I have no way of knowing for certain, but I imagine that was the night of their first kiss. I see her staring up at him with her round blue eyes as she thanks him for a wonderful evening. They hesitate, reluctant to part. A moment of silence. Then her lids sweep shut as he bends down, closing the distance between them.
Shortly after the Philharmonic, Richard flew to Dallas for a meeting. By then I was making it a point to keep better track of his schedule. This was an important client to Richard. Emma would accompany him. I was not surprised by this: Diane had traveled with him on occasion, too.
But Richard didn’t call or text me to say good night.
I was certain their affair was under way after that trip. Call it a wife’s intuition. I went into the city a few weeks later. I wanted another look at Emma. I lingered in the courtyard outside their building, shielding my face with a newspaper. That was the day Richard, gently touching the small of her back, held the door for my replacement as they came outdoors. She wore a blush-pink dress that matched the tinge on her cheek as she looked up at my husband from beneath her eyelashes.
I could have confronted them. Or I could have called out, feigning enthusiasm, and suggested we all have lunch together. But I simply watched them go.
Now I frantically press all the intercom buttons belonging to the residents of Emma’s building, hoping someone will let me in. I hear the door buzz a second later and I burst inside the modest small lobby. I glance at the row of mailboxes, grateful that her last name reveals her floor and apartment number: 5C. As I run up the stairs, I wonder if she will take Richard’s name. If we will be linked in that way, too.
I stand in front of her apartment and knock loudly.
“Who is it?” she calls.
I stand to one side so she can’t see me through the peephole. If Emma recognizes my voice, she may not read my note. So I just push the envelope through the crack at the bottom of her door. I watch my note disappear, then I run back down the hallway to the stairs, hoping I’ll get out before Richard arrives.
I picture her unfolding my letter, and I think of all the things it didn’t say.
Like how I faked my stomach flu the night of the Philharmonic.
“Why don’t you take Emma?” I had suggested to Richard when I called him to cancel. I made sure my voice sounded weak. “I remember being young and poor in the city. It would be a real treat for her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. All I want to do is sleep. And I’d hate for you to miss it.”
He agreed.
The moment we hung up, I made myself a cup of tea and began to think about my next move.
I knew I had to be careful. I couldn’t afford a single mistake. My attention to detail needed to be as scrupulous as Richard’s always was.
When I went to bed that evening, I put a bottle of Pepto-Bismol on my nightstand, next to my water.
I paced myself. I didn’t even mention her for weeks, but when Richard closed a big deal, I suggested he thank Emma for her help by giving her a generous gift certificate to Barneys.
For a moment, I worried I’d gone too far. He paused in shaving and looked at me carefully. “You never reminded me to do anything for Diane.”
I shrugged and reached for my hairbrush. Trying to cover, I said, “I guess I identify with Emma. Diane was married. She had a family. Emma reminds me of myself when I first came to New York. I think it would go a long way toward making her feel appreciated.”
“Good idea.”
I slowly released the breath I’d been holding.
I imagined her opening the certificate, her eyebrows rising in surprise. Perhaps she’d go into his office to thank him. Maybe, a few days later, she’d wear to the office a dress she’d bought with his certificate and show it to him.
The stakes were so high. I tried to continue with my usual routines, but adrenaline flooded me. I found myself constantly pacing. My appetite evaporated and weight fell off me. I lay awake beside Richard at night, mentally reviewing my plan, searching for holes and weaknesses. I was desperate to hurry things along, but I forced myself to bide my time. I was a hunter in a blind, waiting for my prey to wander into position.
My big break came when Emma called me one evening from Dallas, saying Richard needed to catch a later flight because his meeting was running long.
I’d prayed for an opportunity exactly like this one. Everything hinged on what would happen next; I had to play my part seamlessly. Emma couldn’t suspect I’d been creating a house of cards; that I was poised to set the final one in place.
“Poor guy,” I’d said. “He’s been working so hard. He must be exhausted.”
“I know. This client is really demanding!”
“You’ve been working hard, too,” I said as if it had just occurred to me. “He doesn’t need to rush. Why don’t you suggest he have a nice dinner and book a hotel? Just come back in the morning. It’ll be easier on both of you.” Please, take the bait.
“Are you sure, Vanessa? I know he wants to get home to you.”
“I insist.” I faked a yawn. “To tell you the truth, I’m looking forward to watching some trashy television and vegging out. And he’ll just want to talk about work.”
The idle, dull wife. That was how I’d wanted her to think of me.
Richard deserved better, didn’t he? He needed someone who could appreciate the intricacies of his job; who would take care of him after a rough day. Someone who wouldn’t embarrass him in front of his colleagues. Someone who was eager to be with him every night.
Someone exactly like her.
Please, I’d thought again.
“Okay,” Emma had eventually replied. “I’ll just check with him, and then if he agrees, I’ll let you know what time we land tomorrow once I switch the flights.”
“Thank you.”
As I hung up the phone, I realized that, for the first time in a long while, I was smiling.
I’d found my perfect replacement. Soon Richard would be done with me and I’d finally be free.
Neither of them knew what I’d orchestrated. They still don’t.
PART
THREE
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
I tear down the stairs, slipping as I round the corner to the third floor. My hip smacks against the edge of a step before I can catch myself on the railing, sending pain radiating up the left side of my body. Yanking myself upright, I press on with barely a pause. If Richard decides to take the stairs rather than the elevator, we will run right into each other.
The thought propels me even faster, and I burst out of the stairwell into the lobby just as the elevator doors press themselves together. I want to watch the numbers flash on the panel above the elevator to see if it stops on Emma’s floor. But I can’t risk taking even a few seconds to check. I race onto the street, where a cab is pulling away from the curb. I bang on the trunk and the red brake lights flash.
Scrambling in, I lock the door before collapsing against my seat. I open my mouth to give the address of Aunt Charlotte’s apartment, but my words catch in my throat.
The aroma of lemons surrounds me. It winds through my hair and permeates my skin. I can feel the sharp citrus notes invading my nose and trickling down into my lungs. Richard must have just exited this cab. Whenever he was agitated—when his features tightened and the man I loved seemed to disappear—his scent always grew stronger.
I want to flee again, but I can’t afford to wait for another taxi. So I roll down the window as far as it will go as I give the driver my destination.
My letter is only a page long; it will take just a minute for Emma to scan it. I hope she has time to do so before Richard makes it to her door.
The driver turns onto the next block, and after a final glance out the window assures me that Richard isn’t following, I lean my head back against my seat. I wonder how I’d missed the flaw in my plan to escape my husband. I had so much time to formulate it; after his office holiday party, it became my full-time job, then my obsession. I was so careful, and yet I’d made the greatest possible miscalculation.