Page 72 of Happy Wife

A series of pictures from my Instagram account start flipping through on the screen. I hear my heart beating in my ears.

Me, blowing a kiss to the camera in a bikini in Nevis.

Will, sitting in front of a birthday cake, blazing with candles as I kissed him.

“I guess it’s time to make your social media accounts private,” Este says softly.

The next picture is an older photo of me and Este at a bar one night. That one lingers on the screen. Este and I are sweaty and beaming. We had just survived a half marathon and were celebrating. The camera pushes in on me and my smile looks…garish. They pull up the picture of Will next to mine. The prominent attorney and the window dressing. The shame cuts deep, and I want to shout back all the reasons she’s wrong. But Este and I are silent, waiting for the next punch to be thrown my way.

“Here’s what I want to know,” Lindy goes on. “Why did she wait so long to call the police? Our reports are that he went missing sometime late Saturday night, early Sunday morning. She didn’t make the call until Monday? So, you can’t find your husband and you just…go about your day? Do some yoga with afriend? Some say she was even seen getting Botox the day her husband was reported missing. Are you kidding me?”

“It was Kyle J’s HIIT class,” I hear Este say.

“How did they know that?” I murmur in a voice that’s too small to be my own.

“If someone wants to exploit your pictures for ad revenue, fuck them.” Este changes the channel to local news, but they’re covering Will’s story as well.

A talking head is in the middle of saying, “…according to our sources, there are questions about the wife and why she waited so long to call the police about her then-missing husband.”

“Turn it off, Este.” I didn’t mean to say it so loud. Este turns off the TV and puts the remote high on a bookshelf. “What the fuck is happening?”

Este looks at me. “Nora, come sit down. I’m trying to find Fritz.”

But I don’t move. I can feel the tingles of panic in my hands again. My arms go numb. I try to shake it off, but I can’t get out in front of it. I walk out of the room and out the front door without even thinking. I almost walk smack into Marcus, who is carrying a bunch of grocery bags.

Marcus.

“Hey, Nora, I didn’t want to just walk in—”

I hear the shouts from the press stationed at the entrance of the neighborhood, like lawn ornaments from hell. It looks like the number of news trucks has doubled since this morning. It’s more than I can handle.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“Hey, hey, Nora, are you okay? We should go inside.” Marcus tries to shield me, but I can hear their cameras going off rapid-fire as Este descends on us.

I put my hands over my ears. “Why is this happening?”

“Nora, get inside. Now. You, too, Marcus.” Este pulls us both in. She slams the door and looks at Marcus. “You shouldn’t have come without calling.”

Marcus furrows his brow at her. “I didn’t realize there was this much press here.”

“It’s national news, for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t own a TV.”

“How incredibly fucking millennial of you.”

I hear someone screaming the most visceral, unearthly scream. And it takes me a minute until I realize that it’s me. “STOP IT! STOP TALKING.”

Marcus puts the grocery bags on the counter and pulls me into a hug. He tries to whisper so that I can’t hear, but I know he’s telling Este that he’s got this, and she can take a break.

Take a break. I’d like a fucking break from this.

Este protests. She’s been here, it’s fine. But Marcus is insistent, and I know in the back of my head that Este must be exhausted from sitting in this cesspool with me for days.

I’m too tired to fight with either one of them. After a moment, Este lets herself out through the side door, and Marcus releases me to start pulling things out of drawers in the kitchen.

All I want to do is put this misery back in its box. Sleep. Sleep will do that. A tiny taste of oblivion. I trudge upstairs, get into my bed, and drift away.

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