“Very well.”
It’s a few minutes before I hear my wife’s voice, and when I do, it sends shock waves through my heart. I miss her more than I even realized.
“Jude?” her voice is soft and husky, familiar and warm. “Is everything all right?”
My heart clenches. She’s worried about me. She’s in a psych ward, and she’s worried about me.
“Everything’s fine, babe,” I tell her. “I just miss you. I’m sitting out on the patio, and I was thinking about the day we bought this house, and I miss you. I know I’m not supposed to bother you this week, but I had to make sure you’re okay.”
She’s silent, and then she takes a deep breath. “I miss you, too, Jude. God, I want to come home.”
That kills me. It crushes my heart into pieces.
Her voice is small and uncertain, and it’s that place that is doing it to her.
I have to physically force myself to stay in my seat and not race to my car to go pick her up.
“I know,” I tell her. “Are you doing okay? Are you making any headway?”
She’s quiet again.
“I don’t know. I guess. I just... There’s something I need to ask you.”
“Anything,” I say immediately. “Ask me anything.”
“Is there someone else, Jude?”
Her question is hesitant, her voice thin, and it takes me a second to realize what she’s asking. She knows.
She knows.
“What do you mean?” I ask stiffly, buying for time, because I have no idea what the fuck to say.
“In my sessions, I’m remembering some things from the past few weeks that just don’t add up. It feels like... I mean, my gut is telling me that you’re...that there is someone else, Jude. Please, tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong,” I say immediately, because it’s my gut instinct to lie to protect myself, and even to protect her. She doesn’t need to know. It’ll set her back, and I’m going to end things with Zoe, and everything will be fine.
Corinne never has to know.
She sighs, and it’s loud and long and relieved. “Are you sure?”
“Of course,” I lie to her again. “I love you, Corinne. It’s only you. It’s always been you. I know it’s easy to get confused because of everything that’s happened, but I love you. Don’t ever get confused on that.”
And that’s the truth. I do love her. More than anything. Zoe is nothing to me.
“God, that’s good to hear,” she murmurs, and I think she’s crying and I feel like shit.
“Babe, I’m coming on Saturday to see you. I don’t care what they say. I need to see you.”
“I need to see you, too. I love you, Ju.”
“I love you, too. Sleep tight, and I’ll see you in a couple days.”
She hangs up and I stare at the black sky, and I’m a complete and utter jackass. I know that. But she never has to. I’ll make sure of that.
I settle farther into the seat, and when something pokes my back, I feel around with my hand, grabbing a stiff piece of paper.
Pulling it up in front of my face, I find that it’s a photo.
I peer at it and then startle.
It’s a woman masturbating, her legs spread wide, her fingers inserted in her vagina. Red lace panties are pulled down and stretched to the side, and I recognize the navy striped cushion.
It’s the one I’m sitting on.
It’s Zoe. I recognize the blue nail polish.
I don’t know when or how, but she was here, on this lounge, masturbating and photographing herself. Then she left this for me to find.
I’m not sure what I feel as I slide the picture into my pocket.
Violated because she was at my house without my permission?
Even more certain that I have to end everything with her?
Or excited because she was masturbating on my patio in broad daylight?
I’m finding myself in the same predicament with her every day—torn between the forbidden excitement and the moral compass that tells me everything about her is wrong. Every time I decide to cut all contact with her, she manages to do something to keep me from it, to keep me coming back for more.
I hate myself.
I can’t stop myself.
I’m weak.
I’m pathetic.
I close my eyes and do what I do best.
Pretend it’s not a problem.
If I don’t acknowledge it, then it can’t be real.
The irony isn’t lost on me...that this exact behavior is what landed my wife in a psych ward.
25
Now
Corinne
Reflections Mental Facility
“So after speaking with Jude last night, how do you feel?” Dr. Phillips mouth is pinched in disapproval, but I don’t care.
“It was amazing to talk to him,” I say almost defiantly. “He’s coming on Saturday, too.”
“Is he, now?” The psychologist is annoyed, but again, I don’t care. “Let’s worry about that on Saturday. For now, let’s focus again on you.”
I settle into my chair. We’ve been doing this every day, so it’s familiar to me by now.
“You’ve had some concerns lately,” Dr. Phillips reminds me. “About Jude, possibly. About your father and Melanie Gibson.”
“Yes. I asked Jude last night if there was anyone else, and he said no.”
“Let’s talk about that,” Dr. Phillips suggests. I’m silent. “What gives you the idea that there might be someone else?”
I exhale a shaky breath, a tool for stalling. I need time to formulate an answer.
The doctor waits.
“I guess it’s just a feeling,” I finally say. “I don’t have anything concrete. Just a feeling. In my gut.”
“And you don’t give merit to gut instincts?” the doctor asks. His pen is poised above his notes. I want to snatch it out of his hand and break it, but I don’t.
“I do. But in this case, they’re unwarranted. Jude would never.”
My stomach quivers, but I ignore it. It’s just because I’m here that I’m feeling so unnerved. It’s nothing other than that.
“Okay,” Dr. Phillips says, scribbling a note. “I’m glad to see that your ability to trust hasn’t been permanently scarred because of your father. That’s very good, Dr. Cabot.”
“I hope that’s true,” I admit. “But sometimes I worry. I mean, am I able to trust, or is that a lie I tell myself?”
“Go on,” he urges me, his legs crossed, his pen waiting over the page. I shake my head.
“I don’t know. I just... I was remembering this fight that Jude and I had. It was probably about a week ago, and it was so stupid. I’d come home early from work, something that I rarely get to do, and Jude almost seemed annoyed. And that was odd. He was always annoyed with me that I worked late.”
“But that night, he was annoyed because you came home?”
I nod. “Yeah. It put a weird feeling in my stomach at the time. But I was probably reading too much into it. I was tired, I was overworked, Jude was annoyed by that. It was a pattern.”
“But that night, Jude was annoyed by something opposite? So he was breaking the pattern?” Dr. Phillips asks.
I nod again. “Yeah. That’s what it seemed like. It was awkward when we went to bed...tense. And when I woke up, he was already gone.”
“That was unlike him?”
“Very. I went to find him, and he was at that dingy little café that he loves so much, and there was a waitress...”
My breath freezes a bit, and my words pause and my tongue sort of feels like wood.
“And there was a waitress?” The doctor prompts me. But I’m still frozen.
“When I think of her in my head, I can’t remember her face. Isn’t that weird?” I glance at Dr. Phillips, but I don’t really see him. I’m trying to see the girl’s face in my head. But all I can see is a blur.
“Well, maybe it’s something of significance,” the doctor suggests. “Maybe you never actually saw her face. Let’s talk about it. Try to remember that day.”
So I take a deep breath and focus.
26
Four days, sixteen hours until Halloween
Corinne
When I come through the door, I’m exhausted. I’m still sick, but I’m also excited. I can’t wait to tell Jude about the baby. I walk into the living room, and he’s sitting on the edge of a chair, staring at his phone. He’s frowning.
“Hey,” I say softly.
His head snaps up in surprise, and he doesn’t smile.
“Hey, you’re home early.”