Rainy made her way over to her laptop. She lifted the lid and typed in her password.
You tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me.
When she hit Send, she thought she’d made a mistake. If someone truly had kidnapped Braithe, making him angry was the last thing she wanted to do. But everything about this guy’s tone indicated he enjoyed banter. But only if he has the upper hand, she thought. That’s how bullies worked. If she could keep his mood light, she might be able to get him to tell her something useful.
You like to play games! What a night you girls had playing games, wasn’t it?
Were you watching?
No. But I got the firsthand account from Braithe, and boy is that girl a talker when she is drunk. Yowza!
Braithe had gone to a bar the second night alone, hadn’t she? So, whoever this guy was, he’d positioned himself to meet her.
Where’d you meet?
That’s not important. What’s important is what I know.
She pressed her fists to her eyes, the coolness of her hands grounding her. She was hot and cold, scared and angry; every time this guy sent a text, the hairs on her arms stood up.
Which is what? she sent back.
It was getting dark outside; she could see the indigo of the sky above the strip. For her, time seemed suspended in this nightmare, but below her the city throbbed, unknowing.
I know that Stephen has no idea that his perfect wife is so unhappy. I’m wondering how I should tell him...
Why are you telling me this? I don’t care what you tell Stephen or anyone about Braithe. Are you a jilted lover, is that what this is? She rejected you and now you have her phone?
Guess again. Think carefully, Rainy.
She tried logging into her Facebook account; it had been so long it took her three tries to guess the password. She’d added Braithe and the rest of the girls long ago when they used the app to share information about their get-togethers. Eventually, they’d switched to text, and she’d stopped going on altogether. She went to Braithe’s profile and clicked on her friends; then, typing “Paul” into the search box, she waited for the results.
“Paul, Paul...” She tapped her fingers on the table as the computer filtered the results. There was no one named Paul among her friends. She went through Stephen’s friends next, then Tara’s, and finally Grant’s. There were Pauls—one of them was an ex-professor both Grant and Stephen were friends with; he lived in Minnesota with his wife now. The other was a youngish guy in Stephen’s friend list who turned out to be his cousin. When Rainy stalked the shit out of him she found out he was in Boston, going to college. He’d posted a photo of himself the night before at a bar with his friends. She checked out the bar before logging out of Facebook. She decided to say nothing else until Paul texted her again. She was going to need this as evidence...for the police. She searched “Saul,” too, but that landed her similar results. Whoever he was, she was certain that neither moniker was his real name.
Someone had Braithe, and police would take her seriously when they saw the texts, heard his voice. “You have to call the police,” she said out loud. “Right now.”
But she didn’t. Had Braithe been missing for twenty-four hours? Police wouldn’t do anything until then; she’d listened to enough Dateline specials to know that. If she was actively texting people from her phone, could she be considered missing or in danger?
You are the reason she’s here. And if I make her dead, that will be your fault, too.
Wow. I guess I can put being gaslit by a psychopath on my résumé.
Also: Make her dead? The guy’s phrasing drifted from Biblical to preschool.
It was a few minutes before he texted back, and she wondered if what she’d texted had made him angry. There were three types of people as far as Rainy was concerned: the people who knew who they were, the people who didn’t and the people who didn’t want to. She fell into the last category, marked by an early life that included shame conditioning. Rainy had no idea who she really was. She was just existing, making art about her untapped feelings. And did she want to know what type of monster those years had created—a monster she ignored and kept guarded? Nope. But guys like this: they either relished it or denied it was there.
Don’t you want to know what she told me, Rainy? About her and your guy?
Cold dread blew through her chest and gusted out of her mouth in an exhale. Three years. You’ve only known Grant for three years. Had he been lying to her all this time? No. Why would he ask her to move out to Washington if there was someone else? Was it because Braithe was married?
She pressed all ten of her fingers onto her forehead; she would have known if something was wrong between her and Grant. If he was in love with someone else, he would have been...off. There would have been tells...or had there been, and she’d been too distracted to notice? No. Paul was just baiting her.
There is nothing between them.
The dots appeared immediately; he’d been waiting for this, waiting to drop the next bomb.
She was waiting for rebuttal text, but what came through was a voice recording. Rainy clicked on it and was immediately met with the sound of Braithe’s voice.
“We went away together. It was before her. My husband was away for work, and so we just drove through the border and went to Canada for the weekend, you know? It was really romantic, and I thought...I thought that that was it, he wanted to be with me, and I’d leave Stephen.”
Rainy’s breath hitched; the sandwich she’d eaten for lunch felt heavy in her belly. She didn’t want to hear more, but she couldn’t not hear it; the weight of Braithe’s words clutched her throat and squeezed.
Braithe’s voice broke off, and for a second, Rainy thought that the recording was over, and then Braithe’s voice came back, weaker this time—she was crying. “But then when we came back, he pretended like it didn’t happen. He... I don’t know...” Her voice was so wet with emotion Rainy found herself holding her breath, waiting for what she would say next.
But then another voice spoke, and it was male. “Made you think you were going to be together and then abandoned you?”
“Yes,” Braithe said.
“Why do you think he did it?”
Rainy could hear the tinkling of glasses and the sound of other voices in the background. Was this the bar where Braithe had gone after they parted ways that night?
When Braithe spoke again, her voice sounded hard, cold. Could the woman who had always been so kind to her, so inclusive, have secretly hated her? It was too much to process. Rainy would have to sit down and unpack every memory she had with the woman. Myriad emotions bloomed in her chest. She was obviously trying to get close to you for other reasons, those reasons being Grant, like Tara said, Rainy thought, squeezing her eyes closed.
“Because he’s the type of guy who thinks he owes everyone...my husband is his best friend,” she said. “He could never hurt him. His new partner is an artist. She moved her whole life for him. He’s never going to up and leave her.”
It was true. Braithe was right.
She saved the voice clip to listen to later. Right now, he wanted a reaction, and she was going to give it to him.
She could be talking about anyone, she sent back.
He sent another audio message, this one shorter than the first. Braithe’s voice was slurred.
“I said that to Grant, I told him exactly how I felt.”
It wasn’t just the use of Grant’s name, but rather the familiarity of how Braithe used it that sent a chill through Rainy. Did she have any memories of them behaving oddly together? She searched her mind, but came up with none. She’d always thought Braithe and Stephen were the perfect couple, and she’d never seen so much as a crack in their relationship. But you weren’t looking.