My Lovely Wife

Then there is Crystal.

Millicent never wanted any help at the house; she did not trust that anyone would clean the way she wanted, nor did she want anyone raising her kids. The only time we did hire someone, it was to carpool the kids to and from school and to their various activities. That was a few years ago, when Millicent and I were both so busy at work we just could not get to everything without some help.

This was also right after Holly was killed. Before the rest.

Crystal was the one we hired to help drive the kids around. She was a nice young woman who was always on time and good with the kids. She worked for us until Millicent decided we didn’t need her anymore.

But before that, she kissed me.

It was when Millicent was in Miami for a conference with a coworker named Cooper. I never liked him.

For the three days Millicent was gone, Crystal was around more than usual. She picked the kids up from school and made dinner for them at the house. One afternoon, we found ourselves alone, and that’s when it happened.

At lunchtime, I went home to eat, and she was there, alone, because the kids were at school. She made us a couple of sandwiches, and we ate together while chatting about her family. Nothing exciting, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that made me think she was flirting. After we finished eating, we bumped into each as I went to the refrigerator and she headed for sink.

She did not pull away.

Neither did I, to be honest. Maybe I wanted to see what she would do.

She kissed me.

I pulled away. At that point, I had never cheated on Millicent. I wasn’t even thinking about it. I was thinking about Millicent in Miami with her male coworker.

Before I had a chance to say anything to Crystal, she apologized and left the room. I don’t think we were ever alone again.

I considered telling Millicent right up to the moment I picked her up at the Orlando airport. I decided not to take the risk.

I am thinking about this because I don’t think I’m the only one not being totally truthful. I think Millicent has been lying to me. The idea came to me when Jenna got sick. I had just arrived home from work, and I was late; we were supposed to go to a party thrown by an association of mortgage brokers. Millicent was rushing around, trying to get ready, Rory was playing video games, and Jenna was throwing up in the bathroom.

Millicent went to the party alone that night. I stayed home with Jenna.

We have taken Jenna to the doctor about her stomach once before. Our family doctor says I worry too much. Kids get upset stomachs all the time, he says. But now she has them more often, her stomach problems have gotten worse since Owen was brought back to life. This makes me think her fear of him is not getting better. It is making her physically sick.

I pulled up a calendar on my phone and tried to figure out how often she was getting sick. One of the first times it happened was the night we were with Lindsay, when I’d left Millicent alone with her to go be with Jenna.

Ever since Lindsay’s body was found, I’ve wondered about that night, about what would have happened if Jenna had not been sick. Would we have gone ahead and killed Lindsay that night? Or would Millicent have told me she wanted to keep Lindsay alive?

And when did she take care of her? When she was supposed to be at work? How did she sell all those houses and still keep Lindsay alive for a year?

Too many questions I cannot answer. I have secrets. Why wouldn’t she?

* * *

• • •

My first idea was stupid. I thought I could follow Millicent to find out what she is doing, maybe where she is keeping Naomi. But as soon as I think of following Millicent, I realize why it is impossible. She knows my car too well; she knows my license plate. She would spot me in a second.

Plus, I have to work. My job is flexible, not optional.

But I don’t have to follow her, because technology can do it for me. Five minutes of research on the Internet tells me this works exactly like in the movies. I buy a GPS tracker with a magnetic case, press the power button, and stick it on the bottom of her car. All I have to do is log in to the app on my phone to see where her car is. The app also records the addresses where she stops, so I do not have to follow it in real time. The whole setup is unbelievably cheap, even with the fee for real-time information. Spying on someone has never been simpler.

I make it sound easy, and technically it is, but the real cost is to my psyche. And my marriage.

Even after I buy the device, I don’t put it on right away. It stays in the trunk of my car, burning a hole in the back of my mind. I do not want to blow up my marriage and my family, which is what will happen if Millicent finds out I am spying on her.

I do not want to do it, but I want to know what she is doing.

When I get home from work, Millicent is already home and her car is in the garage. It takes only a second to attach it.

Later in the evening, it occurs to me that maybe there is a way for her to know there is a tracker on her car. All technology has countertechnology—at least I assume it does—so I spend an hour on my phone, looking up all the ways Millicent could find out what I have done. And I am right; she can find out. But first she would have to suspect she is being tracked.

I look over at her. She is sitting with Rory at the dining room table, and they are making flash cards for his history class. He has never been a great student, because, as his teachers say, he does not apply himself. Millicent agrees, and a few times a week she helps him do just that. No phones, no distractions, nothing but his homework and his mother. Not even I interrupt when Millicent is working with Rory.

After a few minutes, she feels me staring at her. She glances up and winks at me. I wink back.

Later that night, I remove the tracker from her car.

The next morning, I put it back on.

Thirty-nine

When I watch someone in person, it feels intimate. They have no idea they are being watched, so they are not guarded or self-conscious. I get to know how they walk and move, their little tics and gestures. Sometimes, I can even tell what they will do next.

Using a tracker is much different, because I am not watching Millicent. I am watching a blue dot move around a map.

The app tells me where she goes—the address, latitude and longitude. I know how long she stays, how fast she drives, exactly how she parks. The app spits out charts and graphs that tell me how much time she spends driving, her average speed, and the average time at each location. I try to picture Millicent behind the wheel, dressed up for work, perhaps talking on the phone or listening to music. I wonder if she does something I don’t know about. Maybe she sings when she is alone. Or talks to herself. I have never seen her do either one, but she must do something. Everyone does when they are alone.

On the first day, she drops the kids off at school and goes to the office. She works for a real estate agency but does not spend much time sitting at a desk. After that, she drives to Lark Circle, to a residential address in Hidden Oaks. Over the next eight or nine hours, she goes to eleven houses, all of which are for sale. I check them all. She picks up the kids, stops at the store, drives home.

The surprise is where she stopped to eat lunch. Instead of having a salad or a sandwich or even fast food, Millicent went to an ice-cream parlor.

For the rest of the afternoon, I wonder if she got a cone or a cup.