Thought I Knew You (11 page)

Drew stood on the other side, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “You look awful, Claire. What’s happened?”

He dropped his bag and pulled me into an embrace.

“I can’t keep up with all the lies.” My voice was muffled against him and he kissed the top of my head. I cried into his chest, leaving wet circles on his white T-shirt. “I can’t even remember them all.”

“What’s the latest?”

I quickly recapped everything Detective Reynolds had said as I led him to the living room. We sat on opposite ends of the couch. Drew looked as baffled as I felt. “Here’s what I can’t figure out. Even if he was having an affair, where
is
he? I mean, right now?”

I shook my head. I had asked myself that question a thousand times. “If he left me, wouldn’t he have used his credit cards or
something?
I’ve been checking our statements. It’s like he’s changed his identity. But that’s crazy. Why would he go through with that? How is that easier than a divorce? He would have no access to any of his money.”

“Unless…” Drew looked uncomfortable. I gave him a
go on
look
.
“Are you absolutely sure you know about all his bank accounts?”

“No, I’m not sure at all. I didn’t deal with the money. Greg did. In fact, I haven’t even gone into his study to figure out how to pay our bills. I’m writing checks on a wing and a prayer.” I leaned my head back on the couch pillows, too exhausted to think about it anymore. I was wrung out, my mind blank, a visceral defense.

We sat that way for a while, in silence. Finally, Drew pulled me back against him, and in the security of his arms, I fell asleep for the first time in days.

I woke up the next morning with Drew’s arm still wrapped around my shoulder and my head resting against his chest. I sat up, blinking from the sunlight streaming through the windows, bright and painful. I turned to watch him snoring softly. I extricated myself and covered him with a blanket, knowing he had about twenty minutes of solid sleep left before the girls woke up.

Under the shower’s hot spray, I reviewed the previous evening’s turn of events. I made a mental list of all the evidence supporting Greg’s affair and decided I could no longer play dumb about Greg’s life—
our life
—before he had disappeared. Or maybe, before he had
left
.

I let the tears fall freely, safe from the children’s scrutiny that never seemed to miss a thing.
Mommy, why are you sad? Were you crying?

I pounded the shower wall with my fist and sank to the bottom of the stall.
How? How could you do this to us? Just leave us? Let me think you were dead?
Greg was alive. I knew that as certainly as I knew the grass was green.
Did you think I wouldn’t let you go? Did you think I would make you stay? Are you free from guilt now?
We weren’t perfect, but I would have
tried
, goddamn it. I would have done anything. If you’d asked, I would have even let you go, just so Hannah and Leah wouldn’t have had to.
I put my head down on my arms, and water sprayed over my back, bathing out the sorrow, leaving behind the wrath.
I’m done being a victim. And if you’re not dead, you better hope to hell I never find you, Greg Barnes. Because I will follow you to the ends of the earth. I will make you look our children in the eyes when you tell them how you found it within you to leave us forever.

I was toweling off in the bedroom when I heard the thumping of little feet. I looked up, and Hannah was standing at the foot of my bed, Leah in her shadow. Her smile told me I had made the right decision by inviting Drew for Christmas.

“Uncle Drew is here,” she whispered as if revealing a secret.

I arched my eyebrows at her. “Really?”

She nodded, solemn and serious. “Can he stay for Christmas, Mommy? Please?”

I fought a smile. “Well, you can’t ever put someone out on Christmas.”

Uncertain if that was a yes or a no, Hannah stood one foot in our room, one foot in the hallway, shifting her weight back and forth with impatience.

I put her out of her misery. “Yes. Yes, of course, Uncle Drew is here for Christmas.”

And she was gone, down the steps as fast as her little feet could carry her, Leah close behind. “Uncle Drew! Uncle Drew! She said yes! You can stay!”

I heard his whooping all the way upstairs. I laughed. For the first time in months, I felt confident I’d done something right. Drew was the distraction we all needed to get through the first Christmas without Greg.
The first of many
. I quelled the thought as I joined my family.

The week passed quickly. I found that with Drew there, the air in the house was lighter somehow. I had energy, and I looked somewhat presentable. I went back to the mall and put a little more on my credit cards. I found the presence of mind to stop at Pet Center on the way home. Walking the aisles, looking for the perfect gift, I found it in the shape of a rubber, hollowed-out bone, an indestructible chew toy that could be filled with peanut butter. Buying Cody a gift had a fruitless feel to it, a deep-seated hopelessness that threatened to sap my previous energy. When I got home, I wrapped the toy in red foil paper and stuck it in Cody’s stocking, feeling with relative certainty that he wouldn’t ever get to enjoy it. Inexplicably, I never thought to shop for Greg.

I had Mom and Dad over for dinner one night so they could spend some time with Drew. Dad and Drew talked about football; Mom and I talked about other family members or the girls. We were a pseudo-family.
Tonight, the role of Husband will be played by an understudy. We apologize for the inconvenience.

