My Lovely Wife

Women are everywhere. Young, old, tall, short, thin, heavy. They are on every street, in every store, around every corner. I don’t see the men, only the women, and it has always been this way. When I was young, I couldn’t imagine choosing only one. Not with so many available.

Obviously, that was before Millicent.

I’m the one who is different. I still evaluate all women, just not the same way. I do not see them as possible partners, lovers, or conquests. I evaluate them based on whether or not they will fit Owen’s profile. I size each one up first based on height, then on makeup and clothes.

I watch a young woman leave a Laundromat and go upstairs, to the apartment above it. From where I am standing, I am not sure if she is too tall.

A second woman exits an office building. She is quite short but annoyingly brisk, and I watch as she gets into a car that is nicer than mine. I am not sure I could get close to that one.

I see a woman at a coffee shop and sit at the table behind her. She is on a laptop, scrolling through sites that fall into two categories: politics and food. I know a smidge about both and wonder what kind of conversation we would have. This makes me curious enough to watch as she leaves, and then trail after her to get a license plate number.

I continue down the sidewalk until I see a small woman who is also a meter maid. She is writing a ticket. Her nails are cut short; so is her hair. I cannot see her eyes because of her sunglasses, but she isn’t wearing lipstick.

I pass by her close enough to read her name tag.

A. Parson.

Maybe her, maybe not. I haven’t decided yet. When she isn’t looking, I take a couple of pictures.

* * *

• • •

Later that night, Millicent is lying in bed and studying a spreadsheet on her computer. The kids are asleep, or should be. If nothing else, they’re silent. That might be the most we can hope for these days.

I slide into bed next to Millicent. “Hey there,” I say.

“Hey.” She scoots over to make room, though our bed is more than big enough.

“I went shopping today.”

“Jesus, I hope you didn’t spend any money. I’m looking at our budget right now, and we don’t have any extra. Not after the washer had to be replaced.”

I smile. “Not that kind of shopping.” I place my phone in front of her, with a picture of A. Parson on the front.

“Oh,” Millicent says. She zooms in on the picture and squints at it. “What kind of uniform is that?”

“Meter maid.”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind getting a little revenge on one of those.”

“Me neither.” We laugh together. “And she fits Owen’s profile.”

“Indeed she does.” Millicent closes her computer and turns her whole body to me. “Nice work.”

“Thank you.”

We kiss, and all our budget problems melt away.

Fourteen

At first, nothing about it was sexy. It was petrifying.

Holly was supposed to be the end, not the beginning. The day after she was released from the hospital, Millicent opened the front door to find Holly on the porch. She slammed the door in her sister’s face.

Holly wrote a letter and put it in our mailbox. Millicent did not answer it.

She called. Millicent stopped answering the phone.

When I contacted the psychiatric hospital, they wouldn’t tell me anything.

Holly started showing up in public, staying at least a hundred feet away, but she was everywhere. At the grocery store when Millicent went shopping. In the parking lot at the mall. Across the street when we when out to dinner.

She never stayed anywhere long enough for us to call the police. And every time we tried to take Holly’s picture for proof, she turned, walked away, or moved to create a blur.

Millicent would not tell her mother. The Alzheimer’s was already making her forget who Holly was, and Millicent wanted to keep it that way.

Online, I researched the stalker laws and made a list of every time Holly had showed up so far. When I showed it to Millicent, she told me it was useless.

“That won’t help,” she said.

“But if we—”

“I know the stalker laws. She hasn’t broken them, and she won’t. Holly is too smart for that.”

“We have to do something,” I said.

Millicent stared at my notebook and shook her head. “I don’t think you understand. She made my childhood hell.”

“I know she did.”

“Then you should know a list isn’t going to help.”

I wanted to go to the police and tell them what was happening to us, but the only physical evidence we had was the letter Holly put in the mailbox. It was not threatening. As Millicent said, Holly was too smart for that.

M,

Don’t you think we should talk? I do.

H.

Instead of going to the police, I went to see Holly. I told her to leave Millicent and my family alone.

She didn’t. The next time I saw her, she was in my house.

It was on a Tuesday, around lunchtime, and I was at the club finishing up a lesson and thinking about what to eat. My phone dinged three times in a row, all texts from Millicent.

911

Get home NOW

Holly

This was less than a week after I paid Holly a visit.

I didn’t pause to text Millicent back. When I arrived home, Millicent met at the door. Her eyes were wet, tears threatening to slide down her cheek. My wife does not cry over every little thing.

“What the hell—”

Before I could finish, she grabbed my hand and led me into the family room. Holly was at the far end, sitting on the couch. As soon as she saw me, she stood up.

“Holly was here when I got home,” Millicent said. Her voice shook.

“What?” Holly said.

“Right here, right in our family room.”

“No, it wasn’t like that—”

“I forgot my camera,” Millicent said. “I was supposed to photograph the Sullivan place today, so I came home and she was just here.”

“Wait—”

“I found her sitting on our couch.” The tears finally came, in force, and Millicent covered her face with her hands. I put my arm around her.

Holly looked like a normal thirtysomething woman dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals. Her short red hair had been slicked back, and she wore bright lipstick. Holly took a deep breath and held up both hands as if to show me they were empty. “Hold on. That’s not—”

“Stop lying,” Millicent screamed. “You’re always lying.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Wait,” I said, stepping forward. “Let’s all just calm down.”

“Yes,” Holly said. “Let’s do that.”

“No, I’m not going to calm down.” Millicent pointed to the window in the corner, facing the side of the house. The curtain was pulled shut, but glass was scattered on the floor. “That’s how she got in. She broke a window to get into our home.”

“I did not!”

“Then how did you get in?”

“I didn’t—”

“Holly, stop. Just stop. You’re not going to fool my husband the way you fooled Mom and Dad.”