The Wives

THIRTY-THREE

Despite how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about what Regina told me. Realization is a slow boil, but once you’re there, the anger is hot and spitting. My husband is sick—not just controlling, but disgustingly sick. Why had I never pressed him about his home life? He hid his trauma, blowing off my questions about his childhood, redirecting everything to me. And now I’m horribly afraid for Hannah—for her unborn baby.

I hadn’t always been so trusting, had I? There was a time when I wouldn’t allow newcomers into my life, lest they distract me from my goals. What had it been about Seth that drew me in? Sure, he was handsome, but lots of men were. And he flirted with me, but that wasn’t a first, either. There were men all around me who spoke, and offered, and prodded for my attention. I had received their interest with a detached politeness. Sometimes I went out to dinner with them, or grabbed a beer, or did the things that girls my age were supposed to do, but none of it ever felt good—the way I imagined it was supposed to feel. Not until Seth.

When I try to pinpoint why I’d been so drawn to him, wooed by his advances, it always boiled down to one thing: he’d been so interested in everything I was. He asked questions and seemed fascinated by my answers. I remember the way he raised his eyebrows when I said something witty, the soft, amused curl of his lips as he listened to me speak. It had seemed at the time that he didn’t have any ulterior motive, he was just as drawn to me as I was to him: pure chemistry. He’d quizzed me for my exam on that very first night in the coffee shop, and asked me detailed questions about why I wanted to be a nurse. No one had ever asked me those questions before, not even my parents. But that was it, wasn’t it? He’d had a carefully concealed plan, a strategy. A woman like me, detached from her family, devoted to her studies, was secretly longing for a connection. I don’t think I cared who it would be: a man, a woman, a friend or a long-lost aunt. I was waiting for someone to see me. I don’t know if I’m angrier with myself more for falling for it in the first place, or for not seeing it sooner. But I know that as humans we want to be heard, and so when someone does the hearing, we feel a connection to them. I was no different than any other woman who’d been made to feel special and then, over the course of time, abandoned by the man she’d given everything up for. Seth was a charlatan, a charmer. He used his personality to manipulate women’s emotions. By the time he told me about Regina, I was already in love with him. I was willing to accept anything he had to offer just to be loved by him. I’m ashamed to think about it.

Right now Hannah is pressed somewhere under his thumb, blindly trusting, daydreaming of the life they’d have with their child. If what Regina had skirted around is correct, Seth is planning to do to her what he had done to us.

I sit on a random bench in the city, a line of food trucks in front of me. A man in a Dodgers hat stands close by, looking longingly at the taco truck across the street. I wonder why he doesn’t just get a taco and make himself happy. It starts to drizzle but I don’t move. There is something bothering me about all of this, something that isn’t adding up. I close my eyes and try to fit all of the pieces together. Regina, Thursday, Hannah and Seth: what do we all have in common? What parts are we playing in Seth’s game? Some people have moments of absolute clarity; my moment comes like a slouched lurker. I entertain it only for a few moments before deciding what to do. I stand up just as the man in the Dodgers hat jogs across the street. Instead of joining the taco line, he heads for a salad truck. I smile to myself as we both make our choices.

I’ve been home for a week. Home sweet home, which took the good part of three hours to tidy up after the way Seth left it. The night I got back, I found the condo a mess, like Seth had thought throwing all of the pillows and contents of my drawers on the floor would afford him answers to my whereabouts. The whole place smelled like rot, and upon inspection, I found the trash in the kitchen overflowing, the lid propped on empty containers of takeout and half-eaten fruit. My home felt strange...foreign. The first thing I did was find the 9mm my father had gifted me in my closet. Then I opened all of the windows and burned a candle for hours until the smell went away. Seth had found my phone where I dropped it in the elevator; it sat on the kitchen counter next to the bottles of medication I’d left behind, the screen smashed. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. It felt like a warning, one I would be careful to heed. I’d left the phone where it was and carried the bottles of medicine to the bathroom, popping their caps one by one, dumping their contents into the toilet. The flush of water, the whirring of the tank refilling, were satisfying as I watched my prison disappear. My computer was gone, though he’d graciously left behind my wallet and keys. I called a locksmith, offering to pay them extra to come that afternoon, and while I waited I changed the alarm code.

After the locksmith changed both locks on the front door, I walked downtown, my shiny new keys in my pocket, to replace my phone and computer. Since I’d been gone for five days, the week ahead held appointments and phone calls. I needed to be able to check my emails and voice messages, my little burner phone useless except to make calls and send texts. As I waited to cross the street, the same street where I’d bumped into Lauren what seemed like a lifetime ago, I watched the faces of the people around me. When you removed yourself from your own thoughts and stopped to look at people—really look at them—you saw something surprising. Each of them—from the businessmen, phones pressed to their ears, loafers sidestepping puddles, to the tourists who lingered on street corners wondering which direction to walk—held a certain vulnerability about them. Did their parents love them? Did a man—a woman? And if the person who loved them left, how immense would their pain be? We busy ourselves trying not to be lonely, trying to find purpose in careers, and lovers, and children, but at any moment, those things we work so hard to possess could be taken from us. I feel better knowing I’m not alone, that the whole world is as fragile and lonely as I am.

