Josh looks serious. Sad. He is getting better, because he no longer looks excited about something horrible. He calls the woman who got attacked Jane Doe.
“Excuse me.”
An older woman brushes past me. I am still standing in the convenience store, right near the soda machine, staring up at the screen. The only other person watching is the guy at the register. It’s not Jessica, the cashier I usually see. This guy has a bald head, which shines under the fluorescent lights.
He looks at me and shakes her head, as if to say “Isn’t it terrible? Isn’t it a shame?”
I nod while buying my usual coffee and a bag of barbecue chips.
* * *
• • •
This is what living with Millicent has always been like. Life goes along like it’s supposed to, an occasional bump in the road but otherwise a fairly smooth ride. And then suddenly the ground opens into a chasm wide enough to swallow everything. Sometimes, what’s inside is good, even great; sometimes not.
It happened when she told me Holly was alive. It happened when she bashed Robin in the head with a waffle iron. And again when she resurrected Owen.
These are the giant events, where the chasm becomes wider than the earth itself. Not all have been quite that large. Sometimes, the chasm is just big enough to swallow me, like when she left with the kids and disappeared for eight days after I came home drunk.
And then there are the cracks. When the ground opens up, it causes cracks. Some are bigger than others, like Jenna having a knife under her mattress. Or Trista killing herself. They are all different sizes—long, short, a variety of widths—but they originate from the same chasm.
The first one cracked open on our wedding day.
Millicent and I got married at her parents’ house in a field surrounded by cilantro, rosemary, and oregano. She wore a gauzy white dress that hung to her ankles, and she had a homemade wreath on her head, made of daffodils and lavender. I wore khakis rolled up to my ankles and a white button-up, left untucked, and both of us were barefoot. It was perfect, right up until it wasn’t.
Eight people attended our wedding. The three guys I went overseas with were there, including Andy. Not Trista. They were dating but not married, and Andy wasn’t ready to give her any ideas. Abby and Stan, Millicent’s parents, were there, and so was a friend of Millicent’s from high school. The last two were neighbors.
The ceremony was just that: an act, a ritual. Neither Millicent or I were religious; we were going to get legally married the following Monday at the Woodview City Hall. In the meantime, we pretended to marry, with Millicent’s father playing the minister’s role. Stan looked so official in a plaid shirt buttoned to the neck and his thin grey hair smoothed down with gel. He stood in front of their herb fields with a book in his hands. Not the Bible, just a book, and he almost said the right words.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this young man wants to marry my daughter today, and I think he needs to prove himself.” Stan pretended to give me the evil eye. “So make it good.”
I had written and rewritten my vows a dozen times, knowing I would have to say them out loud. The other people did not bother me at all. I was nervous about saying them to Millicent. I took a deep breath.
“Millicent, I can’t promise you the world. I can’t promise I will buy you a big house or a fancy car or a giant diamond ring. I can’t even promise we’ll always have food on the table.”
She stared at me, unblinking. In the bright sun, her eyes looked like crystals.
“I hope to give you all those things, but I have no idea if it will be possible. I do not know what will be in our future, but I do know we will be together. That’s what I can promise you without hesitation, without any fear that I’d be lying. I will always be there for you, with you, next to you.” I smiled a little, because I saw a little tear in her eye. “And hopefully, we’ll be able to eat.”
Eight people laughed. Millicent nodded.
“Well then,” Stan said, turning to his daughter. “I guess it’s your turn. Convince us this is the man for you.”
Millicent raised her hand and pressed it against my cheek. She leaned in, put her lips right next to my ear, and whispered.
“Here we go.”
Forty-one
At dinner, no one mentions the news or Jane Doe. She is here with us, but we do not acknowledge her. Instead, we talk about a celebrity who has gone to rehab. Again.
We talk about a football game I did not see.
We talk about what to watch on movie night. Rory wants to watch a college-aged comedy, and Jenna prefers a romcom.
The only current event we discuss is a mall shooting in the next state over.
“Sicko,” Rory says.
Jenna point at him with her fork. “You’re the one who plays shooting games.”
“The key word being ‘game.’ ”
“But you like it.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“Enough,” Millicent says.
Silence.
When dinner ends, they both go upstairs and retreat to their rooms.
Millicent and I stare at each other. She points to me, mouthing the words, “Was it you?”
She is asking if I am the one who attacked Jane Doe. I shake my head and point to the garage.
After the dishes are done and the kids are asleep, we go out and sit in the car. Millicent brings our leftover Halloween candy, and we share a bottle of sparkling water. She is wearing a bright blue shirt with short sleeves. I think it is new, because earlier in the day I watched her car stop at the mall.
“You had nothing to do with this woman?” she says.
“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t do something like that without telling you.” At least I don’t think I would.
“I hope not.”
“And I wouldn’t do anything to make Jenna more afraid.”
Millicent nods. “I should have known.”
“Maybe Jane Doe is lying,” I say.
“Possibly. Or maybe some random guy attacked her and she just thinks it was Owen. We don’t know what she saw.”
“There’s a third option,” I say.
“Is there?”
I unwrap a piece of chocolate, break it in two, and give her half. “What if he’s really back?”
“Owen?”
“Sure. What if it was him?”
“It wasn’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because it would be stupid. Why would he come back right when everyone is looking for him?”
“Good point.”
* * *
• • •
I am back in the beige office, waiting for Jenna to finish with her psychologist. The doctor called after hearing about Jane Doe, saying he wanted an extra session. He is afraid this new attack will make Jenna regress. I am not sure she has progressed enough to regress, but I take her anyway. Millicent says she is unable to make it, so I sit in the waiting room and watch her blue dot. My wife is at a house on Danner Drive; it is listed for just under half a million dollars.
Then she drives to a deli.
Sometimes, she goes out to lunch with clients, but I have never known her to take them to a deli.