He was lucky that even in this day and age, large public universities were still breeding grounds for girls with those specific traits. He thought the search for his future wife would be difficult. He’d had to take an elective and there was a psychology and human behavior course that he thought would be an easy A. He’d walked in and Missy instantly caught his eye. She was put together, well dressed, had a moneyed look about her. But it was her eagerness, like an untrained puppy, that really got his attention. Missy always sat in the front row, bombarding the professor with overly simplistic questions or complicating her own answers when called upon. It was clear she’d spent too much time watching Criminal Minds and Law and Order, determined to show her intelligence to the world. Her innocence and lack of intellect made her perfectly suited for his needs.
He’d bided his time, asking fellow classmates about her, observing her at frat parties. Upon further inspection, he saw that she had perfected the art of flirting, knowing how to make a guy feel special with a look or a well-placed touch. She could hold her alcohol—never appeared sloppy or out of control. She’d volunteered with campus ministry and was studying early childhood education. The best part: She was from North Carolina, old money. Her parents were eager to see their only daughter get what she wanted. He couldn’t have designed a better future wife if he’d tried ordering her from a catalog. There had been several other candidates, but the other girls were far too eager to spread their legs for any frat bro in sight. From what he’d observed, Missy was genuinely a good girl. If he had to be legally committed to one woman, he could do worse. Once he’d decided she was the one, he’d made his move, approaching her at the student union building. Missy sat alone, her oversized sweater falling off her shoulder as she nibbled on the tip of her pen. Her eyes lit up when he approached. He’d grinned and casually leaned against the table where she was studying.
“Missy, right? I just wanted to say your assessments on attachment theory were really insightful.”
Missy was beyond flattered. Her eyes lit up and she’d launched into an impassioned speech about attachment theory and its effect on relationships. Rick patiently waited until she’d run out of breath and a rational argument. He leaned in closer and brushed the hair out of her eyes. He saw the excited glimmer, a look he’d seen with dozens of conquests. He’d known then and there that she was his. If he’d asked her to come back to his dorm, she would have gone willingly. But she wasn’t some one-night stand. She was his future wife. He’d wanted to do things right. He’d asked if she was hungry, and they headed over to the Porch, the campus favorite, tucking into a corner booth and talking for hours about her family, about classes, about their future.
He was an English major and an aspiring novelist, but upon graduation he hoped to teach high school. Missy said her parents had been pressuring her to go to law school, but she also wanted to work with children. He’d walked her back to her sorority house and kissed her tenderly. A month later, he told her that he loved her, and eight months after that they were married. She was attractive enough, and the sex was adequate, but mostly, they worked because Missy’s trusting nature allowed him to lead a specific kind of life.
Fred and the frumpy nameless guard led Rick down several long corridors and into the secure visiting area. A row of glass windows separated inmates from visitors, a phone connecting the two. He was surrounded by guards, and so was Missy. She didn’t notice him at first. She was sitting, staring into space, grief clouding her features. In almost fifteen years of marriage, he’d never seen her leave the house without a full face of makeup, but today she’d made an exception. Her eyes were red-ringed, her cheeks were swollen, and she was wearing a tracksuit, of all things. Rick was beyond disappointed in her.
Missy looked up and saw him. Her hand fluttered to her mouth in that overly dramatic Southern manner she’d never lost. He knew the bruises made him appear monstrous, but he gave a half smile, thankful they hadn’t knocked out any teeth. He slowly took a seat, wincing for dramatic effect as he picked up the phone. On the other side of the glass, Missy clutched the receiver, her words spilling out.
“The FBI raided our house. Men with guns came in and they took everything. Computers. My personal files. My cell phone. They ransacked the place. And there are reporters, Rick. So many reporters camped outside on our lawn and more keep coming. Mother and Daddy arrived this morning, but we can’t get them to leave. It’s all so awful. The things they’re saying… what they’re saying you did,” she said, her voice low, her words running together.
Rick knew Missy wasn’t going to listen to his denials, and it wasn’t worth his time to try. The minute the DNA tests came back, he’d be sunk. But he needed Missy’s help right now. There was only one course of action.
“I’m guilty, Missy. I admit it. I am guilty of wrongdoing.”
She stared at him, her eyes widening. Bingo. He knew instantly that this was the right play. She had expected him to deny it completely. She expected him to make all sorts of excuses, but he’d hold on to her with honesty, at least for now.
“But I’m not guilty of what they’re saying. That girl came on to me. She seduced me. Yes, I admit it, I had an affair. She told me that she wanted me, that she loved me. She said we belonged together.”
He let his voice trail off, heard the crack in it.