Page 54 of The Wives

Regina clasps her hands in her lap, shakes her head sadly.

“His father shot his mother, and then turned the gun on himself. It was tragic, a huge blow to the family.”

My mouth falls open. “I don’t understand. When did they die? What about the other wives? Their other children?”

She shrugs. “We were already married when it happened. His father wasn’t well. He’d been diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was a boy, said God told him to do things. They were very...religious.”

“Did you ever meet them?” I think about the cards, the ones that supposedly came from them, written in his mother’s handwriting. No, Regina can’t be right. Seth’s parents had sent us a wedding present. Hadn’t they? No, it was all Seth’s perfectly constructed lie.

“I did. They were odd people. I was glad to move away. They didn’t even come to our wedding.”

I want to tell her that they missed ours, too, but she’s on a roll and I don’t want to interrupt her.

“Seth was somewhat obsessed with his father.”

“In what way?”

She seems relieved to be talking about something other than her relationship with Seth.

“I don’t know. I suppose in just the way boys are with their dads. They were close. His father was really unhappy when we left. Said Seth was abandoning his family.”

“Did you ever try to have children?” I ask. A sudden change of subject.

Regina doesn’t like this question.

“You know I didn’t want children.”

“Why?”

“Does a woman still have to explain herself when she doesn’t want children?” she snaps.

“No... I mean...you married the son of a polygamist. He must have told you that he wanted a family.”

She looks away. “He assumed I’d change my mind, and I assumed he loved me enough to drop it.”

Something nags at the back of my mind, it’s so familiar—a song you can almost hear the tune to but don’t know the name of.

The defensiveness has returned in her voice, her guard up once again. “I’ve answered all of your questions, Thursday. Please.” She glances at the door. “I’d like to be alone now.” I take her phone from my pocket and set it gently on the table before walking away. Before I leave, I turn back to where she’s standing staring out of the window, unseeing, and place a slip of paper on top of the magazines with the number to the burner phone I bought.

“Seth hit Hannah. You need to know that. When I found out and confronted him about it he got rough with me, too.”

A muscle twitches in her temple, a tiny pulse.

“Goodbye, Regina.”

THIRTY-ONE

When I leave Regina’s apartment, my head is spinning. I pause at the top of the stairs, my hand on the railing. Someone has scratched the word cunt into the metal with their keys. Regina could be lying about everything. I can’t actually trust my husband’s other wife, can I? Could it be that Seth lied to her, too? Lied about me and our relationship? I thought that perhaps he was keeping things from his shiny new wife, Hannah, but maybe he kept Regina in the dark, too. Had he lied to us all? Who was this man? Had I loved him so unconditionally that I’d gouged out my own eyes? Seth, who told me that Regina didn’t want children, and that’s why he sought out a second wife. Seth, who never told Regina that I’d miscarried our baby. There are so many secrets, and I’ve been blind for too long. It makes me feel sick that I’ve allowed all of this to happen. I need to speak to Hannah, make her tell me what’s going on. Where has he hidden Hannah?

I drive back to the Cottonmouth house, feeling worse by the minute. My stomach makes a loud appeal for food. When was the last time I ate? I pull into a drive-through and order a sandwich and a soda, but when I unwrap the foil, the sight of it makes me feel ill. I throw it away, sipping delicately on the Coke. I’m feverish, my face clammy and warm. I stumble into the house, my head spinning. The empty walls swim around me, and the smell of paint and rot makes me gag. Suddenly, I don’t want to be here. I’ll sleep just a few minutes, enough to make me feel better. I duck into the room and lock the door behind me. It’s only eight o’clock, but my body aches from exhaustion. I crawl into the stale-smelling bed, my eyes heavy, and I sleep.

“Thursday?”

I sit up in bed, groggy, and reach for my cell. It’s not there. I can’t find the time. I’m holding a phone to my ear and someone is saying my name. That’s right. I’m in Portland. I left my cell phone in the corner of an elevator. This is a burner.

“Yeah...” I say, struggling to untangle the sheets and sit up. “Who’s this?”

A woman says my name again. “Thursday—” And then, “It’s Regina.”

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