Page 62 of Happy Wife

Gone.

I shudder at the thought and cram another cracker in my mouth to distract myself from the threat of panic squeezing my lungs. But this is a dread no artisanal charcuterie can deactivate. I dump the cheese back in the refrigerator and pull on my shoes, feeling my heart race. My breaths are short and strangled. All of a sudden, I feel like if I don’t get out of the house, I’m going to die.

I’m partway across the hedge when I realize I don’t even have a bra on and my pajama pants are pretty see-through, but that doesn’t stop me. I’m trying to outrun a panic attack. I cut up the yard toward the pool, where Beau is swimming laps. He spots me, and I’m suddenly self-conscious about my lack of underthings. I instinctively cross my arms. “Is Este here?”

“Hey.” He stops swimming and squints up at me. “How are you holding up?”

“Este and I got into a fight. I’m a fucking idiot. This whole thing has been a nightmare. It’s like I’m shedding brain cells with every hour that passes.”

“She said you needed some space yesterday,” he says gently. “Pretty sure she’s still up in bed. You can go on in.”

I start for the sliding doors.

“Don’t worry too much about the fight. Este has a tough exterior, but once you’re in, that’s it. She’d kill for you, Nora. Whatever happened, I’m sure she doesn’t care about what was said. We’re all worried. You most of all. She loves you.”

My shoulders drop about six inches. “Thanks, Beau.”

I wind through the house, and when I call out Este’s name, it sounds pathetic. I try again. “Este, you in there?” She doesn’t answer back. I push through her bedroom door and marvel at how perfectly decorated her room is.

“Este, seriously. You in here?” I realize she isn’t. When I turn to leave, I’m stopped by the amazing black-and-white picture of her and Beau’s wedding day. It’s like fairies and woodland creatures came and dressed her—a look only she can pull off. She and Beau are perfect. Like they’ve been sculpted out of some other realm and dropped here with us mere mortals. And she’s barefoot. Because of course she is.

I feel a pang of sadness that I don’t have this wedding portrait. Just a photo on my phone that the concierge had taken for us. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful. But eloping means you skip the elaborate photo shoots.

I’m heading down the stairs when I see Este in the yard pulling mangoes from her tree. She looks up when she hears the front door open but doesn’t give me much. Just goes back to her tree. I walk over to her, picking up the basket, trying to be helpful. She doesn’t rebuff me, but she doesn’t offer the opening either. I’m going to have to make one.

“Este, I’m sorry. About all of it.”

Este moves around the tree, pulling mangoes and dropping them into the basket.

“I completely freaked out, and I think…,” I trail off, searching for what I am really feeling. “I think that I already know deep down that I have to believe that it could all be…”

Bad.

Este looks up at me and I watch as the color drains out of her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, god. Nora…”

The next two minutes happen in slow motion. As I turn through what feels like molasses, I see Ardell walking up thedriveway in full police uniform, flanked by Fritz. When Ardell sees me, he slowly pulls his police hat off. I look at Este. I can see her moving toward me, but I can’t hear anything she is saying. Beyond Ardell and Fritz, the press are all firing their cameras toward me.

I feel like I’m underwater.

“No.” I shake my head. “No, Fritz.” I raise a hand to keep them at arm’s length.

I’m insisting, but they don’t seem to notice.

Can’t they hear me?

“Leave!” I scream. I feel like dropping to my knees and covering my ears like a child.

But they’re still talking. Everything comes in weird waves.

“Nora, I’m so sorry to tell you…”

“…we found a body…”

“…identified as Will…”

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