I headed into the store, a light blush warming my face. The simple act of choosing lingerie to wear for Matt was a turn-on.
I drifted around the tables, trailing my fingers over satin and lace, bustiers and corsets. The more risqué lingerie hung in the back. I picked out a delicate black baby doll and held it up for inspection. It was tiny, and it was all sheer lace. I draped it over my arm. Perfect. What else?
As I shopped, I began to feel more daring. Matt would flip when he saw me in this stuff. I chose a form-fitting garter slip with polka dots, ruffles, and matching thigh-highs. I bought mesh panties with a bow on the back and a slip with a bustle that would barely cover my ass.
I left the store with a smile on my face.
I made a shopping trip each evening after work, ticking off items on a list I titled “Weekend Getaway.” Matt’s list-making habit had rubbed off on me.
I stocked up on canned foods and frozen meals for Matt. I bought a big cooler, a new first aid kit, two flashlights and a wholesale-sized pack of batteries, a can of bear spray, camping rations, antibiotic ointment, even long underwear.
And that was when I made myself stop. I was standing in Cabela’s with the underwear removed from its package because I wanted to check the length. I unfurled the scrunched, withered white legs, and I began to giggle. My giggles turned to laughter, which turned to louder laughter. Louder laughter turned to fitful howls.
I couldn’t stop, even when other customers began glancing at me. Oh … my God … what was I doing? My worry for Matt was somehow manifesting as thermal underwear.
I bought the long underwear because I knew Matt would get a kick out of it.
It was Thursday. Enough is enough, I told myself. My pile of Matt supplies looked like Y2K prep plus lingerie. Everything was laid out on the living room floor. Laurence eyed me as I added the thermal underwear to the pile.
“I know,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’m done. Seriously.”
On a whim, I flicked on the Christmas tree lights. They winked merrily and lit the condo white and blue. I sighed.
Yeah, it was definitely time to take down this tree … so why couldn’t I?
In our haste to plan and execute Matt’s disappearance, Matt and I forgot all about the holiday. Two presents sat under the tree, one from Matt to me, one from me to Matt.
He’d wrapped mine in gold paper with black ribbon. I shook the small box. Hm.
“What do you think?” I said to Laurence. He flicked an ear. I grinned and moved both gifts into my suitcase.
Chapter 16
MATT
The chair listed left a little. I tilted my head. Good enough.
It was broken at three joints, where two legs met the seat and again where a spindle fit into the top rail. Really, I could have done worse.
Duct tape formed a lumpy seal around the joints. I set the chair in a corner.
“It was like that when I got here,” I said. I frowned. No, no. I should sound more offhanded. I tried a little laugh and eyed the chair as though seeing it for the first time. “Oh, that? No idea. Kevin is weird.”
I even rehearsed the truth.
“The chair? No big deal. I lost it after I read some bad reviews. Oh, and I crushed my phone with my bare foot because I’m manly like that. Ha…”
On second thought, I carried the chair to the cellar. Out of sight, out of mind.
I swept the fragments of my TracFone into a dustpan.
I would buy another phone in town and give Hannah the number when she arrived. I doubted she would call between now and then. We kept communication to a minimum.
I replaced the desk chair with a kitchen chair and scooted closer to my computer.
“Okay, Mel,” I said, opening my laptop, “let’s see the damage.”
A new e-mail announced three private messages on the forum. This poor fucking girl. I skimmed the messages, all from Melanie, all apologies.
I sent a reply.
SUBJECT: “Matt is a tool”
by nightowl on Sunday, February 9, 2014
Hi, Mel,