Page 61 of Dear Wife

The doctor’s eyes go squinty. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe her. Like you think Sabine might have been a little unstable.”

“We just determined that she was on Lexapro.”

I might as well have slugged him in the gut. His shoulders hunch, and he falls back into his chair. “So she was going through a rough time. She lost her baby, got some shitty medical advice—or maybe none at all. But that was a long time ago, and the Sabine I know is not depressed. She doesn’t have mood swings. Her energy is normal, and so are her sleep patterns. The only symptom I’ve seen started a couple weeks ago.” His eyes tear up all over again, and I know he’s referring to her pregnancy.

“I’m glad you brought that up, because—”

“But the nausea never lasts long. She vomits, and then ten minutes later she’s digging through the pantry for food. Not like when—” He stops himself, grimacing, and I know he was about to compare his lover’s pregnancy to his wife’s. “The point is, Sabine’s appetite is fine.”

“You know for certain that Sabine is pregnant.” I don’t phrase it as a question, even though it is one. The same one I asked her general practitioner and the ob-gyn who’d handled her last pregnancy. Both refused to give me an answer.

The doctor looks properly insulted. “What? Of course Sabine is pregnant.”

“Did you conduct the pregnancy test yourself?”

“She peed on a stick. Those tests are ninety-nine percent accurate, you know.”

“Did you see with your own eyes that the stick read positive?”

“What are you implying here?” He’s getting riled up. His voice rises and his muscles tense, coiled for attack. “That Sabine lied? That she wasn’t pregnant?”

I keep my own voice low and even. “I’m not implying anything. I’m just trying to dig up the truth.”

“By implying she wasn’t pregnant.”

“According to her husband, Sabine had trouble both getting pregnant and staying that way. Over the course of their nine-year marriage, she lost some seven pregnancies, and that’s only after going through multiple rounds of IVF.”

“Maybe the problem was with him, withhissperm.”

“Or maybe she’s had enough false starts to know how this pregnancy will end. If she’s pregnant, chances are high that she’ll miscarry, and if the past is any indication, somewhere between ten and fourteen weeks.”

“Ifshe’s pregnant? Why would she lie about something like that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Let me get this straight. You don’t want to ask me about my relationship with Sabine, when it started or what our plans are or to talk about any one of the million messages Sabine and I exchanged over these past five months. Instead you want to put doubts in my head as to her sanity and fertility. It’s almost like you’re trying to make me think that the woman I know and love is someone else entirely.”

“All I’m doing is trying to fill in some blanks. In order to find a person, I need to know who she was.”

He pales, his cheeks draining of blood. “Was?”

“Is,” I say with all the conviction I can muster. It’s a blunder I won’t make again. “I am working under the assumption that Sabine is still alive, but in order to find her, I need a complete picture.”

“You want a complete picture? Well, then, here it is. Sabine Hardison is a kind, loving, funny, honest, loyal, caring woman, and I love her with everything inside of me. No, she didn’t tell me about the Lexapro or the miscarriages, but that doesn’t make her a liar. It makes her a human with a past.”

“Okay then. Let’s talk about your wife.”

His spine straightens. “Shelley? What about her?”

“I understand she’s in Chicago. Since when?”

“Since last We—” He stops himself, shakes his head. Grows an inch in his chair. He was about to say Wednesday, the day Sabine disappeared. “No. She wouldn’t. Shecouldn’t.Shelley may be hurt and angry, but she’s not a monster. She is the mother of my children. No way.”

“Still. I’d love to talk to her in person, hear her say those words to me herself. When is she back?”

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