“You’re a nervous Nellie.” His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “That’s what I’m going to call you: Nellie.”
The truth is I always disliked the nickname. I thought it sounded old-fashioned. But I never told that to Richard. He was the only one who ever called me Nellie.
We talked for the rest of the flight.
I couldn’t believe someone like Richard was so interested in me. When he took off his jacket, I caught a citrus scent that I’d forever associate with him. As we began our descent, he asked for my phone number. While I jotted it down, he reached out to stroke the length of my hair. A shiver ran down my spine. The gesture felt as intimate as a kiss.
“So beautiful,” he said. “Don’t ever cut it.”
From that day on—all through our whirlwind courtship in New York City, our wedding at the resort in Florida, and our years spent living in the new house Richard had bought for us in Westchester—I was always his Nellie.
I’d expected my life to unfurl gracefully. I thought he would always keep me safe. I’d become a mother and would resume teaching when our children were grown. I dreamed of dancing at our silver wedding anniversary.
But of course, none of that happened.
And now Nellie is gone forever.
I am only Vanessa.
“Why are you here?” my replacement asks.
I can tell she is gauging whether she can be quick enough to duck around me and run down the street.
But she is wearing strappy high-heeled sandals and a fitted skirt. I know she is heading to her bridal fitting today; her schedule was easy to obtain.
“All I want is two minutes.” I spread open my empty hands to convince her I mean no physical harm.
She hesitates and looks up and down the block again. A few people mill past, but no one stops. What is there to see? We’re just two well-dressed women standing in front of an apartment building on a busy street, near a deli and down the block from a bus stop.
“Richard will be here any second. He’s just locking up my apartment.”
“Richard left twenty minutes ago.” I was worried he might drop her off at the fitting, but I watched him flag down a cab.
“Please just listen,” I say to the beautiful young woman with the heart-shaped face and lush body that Richard left me for. She needs to know the story of how I transformed from buoyant, chatty Nellie into the shattered woman I am today. “I need to tell you the truth about him.”
PART
TWO
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Her name is Emma.
“I used to be you,” I begin as I look at the young woman before me.
Her blue eyes widen as she takes in my appearance. She examines my changed hair, then the dress draped over my too-thin frame. It is clear my reflection is not an image she can imagine superimposed on herself.
I’ve lain in bed so many nights rehearsing what I’ll say to her. She was Richard’s assistant; that is how they met. Less than a year after she was hired to replace his secretary Diane, he left me for her.
I don’t need to reach for the printed copy of my speech in my bag, my backup in case words failed me. “If you marry Richard, you will regret it. He will hurt you.”
Emma frowns. “Vanessa.” Her voice is even and measured. It’s as if she is talking to a small child. It’s the tone I used when I told my Cubs it was time to put away their toys or finish up their snacks. “I realize the divorce was hard on you. It was hard on Richard, too. I saw him every day; he really tried to make it work. I know you’ve had your troubles, but he did everything he could.” I sense some accusation in her gaze; she believes I’m to blame.
“You think you know him,” I interrupt. I’m going off script, but I press on. “But what did you see? The Richard you work for isn’t the real man. He’s careful, Emma. He doesn’t let people in. If you go through with the wedding—”
She interrupts me now. “I feel horribly about everything. I want you to know he started opening up to me as a colleague, as a friend. I’m not the kind of woman who ever thought she’d have an affair with a married man. We didn’t expect to fall in love.”
I believe this. I saw their attraction spark shortly after Richard hired Emma to manage his calls, proofread his correspondence, and keep his schedule.
“It just happened. I’m sorry.” Emma’s round eyes are earnest. She reaches out and touches my arm gently. I flinch as her fingertips gently graze my skin. “I do know him. I’m with him ten hours a day, five days a week. I’ve seen him with his clients and our coworkers. I’ve seen him with the other assistants, and I saw him with you back when you were married. He’s a good man.”
Emma pauses for a moment, as if debating whether to go on. She is still staring at my lighter hair color. My naturally blond roots finally blend in well. “Maybe it’s you who never knew him.” Her tone has an edge.
“You have to listen to me!” I am shaking now, desperate to convince her. “Richard does this! He confuses things so we can’t see the truth!”
“He said you might try something like this.” Contempt has replaced the sympathy in her voice. She folds her arms and I know I am losing her. “He told me you were jealous, but this has gotten out of control. I saw you outside my building last week. Richard said if you pull something like that again, we’ll file a restraining order.”
Beads of sweat run down my back, and more gather on my upper lip. My long-sleeved dress is too warm for the weather. I imagined I’d planned everything out so carefully, but I’ve stumbled, and now my thoughts are as thick and muggy as this June day.
“Are you trying to get pregnant?” I blurt. “Did he tell you he wants to have children?”
Emma takes a step back, then moves to the side and passes me. She walks to the curb and lifts up her hand to signal a cab.
“Enough,” she says, without turning to look back at me.
“Ask him about our last cocktail party.” Distress makes my voice shrill. “You were there. Remember how the caterers showed up late and there wasn’t any Raveneau? That was Richard’s fault—he didn’t order it. It was never delivered!”
A taxi slows. Emma turns to me. “I was there. And I know the wine was delivered. I’m Richard’s assistant. Who do you think placed the order?”
This I never expected. She opens the door of the cab before I can recover.
“He blamed me,” I shout. “After the party, it got bad!”
“You really need help.” Emma slams the door shut.
I watch as the cab pulls Emma away from me.
I stand on the sidewalk outside her apartment, as I’ve done so many times before, but for the first time I truly wonder if everything Richard said about me is true. Am I crazy, like my mother, who battled mental illness her entire life—at times more successfully than others?
My nails are digging into my palms. I cannot stand the thought of them together tonight. She will tell him everything I’ve said. He’ll lift her legs over his and massage her feet and promise he will keep her safe. From me.
I hope she will listen. That she will believe me.
But Richard suspected I would try this, after all. He told her so.
I know my ex-husband better than anyone else. I should have remembered he also knows me.
It rained the morning of our wedding.
“That’s good luck,” my father would have said.
By the time I walked down the royal-blue silk runner spread on the grand patio of the resort, flanked by my mother and Aunt Charlotte, the sky had cleared. The sun caressed my bare arms. Waves provided a gentle melody.
I passed Sam and Josie and Marnie, seated in chairs tied with white silk bows, then Hillary and George and a few of Richard’s other partners. And up front, by the rose-draped archway, Maureen stood next to Richard in her capacity as maid of honor. She wore the glass-bead necklace I’d given her.