She lights up when she tells me yes. And again, I wonder why there aren’t any family photos around. You’d think a photographer would have a slew of pictures in their home.
“What do you do?” she asks me, and I tell her that I’m a nurse.
“Here at Regional?” she asks, interested.
“No, no. I’m here with my husband for the weekend. I live in Seattle.” I don’t expound on any of that. I’m scared to give myself away. We chat for a while longer about hospitals and the restoration of Hannah’s beautiful home before I stand.
“I’ve taken enough of your time,” I say, smiling at her warmly. “Look, this was so nice of you. Can I take you out to lunch next time I’m in town?”
“I’d love that,” she says eagerly. “I’m not from Oregon. I moved here to be with my husband, so I haven’t made many friends.”
“Oh, where are you from?” I tilt my head to the side, trying to recall if Seth had told me where she was from.
“Utah.”
My skin prickles. Seth is from Utah. Had he known Hannah when he lived there? No, that isn’t possible. Tuesday is his first wife; he’d been with her in Utah. There is an age difference between Seth and Hannah, so it isn’t likely they went to school together. Hannah pulls her phone from her back pocket and I tell her my number so she can program it in.
I head for the foyer and put on my shoes. I’m suddenly desperate to get out of here. What was I thinking, anyway? Seth could stop home during his lunch break and find me with Hannah. What would he say if he found two of his wives together? I make for the door and bend down to lift the lip of my shoe from where it’s folded against my heel. It’s then that I see the shards of glass on the floor near the window—two inches long and jagged. I pick it up and hold it in my palm. There is an empty hook on the wall where a picture once hung. I turn around to show the glass to Hannah.
“It was on the floor,” I say. “Don’t want you to slice your foot open...”
She takes it, thanking me, but I notice the blush that has crept up her neck. “Must have been the photo I had hanging there. There was an accident and it fell off the wall.”
I nod. These things happen. But then, as she pulls her hand away, the glass held gingerly between her fingers, I notice a sizable cluster of bruises on her forearm. They’re just turning purple. I avert my eyes quickly, so she won’t catch me staring, and open the door.
“Goodbye, then,” I say.
She waves before shutting the door.
I think about her bruises all the way back to my car. Had they looked like finger marks? No, I tell myself. You’re seeing things.
I have just enough time to get back to the hotel and take a shower before I’m supposed to meet Seth for dinner. I’m distracted this time, almost driving into the back of a delivery truck that is stalled at a red light. Hannah, Hannah, Hannah. Her face swims before my eyes. I wear the black dress he likes, tight in all the right places, and let my hair hang loose around my shoulders. Beneath the dress, I am wearing the lingerie I chose earlier in the afternoon. The lace is itchy and I’ve made comparisons in my mind about how Hannah would look wearing the same thing. It will be a good night, I tell myself. I am looking forward to being with him during our stolen time. It feels like cheating and that thrills me. Hannah might be everything I’m not, but he chose to spend tonight with me. I call him to check the time of the reservation, and when he answers, his voice warms me right where it counts.
“How much did you spend?” he asks.
He’s joking, of course. He likes to act frugal when I spend money, but he always asks to see the things I bought and comments on them. He’s an interested husband, and those are rare.
“A lot,” I tell him.
He laughs. “I can’t wait to see you. I’ve been distracted at work all day thinking about tonight.”
“Will you come here, or should I meet you?” I ask.
“I’ll meet you there. Did you bring that black dress I like?”
“Oh, yes,” I say, smiling a little. Most days I still get butterflies when I hear his voice on the phone. Sometimes it makes me feel easy, like all he has to do is use that deep rumble and I’m putty in his hands. But today there is an absence of emotion as I listen to him. I can feel the slight disconnect in the recesses of my mind. We are bantering like we normally do, but my heart’s not in it. Perhaps actually seeing Hannah, the other wife, changed things for me. Made it all real instead of a situation I emotionally detached myself from. Their baby. Their trip to Mexico. Their house. I wish I had time for a drink, I think miserably as I grab my coat off the seat.
Seth is waiting for me outside when I pull up to valet. The restaurant is quaint and romantic—a place where new couples come to connect and old couples come to reconnect. I thrill that this is what he chose for our night together, noting the crisp, white linen napkins and ankle-length aprons the servers wear. The hostess leads us to a table in the corner; I take the seat facing the window. Instead of sitting across from me, Seth slides in next to me.
I look around to see if anyone is watching us, if they care. When I discover that no one is pointing fingers and laughing, I relax.
“I never thought I’d be that girl,” I say, sipping my water.
“We used to make fun of them, remember?” Seth laughs. “The gross couples...”
I smile. “Yeah, but now I feel like I can’t get enough of you. Probably because I have to share.”
“I’m yours,” he says. “I love you so much.”
His voice sounds flat to me. Has it always sounded like that? You’re being paranoid and nitpicking everything to death, I tell myself. He hasn’t changed, you have.
It’s hard not to wonder how often he says that to the others. Hannah’s face fills my mind and I feel a rush of insecurity. This is why Seth keeps us apart—so we won’t focus on jealousy and each other, but rather on our relationship with him. I bite back my feelings. That’s what I do: compartmentalize, organize, prioritize.
Seth orders a steak and I opt for the salmon. We chat about the hospital and the new house he’s building over in Lake Oswego for a retired actress. It’s all very banal and normal, a typical married couple discussing the small details of their lives. I almost feel better about everything, the wine softening the sharp corners of my anxiety, until I see a young blond woman walk up to the host stand cradling a newborn baby. The only thing visible is the crown of the baby’s head where a patch of dark hair peeps past the blanket. Jealousy rolls over me hot and heavy. I feel as if I can’t breathe, and yet I can’t tear my eyes away. The woman’s partner fusses over her, touching her tenderly, and then wrapping a protective arm around her as they stare down at their tiny creation, together. I freeze, watching them carefully, the familiar tide of pain creeping in. They share an intimacy because they made a