With the lock and alarm code changed and the gun sitting on my nightstand, I manage to sleep that first night. But not without bad dreams.

Seth has not tried to contact me, though on the Monday after my return home, Regina calls my burner phone, which I’ve left on the charger, forgotten in the corner of my bedroom. At first, the noise startles me, the unfamiliar tinkling of the ringer. When I see it’s her number I pick up right away, pressing the phone to my ear and using my free hand to block out the noise of the TV.

“Hello... Thursday?”

“Yes,” I say.

“I found her. I know where he has Hannah.”

I leave for Portland an hour later. The only things I take are my cell phone and the gun, which I drop into my purse right before walking out the door. I have to hurry. I replay Regina’s words over and over in my head.

That day in the diner, Regina had told me a story of manipulation and abuse. Not the obvious kind; it was the type she didn’t see coming. She’d married the charming and lively Seth, and their first year together had been magical. But soon after they moved to Seattle, he’d changed. She described him as sullen and moody. Most nights he’d not come to bed at all, and in the morning she’d get up and find him where she’d left him the night before: sitting in front of the TV with glassy eyes. He refused to bathe and only ate once a day. It began to scare her and she encouraged him to get help. Seth told her he was struggling with depression and promised that things would get better soon. He started working with Alex, building the company, and things did seem to get better for a while.

It was by accident that she saw the emails from his father. Seth had forgotten to close out the window and when Regina sat down at the computer she was able to see them all. She said the emails were sent before Seth’s father had killed his wife and then himself. The emails were convoluted. His father raved about conspiracies the government had to kill him and his wives and take his children. He suspected Seth’s mother of slipping medication into his food to make him tired and foggy. The very last email he’d sent Seth was the day before he died, where he’d outlined his plan to kill his wife and then himself. It would only be the two of them—he would spare his other wives. Regina had searched Seth’s in-box for his replies, sure he’d tried to talk his father down, convince him to get help, but there was nothing of the sort. She’d confronted Seth about it and he’d gotten angry. It was the only time I’d seen Regina show any emotion other than her hard coldness. Her eyes had filled with tears as she told me how he’d smashed everything around him: vases, plates, he’d even tossed the television onto the floor. He accused her of snooping where she didn’t belong. Then he’d threatened her. Grabbing her by the neck, he’d pushed her up against a wall until Regina had screamed out that she was pregnant.

Seth had dropped his hands immediately and smiled like the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. And then he’d cried. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he’d sobbed uncontrollably, saying that he was sorry, and that talking about his parents’ deaths had triggered something in him. As Regina stood numbly with his arms wrapped around her waist, Seth had promised to get help, saying things would change. They’d moved on from there and for the first months of her pregnancy, everything had been perfect: Seth, the doting father-to-be. She’d almost forgotten about the incident. And then, suddenly, she’d miscarried at twenty-one weeks along. She’d had a bump, and she’d already felt the baby move. She had to give birth to it—a girl. Seth had acted devastated, promising they could try again. But Regina refused. Frightened of experiencing the same thing, she got on birth control—the kind they insert into your arm—and focused on her career instead. He’d pleaded with her take it out and when she refused, they’d grown apart. Eventually, Seth suggested a plural marriage, because he wanted children. When Regina said no, he’d asked for a divorce and she’d given it to him, though he didn’t stop coming around. He was paying half of her bills, as that had been the agreement when she’d given him the divorce. So when he came to Portland for work, he stayed at their old house, first in the guest room, and then back in their bed. I’d almost seen shame on her face when she told me they’d still have sex when he visited, even though he was married to another woman. She told me that she’d never known about Hannah, and I believed her.

“The week before my miscarriage, he’d started making me tea,” she’d said. “I thought it was strange because he’d never been one to do much in the kitchen. He didn’t even make coffee in the mornings, and then all of a sudden, he’s boiling water and seeping leaves like an expert. It didn’t occur to me until you mentioned it.”

“It could be a coincidence,” I’d said.

Regina had shaken her head. “He was the oldest of his siblings, and he resented them. Thought they took attention away from him. He told me that he hated having to share space with a bunch of toddlers...”

“What are you saying?”

She’d just stared at me like she expected me to get it and then she’d finally said, “I think he’s going to do the same thing to this other girl, Hannah. We have to stop him. I need a few days to find out where she is.”