Chapter Six—Dalen #3
Stop looking at me like I’m a problem you’re trying to solve.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Nothing. Just be there.”
I rub my forehead. “That’s what I’m doing.”
“I know.”
The reassurance bothers me coming from her. I glance at the time. “I have to go. Talk to Julie directly.”
“I will.”
I hang up and sit without moving for a minute. Then I open the screenshot Meg sent this morning.
Incoming call from Julie. 11:17 PM. Three minutes.
I know what I saw last night. Julie beside me in bed, with her phone on the nightstand...except for the few minutes I went downstairs.
I hate that my mind supplies the exception now.
I close the screenshot as Dr. Petrov’s warning comes back to me. If I look for signs that support one explanation, I’ll find them. I’m not going to do that.
JULIE IS ALREADY HOME when I arrive. I hear music from the kitchen as soon as I open the door.
She’s standing at the island with her laptop, moving fabric images around on the screen while a glass of wine waits beside her. She looks up. “Hi.”
I cross the room and kiss her.
She hooks one hand around the back of my neck and keeps me there long enough to make it clear lunch is forgiven. I take advantage before she finally pulls away smiling.
“Better.”
“Much.”
“There’s pasta in the oven.”
I look toward it. “You cooked?”
She grins. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
“You usually make me order food on Mondays.”
“I had nervous energy.”
The phrase catches my attention.
Julie sees it happen, and her smile disappears. “Seriously?”
I close my eyes.
“Dalen.” She shuts the laptop. “What is going on with you?”
This is the moment. I can tell her. I should. My phone is in my pocket with Meg’s screenshot. Dr. Petrov’s... I could explain everything in five minutes.
I look at my wife. She’s tired of being watched. If I tell her I went to a doctor today, she’ll hear that I’ve already decided something is wrong with her.
I haven’t. “I don’t know how to help you,” I say.
Her anger softens.
“I hate that.” I rest my hands on the edge of the island. “Every time something happens, I check the cameras or call security or change a lock, and we still don’t have an answer.”
Julie steps closer and rests her hands against my chest. “You don’t have to fix everything.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “I’m bad at this part.”
“What part?”
I put my hands on her hips. “Waiting.”
Her expression finally warms. “You are spectacularly bad at waiting.”
“I know.”
She wraps her arms around my waist, and I hold her.
I’m a fixer. It’s what I do, and I don’t know what happens if I don’t fix it.
We eat pasta at the island. Julie tells me about work, and I make myself listen without turning every complaint into evidence of stress or exhaustion. When she loses her train of thought halfway through a story about Laurent, I wait.
She remembers it ten seconds later, and I don’t react. That I have to make a conscious decision not to scares me.
After dinner, she leaves her wineglass beside the sink and goes upstairs to shower. I load the dishwasher and check the doors.
All locked. The alarm is set, and every camera is working.
When I go upstairs, Julie is already in bed reading. She lowers her book when I come in. “You’re checking the locks now.”
“I always check them.”
“You started after that Sunday.”
“Probably.” I take off my watch and put it on the dresser. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” Her mouth curves faintly. “I kind of like it.”
I get into bed and kiss her. She closes her book and sets it on the nightstand, then reaches for me again.
For a while, there’s no house, no cameras, no photograph, no missing necklace, and no call I don’t understand. There’s only Julie beneath my hands, laughing softly when I catch my knee in the blanket and nearly drag it off the bed.
She pulls it back over us afterward. “Very smooth.”
“I recovered.”
“You almost fell on the floor.”
I tuck the blanket beneath my arm. “Exaggeration.”
“You made a noise.” She imitates something that sounds like an injured bear.
I kiss her to stop it.
She laughs against my mouth, and I hold on to that sound.
Later, she’s asleep with her head on my shoulder when her phone lights up on the nightstand.
I glance at it.
A message from Meg.
You okay?
It’s addressed to Julie.
I look away. Thirty seconds later, the screen goes dark without Julie moving.
I should be relieved Meg is doing what I told her to do and contacting her sister directly. Instead, I lie awake thinking about a call that happened last night.
After a few minutes, I carefully reach across Julie and pick up my own phone. I open Meg’s screenshot one more time, then delete it.
The call happened or it didn’t. Staring at a picture of it won’t tell me which.
I put the phone away and look down at Julie. Her face is relaxed in sleep, and I slide my arm more securely around her.
Tomorrow, if I’m worried, I’ll talk to her. That’s what Dr. Petrov told me to do. That’s what I should’ve done today.
I close my eyes knowing I spent the entire day making decisions about my wife without her. I need to stop doing that and talk to her.