The screensaver was a series of lines and colors that chased one another around the screen in a seemingly endless game of tag. It was unusual to find a computer on after Steve had shut down the office for the night, but things had been a little mixed up that evening with the tires and the police and then having company on top of it all. A picture of Steve in his full fire gear standing in front of a blazing test house was set as the background.
Amelia clicked on the little envelope icon in the corner of the screen. She quickly scrolled through the dozen or so e-mails, checked her phone, and with just a few more clicks, the permit was printing. She listened to the whir of the printer, barely holding off a deep shiver, legs pulled up to her chest. Just as the nearly ancient printer spit out the completed document, a ding sounded on the computer.
In the screen’s bottom right-hand corner, a little white-and-red text bubble floated precariously with a glowing number two hovering over it.
[Ding]
The alarm sounded again, and the number went from three to four. Who would be messaging Steve at almost—she checked the clock on the screen—midnight?
She knew she should trust her husband. She should sign him out, grab the permit from the printer, and then shut down the computer . . . but that number four was taunting her.
Before she could feel any guilt or have second thoughts, she swept the pointer across the screen to the text bubble and clicked. A chat box popped open, and four white text bubbles stared back at her.
Hey there.
What you doing up this late?
Working?
Then the last message, the only one that set off alarm bells.
I’m looking forward to meeting up tomorrow.
Amelia leaned in closer to the screen. The screen name at the top of the box read “Sue-z-Q,” and the spot where there would normally be a photograph was filled with a white form with a gray background, the default avatar.
A woman. Her mind immediately jumped to all of the worst thoughts, authored by her insecurities. Maybe Sue-z-Q was a beautiful, vivacious woman. Maybe she was funnier, prettier, more adventurous than Amelia. Maybe Steve wanted to be with her more than Amelia.
With no hesitation this time, she placed the arrow over the Reply box, tried to think of how Steve would respond, and then clicked.
Working late—budget.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she wiped a hand over her face. Then, taking another breath, she added,
How about you?
The cursor blinked ten, fifteen, twenty times, and just as Amelia was sure she’d somehow given away the fact that she was a paranoid housewife pretending to be her husband, three bubbling dots blinked in the text box. Sue-z-Q was responding. She stared at those dots, trying to imagine what might pop up next, what words this woman might say that could either ease her fears or confirm them.
Working. Brad is out with his buddies. But someone’s gotta bring home the bacon, right? ;)
Amelia groused at the winking smiley face. That was flirtatious. Or could it just be friendly? Amelia employed the winking smiley face with lots of people and in lots of situations. With Steve, yeah, but also with Ellie, Sandy from school, even that guy Mike who’d been in charge of setting up the function she’d played at today. She typed again, getting used to thinking like her husband.
Don’t I know it!
Amelia quickly erased the exclamation point and replaced it with a period. She hit Send and then waited to see if the mystery woman would write again. When the thinking bubbles popped up, she felt almost eager.
So—Tomorrow. We still on?
A direct question. She wanted to respond with a question, maybe a thousand questions, but that’d probably give away too much. Amelia considered her options. She could give some kind of noncommittal answer and then delete the conversation. She could ask a pointed question, confront the woman who was chatting with her husband late into the night, and then wake Steve up with the conversation as evidence. Or, she could try to get more information about the meeting, make sure she wasn’t overreacting. Amelia stared at the screen for one moment longer and then typed.
I’m planning on it. What time, again?
Amelia held her breath. What was she doing? This was Steve, husband of ten years, hard worker, family man. She was letting her insecurities get the best of her. But, even though she thought it, really tried to believe it, she still waited impatiently for a reply to appear. On the edge of her seat, she rested her bare toes on the tops of the office chair wheels, her chill disappearing. Then a response popped up, and she read it anxiously.
Um, noon, by the fountain. Remember?
I’ll bring the coffee, you bring the hot dogs, and we will call it square . . . Just don’t forget the hot dogs or I’ll sue ;)
There was that stupid winking smiley face again. Lunch in the park in . . . April? Good things: one, public place; two, hot dogs—the least romantic of lunches ever; three, mystery woman already had a man. Bad things: one, middle-of-the-night messaging; two, winking smiley faces; three, Steve had never mentioned Sue-z-Q or the appointment.
Amelia edged the seat up closer to the screen as though she could see through it if she just looked hard enough. Her stomach was in knots, a nauseated feeling rising into her throat. She tried to calm it, push it down with logic. This woman was probably a friend. Amelia had a few male friends, a few she might even have lunch with. This was probably nothing, right? There wasn’t much more probing she could do without sending off warning bells to Suze. It was time to sign off and remove all evidence of their conversation. Come to think of it . . . Amelia scrolled up to the top of the conversation, pulling down on the chat bubbles and waiting for a previous conversation to appear, but it bounced back in a double hop. No, nothing.
I’ll remember. See you then.
After hitting Send, Amelia clicked on the Settings icon in the right-hand corner of the chat window and highlighted the Delete Conversation option. A warning popped up, explaining that the whole conversation would be permanently deleted if she continued. She clicked Okay, because there was no part of pretending to be Steve and chatting with one of his contacts that she was proud of. Then, she closed out the screen, logged out Steve, and shut the computer down before she could be tempted to probe any further.