My Lovely Wife

My poker face is terrible, and I lose every hand.

While we are playing, Rory mentions that there will be an assembly at school tomorrow. Millicent furrows her brow and then unfurrows it. She is trying to furrow less because of wrinkles.

“I didn’t get a notice about an assembly,” she says.

“That detective is coming to school,” Jenna says.

“The chick,” Rory says.

Millicent’s brow furrows again.

“Why is the female detective coming to your school?” I say.

Rory shrugs. “Probably to ask us if we saw anything. Same thing she’s been doing on TV. Daniel said she’s going to all the schools.”

Jenna nods as if she’d heard the same thing.

“She’s annoying,” Rory says. “But at least we get out of a class.”

Millicent gives him a look. He pretends not to see it and studies his cards.

“Well, I like her,” Jenna says.

“You like the detective?” I say.

She nods. “She seems tough. Like she’s really going to get him.”

“Oh, I’d agree with that,” Rory says. “It’s like she’s obsessed or something.”

It figures that the woman who might catch us also makes Jenna feel better. “Everyone has a lot of confidence in her,” I say.

“I hope I’ll get to talk to her,” Jenna says.

“I’m sure she is very busy.”

“Obviously. I’m just saying.”

* * *

• • •

Jenna and Rory’s school does not hold assemblies in the gymnasium. It has a special hall, and it is named after the donor who paid for it. When I arrive, the hall is packed with kids, faculty, and parents. With as much as Claire has been in the news, she is almost a celebrity.

She is taller than expected, and even in a crowded room she is intimidating. Claire does not want to talk about herself, her past, or her experience. She begins by telling the kids that they are all safe.

“Whoever killed these women is not looking for you. He is looking for women who are older than all of you. Chances are you will never cross paths with the person who killed Naomi and Lindsay.”

Jenna is sitting with her friends just to the right of the stage. Even from the back, I can see her leaning forward, trying to hear and see everything.

Rory is the middle, sitting with his girlfriend, and he may or may not be paying attention. Hard to tell.

“However,” Claire says, “if you have crossed paths with this killer, you may not even know it. You may have seen something that you don’t even know is important. Anything that you think is unusual, or that stands out, could be important.”

She says the same things she said on TV but with smaller words and shorter sentences. She ends by saying she will be available afterward if anyone wants to talk. This is why I am here. First, to make sure Jenna has a chance to meet Claire. Second, to meet her for myself.

Jenna’s friends are around, so she does not give me a hug. Together, we wait to speak to Claire. A jumbled line of people has formed in front of her, and when our turn comes I step up to Claire and introduce myself. She is tall enough that we stand eye to eye. On TV, her eyes look plain brown. Up close, I see flecks of gold.

“This is my daughter, Jenna,” I say.

Instead of asking Jenna how old she is or what grade she’s in, Claire asks her if she wants to be a detective.

“I would love it!” Jenna says.

“Then the first thing you need to know is that everything matters. Even the small things that seem like nothing.”

Jenna nods. Her eyes are so bright. “I can do that.”

“I’m sure you can.” Claire turns to me. “Your daughter is going to be a fine detective.”

“She already is, I think.”

We smile at each other.

She moves on to the next person, turning her back to us.

Jenna is bouncing up and down on her toes. “You think I can really be a detective?”

“You can be anything you want to be.”

She stops bouncing. “Dad, you sound like a commercial.”

“I’m sorry. But it’s true. And I think you’d be a great detective.”

She sighs and turns back to her friends, who are waving at her. She brushes me off when I try to give her a hug. “I gotta go.”

I watch her run over to her friends, who react to her news with more enthusiasm than I did.

Dad failure number 79,402, and she’s only thirteen.

I am grateful for Claire, who is so careful about making the kids feels safe. She has made Jenna happier than I have seen her in a while.

That still does not make me like Claire. In fact, now that I’ve met her, I hate her.

Fifty-five

Before I have a chance to research our new detective, Jenna does. At dinner, we are treated to the life story of Claire Wellington, as per the Internet. Born in Chicago, college in New York, first job with the NYPD. She moved to the rural Midwest, where she became a detective and was part of a drug task force. Claire left the small towns for a bigger one, eventually getting promoted to homicide detective. She was part of a team that investigated a group of killings known as the River Park Murders. They arrested the killer within two months of starting their investigation.

Claire went on to become one of the most successful homicide detectives in her department. Her average clearance rate was 5 percent higher than everyone else’s.

She is as formidable as she looks.

The kids and I are not the only ones who meet Claire. Millicent does as well. Claire needed a place to rent, because staying in a hotel is too expensive for the police budget, so she called the real estate office looking for a rental. Small, simple, and furnished, with a monthly lease. Millicent does not handle rentals, but she was in the office when Claire stopped by.

Early Sunday morning, when we are alone in the kitchen and the kids are still asleep, I ask Millicent what she thinks of Claire Wellington.

“She’s very tall.”

“She’s smart,” I say.

“And we aren’t?”

We exchange a smile.

Millicent has just returned from a run. She stands at the sink, in her spandex, and I admire the view. She catches me and raises an eyebrow.

“Want to go back to bed?” I say.

“You want to show me how smart you are?”

“I do.”

“But I need a shower.”

“Want company?”

She does.

* * *

• • •

We start in shower and move to the bed. Our sex is cozy and familiar, rather than passionate and furtive. Not a bad thing.

When Rory wakes up, we are still in bed. I know it’s Rory, because he cannot shut a door without slamming it and his footsteps are heavy when he goes down to the kitchen. Not long after, Jenna gets up and follows the same routine—bathroom and then kitchen—but everything is softer.

Millicent is curled up beside me. She is naked and warm.

“The coffee is still on,” she says. “They’ll wonder where we are.”

“Let them.” I have no intention of getting out of bed until I have to. I stretch out and close my eyes.