Having Drew stay with us felt peculiar and right, if such a combination existed. After the girls went to bed in the evenings, Drew and I talked, drank wine or beer, and laughed. The conversation always eventually worked its way back to Greg. We’d bounce ideas off of each other, a macabre version of
Where in the World is
Carmen Sandiego.
Drew came up with a theory that Greg had witnessed a crime and was in the witness protection program. I favored a Cayman Islands scenario. Had I been talking to anyone else, I wouldn’t have been able to be so flippant. Somehow, anger and resolve had paved the way for other, more rational thought. An emotional Zamboni, I felt tenuously normal. We had no more near-intimate moments; Drew was simply there, my rock and much needed comic relief.

Christmas Eve dawned gray with heavy clouds drooping to the ground in a soupy fog. Although the temperature was low enough to hold out hope for a white Christmas, the easy feeling of the week slipped away, sadness edging its way back in. It was Christmas, for God’s sake; the girls needed their father, not a stand-in.

I banished the thought and bustled around the kitchen, preparing ham, potatoes, corn, and a green bean casserole—all the fixings of a proper Christmas dinner. While the girls napped, I wrapped presents in my room. Drew had gone out, destination unknown. I was just putting away the wrapping paper and scissors when I heard the door to the bedroom inch open, and there stood Hannah, small and uncertain, afternoon sleep still in her eyes, linen lines creased her face.

“I miss Daddy,” she said.

I opened my arms and folded her head into my shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart, I miss him too,” I said, blinking back tears. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head.

I thought if I could get her to talk, it might help. “What do you miss the most, Hannah?”

She thought about it for a while. “The way he would chase me, and also his potatoes.”

“Oh, I
really
miss his potatoes!” I exclaimed. Greg thoroughly believed that every meal needed potatoes, and he had a hundred ways to make them.

“What else do you miss?” she asked.

“Remember when he taught you how to hit a wiffle ball?” She nodded, her eyes misted with tears. “Or how about when he would carry you around on his shoulders and you’d have to duck through all the doorways?”

“He’d call me, like I was lost!”

We both laughed then. I hugged her to me. “Hannah, you have to believe me that your daddy loves you, no matter where he is or what he’s doing.”

“Is he in Heaven?”

I was taken aback. “What do you know about Heaven?” I asked casually. Heaven wasn’t a new concept—we’d gone to church—but I had no idea what she’d gleaned from her mornings at Sunday School. She was
four.

“Annie said her grandpa went to Heaven and she doesn’t get to see him anymore, but she knows that he can see her. And she said that maybe my daddy was there, too.” She smiled. “Annie’s grandpa loved baseball like Daddy, so maybe they’re playing baseball together.”

“Hannah, I think your daddy would love to play baseball with Annie’s grandpa.” I kissed her head. I made a mental note to call a child psychologist after the New Year. I needed guidance. How could I prevent my children from carrying tragedy around for the rest of their lives? How could I ensure that losing their father would just be something that happened to them, rather than reshape who they would have become? I didn’t know. I realized then that my children’s future was irreversibly altered; the women they would have become no longer existed. My heart ached.

That night, I got the girls ready for bed in their Christmas pajamas. Greg had always read
The Night Before Christmas
. It seemed unfair to have Drew do it, so I settled on the couch and tucked the girls under each arm. I opened the book, hoping I could do it justice. I must have passed the test because they were each half asleep when I finished. Drew carried Hannah to her room, while I tucked Leah into bed.

After filling the living room with my Christmas extravaganza, we gazed at the tree. How many Christmases had Greg and I done the exact same thing?

Drew took the chair; I sat on the couch. He had been careful with me all week. Not to get too close. Not wanting to get caught up in something we’d regret. The undercurrent had been there as long as I could remember, and our timing was always terrible.

“Remember that Christmas you came, right after Hannah was born?” I asked suddenly. We never talked about that Christmas.
I wonder how long you’ve been in love with my wife.
I’d heard only that one line, a portion of the conversation. What else had been said? I never knew. In the years since, Drew’s visits frequently fell while Greg traveled, as I subconsciously kept them apart. The revelation came so clear in the muted colorful glow of the tree lights. I had partitioned my life, made myself a bridge for the gap between the two people I loved the most.

Drew nodded, averting his eyes. His face was impassive, but his eyes flickered imperceptibly.

“What happened with you and Greg?” I could never have asked Drew before; the question seemed too violating, a betrayal of Greg.
I don’t much care if I betray Greg at this point.

Drew shook his head. “Let it go, Claire. This helps no one.”

“It helps me. Right now, I feel like it’s possible I never knew my husband as well as I thought I did. I’m second-guessing all sorts of things so that I can put together the puzzle. You have a very small piece of this puzzle. I need it, Drew. Please.”