blog.
41
Stephanie's Blog
Mystery Solved!
Hi, moms!
First let me say that I hope you’re sitting down. Comfortably. At your desks and kitchen tables. For those of you who need catching up, I’m linking this to the post about my friendship with Emily, and then to the series of posts about her disappearance and death. Or anyway, what we all thought was her death. But I’m getting ahead of my story. By the time you’re done reading those posts, you’ll be pretty much caught up.
Anyway, the latest installment blows everything out of the water.
Moms, are you ready for some big news? Some shocking news?
Emily is alive!!!
I’ll skip a couple of steps. I’ll leave out my vague suspicion that Emily really wasn’t dead. Let’s call it my mom intuition. That maternal sixth sense that once again turns out to be right.
When I wrote that post about the afterlife, that post which so many of you reposted, I was actually trying to get in touch with Emily in case she was alive somewhere and could somehow read it. I wanted her to know that I hadn’t stopped thinking about her and praying for her.
Emily was the friend I was writing about when I wrote about the friend reaching for our help and about how we know whether or not it’s real. (link)
Let me say it as plainly as I can: Her husband was abusive.
She was so afraid of him that she faked her own disappearance and death. It was worse than that. He’d come up with a fraudulent scam to collect a fortune in insurance money after she disappeared and supposedly died. It’s the sort of thing you see on TV, but I guess it happens in real life.
In fact it was her twin sister who died, a desperate measure to which Emily’s sister was pushed (to be fair, partly pushed) by her cruel, unsympathetic, abusive brother-in-law.
Sean Townsend.
If it seems surprising that the nice guy and responsible dad I praised on my blog should have turned out to be a terrible person, all I can say is it happens. Hustlers and even serial killers prey on loving women. Not that I am implying that my friend’s husband is a killer. Not literally, I mean.
Sean is a very bad person. I don’t know what the insurance laws are. But according to Emily, a Mr. Isaac Prager has been spearheading an investigation. He tracked down Emily and got in touch. He offered her a deal and agreed that she would not be implicated in the case if she told him the truth. And of course she referred Mr. Prager back to Sean. The last Emily heard from Mr. Prager, he and Sean had arranged a meeting about thirty miles from our town.
Emily and I are friends again. She was brave enough to reach out for help, and I was a good enough friend to be there for her. Once again, we’re moms united in the same struggle. So here’s to the moms and to good friendship.
Love,
Stephanie
42
Sean
Carrington waited outside his office door the way a doctor waits for you to get undressed before entering the examination room.
“Bad stuff,” he said as he walked back in. “Women! You have my sympathy, dear fellow.” Whether he believed in my innocence or not, I was grateful that he was polite. Civilized. It was just occurring to me that I’d taken too many pills last night, that maybe in a few hours none of this will have happened. But I knew I hadn’t taken that much. This was real.
I said, “It’s all lies, I swear. Isn’t this cyberbullying? Blackmail? What are the libel laws in this country? None of this is true.”
I gave him my version. I made one trivial departure from the truth. I pretended I hadn’t known that my wife was planning to commit insurance fraud. It made the story less embarrassing. Less complicated. I said I’d seen no connection between the policy I’d signed up for and her subsequent disappearance until the detectives pointed it out. Whatever happened was her idea. She’d always been the thrill-seeking type, always needing to play the bad girl. I said this was not a quality that was going to wear well as Emily aged.
Carrington yanked at his cuffs, sign language for too much information. We’re British.