“I understand, Claire. I was married once. It sounds familiar. It also doesn’t sound unusual. I think most marriages have these times, and more often than not, they pass. Do you think things will get better, or do you have a sense of your marriage ending?”
“No, we’ll pull out of it,” I said quickly, trying to convince the detective. And myself. “A few years ago, Greg had a friend who passed away. He became reclusive and moody. The only people who could reach him were the girls. I realized that’s how Greg deals with complicated, emotional situations. I think there’s something similar going on because his behavior lately has been the same. But this time, the reason behind it is a mystery to me. It’s been this way for close to a year, off and on, with the worst being the last four months or so. I expect to eventually know the reason behind his self–imposed exile. I was trying, but…”
Matt nodded.
Taking the gesture for encouragement, I continued. “I’d become impatient lately, pushing him, wanting to know what was in his head. I became insecure, needy. Did he still love me? I’m sure that pushed him further into himself. But I couldn’t see that at the time. I can see it a little more clearly now.”
Matt glanced down at his notebook. “Would Greg hurt himself?”
The question seemed preposterous. “No. I know I’ve admitted I don’t know my husband very well right now, that there’s something going on with him that I can’t figure out. However, I know him deep down, the person that he is, fundamentally. He’s the most stable, emotionally secure person I’ve ever met. When he has something difficult to deal with, he does withdraw. But he deals with it. That’s the difference. Suicidal people aren’t able to deal with their difficulties. In addition, he adores his kids. He would never, ever do that to them.”
Matt nodded. “Tell me about Greg the father.”
I relaxed into the chair, crossing my legs. An easy one. “Greg is the most hands-on father I know. He knows the girls inside and out. Hannah was colicky as a baby. She cried all the time, and only Greg could calm her. He’s more patient than me. He’s more fun than I am. When he takes the girls out for the day—which is one day a week, at least—he’s completely focused on them. They go to the park, have a picnic in the yard, or play outside with a ball for hours. His relationship with them is completely different from mine. I’m always doing a million things at once, and the girls have to fit into my life. He makes the girls the focus of his day, and all the other tasks fit in around them. To that extent, he’s a better parent than I am.”
“Do you believe Greg could be having an affair?”
The question hit me hard. There was a difference between knowing the police were speculating and having one of them ask me outright. I wanted to answer him steadily and unemotionally. I studied the arm of Greg’s chair, an old plaid recliner from eons ago, pilled from years of use, and resisted the urge to lean over and bury my face in the fabric. I imagined Greg sitting there, the gentle dip in the arm of the chair where he’d hold the television remote and mindlessly change the channels. I could faintly smell the remnants of his cologne, tiny pieces of Greg interwoven in the threads.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. With who?” I shook my head. “It’s not that he wouldn’t do that to me, although I believe that, too. But it was too out there for him. Too far off the beaten path. Too deviant. Greg likes the order and structure of marriage, the routine. I don’t think he could juggle, lie, and compartmentalize to the degree that you would need to in order to have an affair.”
“Thank you, Claire. I think you were honest, and let’s hope that this will help. I don’t know how yet, but that’s how it goes sometimes. You collect information, and you don’t know what will be the lead, what will break the case, but when you assemble it all, sometimes the answer is in the interviews.” Before he left, he gathered the names of our friends, family, colleagues, and neighbors. He also asked for the name of Greg’s manager and the phone number.
“One more thing, did Greg have a passport?” he asked, standing in the doorway.
“He used to. About five years ago, he had to travel to Canada, and I think he had one then. I have no idea if it’s expired or not.”
“We’re going to put an alert on his passport, so we’ll be notified if he leaves the country. We’ll be in touch.” He loped across the driveway to his car, and I shut the front door behind him.
“Mommy, who was that man?” Hannah stood between the kitchen and the living room uncertainly, swaying gently against the door frame, sleep from her afternoon nap heavy in her eyes.
I took a deep breath. Leah was sleeping, and the house was quiet. It was a good time to talk to her. “That man was a policeman.”
“When is Daddy coming home?” she asked for the tenth time that day.
“Daddy is lost. Remember when you got lost in the grocery store?” She nodded seriously. “Daddy is lost like that right now, and we don’t know where he is or when he’s coming home.”