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“Validating?” Rachel asked from the edge of the bed. She planted both palms against her chest. “I’m not one of your college students, Tom. I’m your wife! Were you or were you not truthful about ending your affair with her when you said you did?”
She took a good look at her husband and tried to see him from an objective point of view. His hair had receded, the light strands now gray. A hangdog expression had taken over his once strong jaw, and as he angrily waved his hands, she noticed several sunspots.
“I’ve answered that question a million times! I’m not answering it again. I told you the truth so either you believe me or you don’t. It’s your decision.”
Did he seriously think it was as easy as that? That their world was still so black and white? Even after all of his betrayal, his lies. No, their world was now shades of the dreariest gray. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t tell what was up and what was down, what was true and what wasn’t.
“I don’t know what to believe,” she said honestly, staring at him, her body racked with anger.
His arms fell to his sides. “I’ve apologized. Over and over, I’ve catered to your doubts and tried to make you feel better, Rachel. I can’t do anything more.”
Her laugh was sarcastic. “For your wife you can’t do anything more? What’s that say about our relationship? Just where are we, huh? Where are we, Tom?” As the words left her mouth, she realized she didn’t want to hear the answer.
He turned his back to her and opened his closet door.
As agonizing as it was, she repeated her question. “You said you can’t do anything more. What exactly does that mean?”
“Just what I said.”
Rachel glanced at the purple comforter they’d picked out at J.C. Pe
Thunder rumbled outside. She peered out the bedroom window. It had begun to storm. “So where does that leave us? You not being able to do anything more. You being unable to fathom why I’d have a problem with believing the words that come out of your mouth after you ran around with that little whore for three months.”
“Rachel!” Tom spat.
“Rachel, what?” she screamed. “What do you mean?” she asked, fingering the bracelet on her wrist with such intensity, it could have snapped in half.
“I’m sick and tired of this game. That’s what.”
“Game?”
“Yes, game!” he repeated. “I’m sure it makes you feel better, but it’s driving me nuts. Fucking insane.”
Had she ever heard him say that word before? She didn’t think so. “Do you know where that girl is?” she heard herself ask, not being able to conceal the question any longer.
He whirled around. “For God’s sake, how should I know? Just what are you accusing me of?”
She formed her words slowly. “There was no accusation.”
He shook his head. His mouth contorted into a grimace, then an odd grin. “But there was. You asked me if I knew where Tiffany is. You were insinuating that I—”
“Don’t say that name in this house!” she shouted. It was a rule, just like no dishes in the kids’ rooms or the living room. But she’d be firmest with this one.
A door slammed in the hallway. One of the kids.
The air was still for several seconds before Tom spoke again. “To answer your question, dear wife, no. No, I don’t know where the missing girl is.”
She watched her husband who was now pulling out an overnight bag for a conference in San Francisco. “People at the college are talking.”
Tom paused briefly, a shirt in his hand. “Let them talk.”
“And let them think that one of us did something to that girl?”
He threw the shirt into the bag. “If that’s what they want to talk about, then sure.”
She hated the tone in his voice. How he made her feel so out of line so very often. “Am I such a bitch to ask you these questions? Am I such a bitch to ask if you know the whereabouts of the missing girl you were—” She fell silent, staring at the purple comforter beneath her. It now looked all wrong to her. Childish, like something one of her students would use to decorate a bed, not something someone her age would choose. The valances looked just as adolescent. Suddenly, she had the urge to rip them down.
Tom tossed an empty hanger on the carpet and reached for a pale blue polo shirt.
She retrieved the hanger from the floor. “Am I?” she pleaded. “Am I wrong to ask you? Is everything I say or ask these days so wrong?”
He threw a tie into his bag.
She reached for her wine glass and downed what was left, rage swelling inside her chest.
“It’s nice to see that you’re drinking again,” he muttered under his breath. “That always makes things easy for us.”
“Easy?” Rachel laughed. “And you do? You make things easy for our marriage? For the kids?” Her eyes burned, but she was reluctant to let herself shed any tears. She’d shed so many over him. Too many. “Will you at least be back from San Francisco in time for family night?” After making up, she and Tom had agreed that a new tradition would be healthy for the family, so two weeks earlier they had declared Saturdays to be family night.
“I don’t know.”
Rachel sighed and watched her husband finish packing. She felt miserable. Neglected and powerless. She hated her life and what she’d become. “Tommy told me that Kelsey’s sneaking out of her room at night,” she said, a last ditch effort that some common ground might help unite them.
Tom closed his bag. “So talk to her, Rachel. But don’t do it while you’re drunk. She doesn’t need to deal with that.”
The anger inside was too much to handle. She inhaled sharply, feeling as though she would suffocate if she didn’t. “Fuck you,” she said, rising on wobbly legs. She walked to their bedroom door and turned. “Fuck you and the affair. You know, you might as well be a stranger to me.”
She gazed at him, into the eyes of the person she’d once trusted with her life, then stumbled out of the room.
Chapter 21
THE STRENCH OF wet manure hung in the air as the two girls reached the Landrys’ porch. Erica bent, trying to work out a cramp in her hamstring.
“Who do you think that could have been?” Haley asked, breathing hard.
The moments that had just passed were only a blur for Erica. She had drank too much. Had someone been in the woods again, or had it just been an animal?
“Who do you think it was?” Haley repeated.
She shrugged. “Could have been anything. Maybe an animal.”
“With a flashlight?”
“You saw a flashlight?” she asked, thinking even more of the person who had fled when she called out earlier in the week.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You sure? Could have been the moon. It’s pretty low tonight.”
Haley giggled.
Erica stiffened. Had she said something wrong? “What’s so fu
Thunder rumbled overhead as Haley broke out in a longer, harder laughter. “I don’t—” Haley started, then fought to pull air into her lungs. “I’ve never drank this much. I. . . think I’m drunk.”
Erica slowly relaxed, relieved that the girl wasn’t laughing at her. She peered down at her filthy feet. They were on fire from all the ru
“I don’t get drunk. I’m responsible,” Haley insisted. She laughed again. “But this feels incredible.” She pushed her damp bangs from her eyes and gri