Page 3 of Dear Wife

I spot a sign for the leasing office and head down the hallway.

The woman perched behind the sleek glass desk is one of them. Young. Blonde. Pretty. The kind with a carefully curated Instagram feed of duck-face selfies and hand-on-hip glamour shots. I pause at the edge of her desk, and she looks up with a blinding smile.

“Hi, there. Are you looking for a home inthepremier apartment community in Tulsa? Because if so, you’ve come to the right place.”

Good Lord. Her Midwestern drawl, her Kardashian whine, her unnaturally white teeth. This girl can’t be for real.

“Um, right. So I was looking at the one-bedroom units on your website and—”

“Omigosh! Then this is your lucky day. I literally just learned there’s a Vogue unit available starting next week. How does eight hundred square feet and a balcony overlooking the pool sound?”

I hike my bag higher on a shoulder. “Sounds great, but I was hoping to find something that’s available a little sooner.”

“Like, how much sooner?”

“Like, immediately.”

Her collegiate smile falls off her face. “Oh. Well, I have a couple of one-bedroom units available now, but they’re all smaller, and they don’t offer that same stunning view.”

I shrug. “I’m okay with that.”

She motions to one of the upholstered chairs behind me. “Then have a seat, and I’ll see about getting you into one of our Alpha units. When were you thinking of moving in?”

I sink onto the chair, dragging my bag into my lap. “Today, if possible.”

Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head. “It’s not. Possible, I mean. The application process takes a good twenty-four hours, atleast.”

My heart gives an ominous thud. “Application process?”

I know about the application process. I’ve already scoured the website, and know exactly what it takes to get into this place. I also know that this is where things can get sticky.

The woman nods. “I’ll need two month’s worth of pay stubs, either that or proof of salary on your bank statements, a government-issued ID like a driver’s license or passport, and your social security number. The background check is pretty standard, but it takes a day or two depending on what time of day I submit.”

I have all the items she requested, right here in an envelope in my bag, but as soon as this woman plugs them into her computer, one little click of her mouse will propel all my information into the ether. Background checks mean paper trails, clues, visibility. Once you spot me in the system, and you will, I’ll have only a few precious hours before you show up here, looking for me.

She checks the time on her cell. “If we hurry, I could get everything through the system by close of business tomorrow.”

By then I’ll be long gone.

I push the envelope across the desk. “Then let’s hurry. I start my new job in two days, and I’d really like to be settled before then.”

She flips through the packet of papers. Her fingers pause on my bank statement, and the air in the room thickens into a soupy sludge. Apartment complexes require a minimum salary of three times the rent, which is why I added a couple of zeros to that statement in lieu of proof of salary. Part of the preparations for Day One included learning Photoshop.

It’s not the amount she’s focused on, but my former address. “Arkansas, huh? So what brings you to town?”

I relax in the chair. “I got a job at QuikTrip.”

It’s a lie, but judging by the way her face brightens, she buys it. “A friend of mine works there. She loves it.Greatbenefits. Way better than this place, though if you ever repeat that I’ll deny ever saying it.” She grins like we’re in on the same joke, and so do I.

I gesture to the packet in her hand. “I don’t have pay stubs yet, which is why I’ve included a copy of my contract.” Forged, but still. It looks real enough. As long as her friend doesn’t work in human resources, nobody but me and the Pine Bluff Public Library printer will ever know it’s a fake.

I give her time to flip through the rest of the documents, which are real. My real driver’s license. My real social security number. My real address—scratch that,formeraddress. This entire plan rests on her accepting the papers in her hands, on me laying this decoy trail, then disappearing.

She looks up with a wide smile. “It’s not often that I get a prospective tenant with a record this spotless. Unless the system catches something I’ve missed, this is going to be a piece of cake.”

I can’t tell if her words are a question or a warning. I smile like I assume they’re neither.

She drops the papers on her desk and reaches for the mouse. “Let’s get you in the system, then, why don’t we?”

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