Page 10 of Happy Wife

Chapter7

Thirty-six hours after

“Nora,” Este pants behind me on our morning run. “If I had known we were training for the Boston Marathon, I wouldn’t have had so much to drink last night.”

“That’s a lie.” I pick up the pace a little bit, enjoying the fact that this is one of the few areas where I am legitimately better than Este. Plus, running is the only thing keeping me from spiraling about Will’s absence at this point.

Most wives would’ve tossed all their spouses’ monogrammed dress shirts on the front lawn and lit them on fire by now, but being a trial attorney’s wife, I’ve come to understand the ghosting isn’t personal.

It’s more likely he’s covered up with work, yet again. He spends weeks or even months poring over deposition transcripts and evidence, looking for the perfect arguments to help his clients. The level of focus required is a kind of meditative state, and when he falls completely off the grid, it’s because he’s had a breakthrough, like the defense destroyed evidence and he has them dead to rights, or his client said something stupid in a deposition and he can see the defense’s path to victory in the error. Either way, it sends him down a rabbit hole and the rest of the world ceases to exist. The possibility of finding the perfect case,the ideal set of facts to win big for his client, is the white whale he’ll never stop chasing.

As much as he loves the glory of his clients winning, Will has never been one for scenes. And I know he would be pissed if I drew attention to his disappearing act, so I’ve quietly called the Ritz a handful of times. I texted, GPS-tracked, even searched by the dock for signs of Mia’s hoodie or his walk down there, and there’s nothing. Every hour, I cycle through worried, lonely, pissed, and then processing the fact that this is the price I pay for marrying a trial attorney who is very committed to what he does.

And I guess I’m taking all the emotion out on the pavement.

It’s good to keep moving. I have to keep moving.

“For fuck’s sake, Nora, I’m going to die.”

“Sorry.” I slow my pace so she can catch up.

Este and I agreed that we’d run to the Racquet Club for breakfast and back after—a mile each way. But I’m a realist, and odds are we’ll walk back after a couple of mimosas.

Once the morning reaches office hours, I’ll call Lenore to check Will’s calendar for the day. I haven’t thought much about what happens after that, but showing up wherever he’s supposed to be and reading him the riot act feels like a near certainty.

I glance over at Este, and her face is white, which stops me in my tracks. We haven’t even made it out of our street yet. When I left her and Beau the night before, they were opening a third bottle of wine, and he was laughing, charmed by her as she slow-danced with herself in the moonlight, looking like some ethereal fairy queen.

“Can we just walk a minute?” She huffs, one hand grabbing at her right side.

“Yeah. Want me to call an Uber?”

“No.” She’s still a little breathless, but after a beat, she flashes a mischievous grin. “I want to see if Carol Parker’s fence is still down.”

“How is it that the mere mention of Carol Parker’s wrecked fence immediately brings the color back to your face? I swear to God, your schadenfreude is pathological.”

“What does it say about me that I fetishize the idea of perfect Carol’s perfect yard being perfectly destroyed?”

“Ask your therapist,” I say with a laugh. “Diagnoses are above my pay grade.”

“Hey, is that Fritz?” She frowns as a black Porsche SUV pulls over the narrow bridge at the entrance to our street, just past the posted placard that readsIsle of Sicily: Private.

Isle of Sicily Road is a narrow cul-de-sac. Each of the few homes on the street is waterfront property, all so private Google Maps doesn’t even offer street views. Fritz would have no reason to be here unless he’s visiting someone.

We both watch as he drives by without noticing either one of us, and I instinctively start following his car. Este says something about breakfast behind me that I can’t quite make out. I’m too busy searching the shadows in the back window of the SUV for signs that Will might be with him. My heart rate kicks up as Fritz pulls into our driveway, and I jog to get to him just a little bit faster.

Fritz steps out of the car with a questioning look on his face. “Hey, I’m looking for Will. We had a mediation this morning, but he didn’t show. He’s not answering calls.” Fritz heads for the front door. “What’d y’all get up to after the party? Is he still sleeping it off? I need to talk to him.”

Fritz’s words catch me off guard. I feel like I’m falling backward.

How can Fritz not know where Will is?

I look down at my feet to confirm I’m still standing. The story I’d been counting on—the Will-is-tied-up-with-work song and dance—comes to a screeching halt, and I can almost hear the record scratch.

“Fritz,” Este calls from behind me. “Will’s not home. Nora hasn’t seen him since the night of the party.”

I spin around to look at her, somehow stung that she put it all out there like that—like she’s given away a personal secret.

“Jesus.” A million questions pass on Fritz’s face as he turns to me with a blend of confusion and concern in his eyes. “Nora?” His voice is accusing.

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