25. Chapter 25
Chapter 25
Stephanie
I t takes three glasses of wine and talking myself into it for days before I work up the nerve to check Alan’s phone. I wait for him to fall asleep before me. Nearly an hour passes before his breathing becomes even and slow. I ease out of bed and round to his side. His phone lies on the side table, locked. Slowly, and with enough ringing in my ears that it may wake him, I slide his phone under his limp hand for a fingerprint.
The screen comes to life and my heart nearly barrels out of my chest. Rushing into the closet on quiet toes, I slip the door closed. If he catches me using my phone to take photos of his contacts, it’s not going to end well.
I’ve never gone through someone else’s phone, but his messages, or lack thereof, are concerning. While my own recent conversations include Randi, Maci, Mother, Alan, committee members, the dentist, bill reminders, and random others, Alan’s are scant. My own name and two other women.
After videoing the messages in record speed, I place the phone back on the bedside table. The box for the security system is in our closet, and I’m able to clear the last few minutes of camera footage before slipping back into bed. Thankfully, though there is a camera in the bedroom, there isn’t one in the bathroom or closet that I need to worry about.
I don’t fall asleep for hours. Between wanting to investigate the messages and worrying that he’ll find out what I’ve done and I won’t actually wake up, it’s the early hours of the morning before my body relaxes.
Even when I do finally fall asleep, every little sound wakes me. As soon as Alan stirs in the bed, I get up for the day.
He dresses in a dark suit, similar to what he wore to Mother’s funeral. He’s still not told me about Colt’s death.
“You look nice.” I run my hand down the soft lapel.
He grips my wrist firmly in one hand. “I’ll handle you after I get back.”
Handle . He hasn’t handled my needs more than a handful of times, accidentally at that, since we’ve been married. Although, given the circumstances, I’m not sure if that’s what he means in this instance.
Pressing my lips out in a soft pout, I nod. “I’m surprised you have a meeting so soon after getting home.”
He never does—something else I’ve observed. He’s a creature of habit.
He grunts a response but eyes me over the top of his glasses rim studiously. His brown eyes never did anything for me. Not like the sparkle of James’ green. I drop my gaze and turn away. The least interested I seem, the better.
I mill around the house, tidying up things that don’t need tidying and staring at the pages of a book I’m not reading, until he finally leaves. He’s in a terrible mood and doesn’t acknowledge me before he goes.
The moment his Mercedes leaves the drive, I hurry up the stairs to retrieve my phone and shut off the cameras. I’ve never done it before, because I had nothing to hide, but I’ve watched him enough times to know how. My frantic heartbeat is almost deafening.
The last time I remember packing this quickly was when James and I eloped.
I choose the largest suitcase and fill it with as many items as I can shove in, including the things I just relocated from Mother’s, before grabbing my purse, phone charger, and a file of important documents from a filing cabinet in the office. I’d be surprised if ten minutes go by between Alan leaving and when I hurry out to my car. I don’t stop again until I’m at the halfway mark between our house in Dallas and Bull Creek.
I stop at a ridiculously large, busy gas station. Alan and I never stop here. Tucking my car in an inside lane in the middle of the melee, I set the gas to pumping and take my phone with me to the tiny, fenced dog area, sitting on a bench under a tree.
My hands shake as I pull up the photo of Kathryn’s number. This could all be a wild goose chase.
Does star sixty-seven still make a number private? I try it anyway when I call.
Her voice is poised, demure, when she answers. “Hello?”
She sounds like me. Is it her natural tone, or an affected one?
“Hello?” Her voice is louder the second time.
“Is this Kathryn?” Somehow, my voice comes out steady.
“Yes? Who’s calling?”
What am I risking if I tell her the truth?
Everything. I’m risking everything.
“My name is Stephanie.” I wait. “Stephanie Young.”
“Young?” She startles. “Do I know you?”
“I think we have someone in common.” My anger renews. It’s what I need to continue. “Alan.”
“Alan?” She falls silent again. I wait. “How do you know Alan?”
“He’s my husband,” I say, flatly.
“I beg your pardon!” She nearly shrieks through the phone. “Is this a joke?” She’s angry. As she should be. He’s lied to us both, and for who knows how long.
“I’ve been married to Alan for ten years.”
“We’re obviously talking about two different people. I’ve been married to Alan for six years, and people can’t marry more than one person.” Her tone indicates that she thinks she’s solved our problem.
“Where do you think I got your number from?”
“I—” She falters. “I have no idea where you got my number from.”
“Alan Young from Texas is my husband. He’s here now.”
“Let me talk to him.” She almost spits the words.
“He’s on his way to a funeral.” I think.
“Convenient,” she mutters. “Well, no one in Alan’s life has passed recently, so we must be talking about different people.”
I rattle off his number to her and she quiets. “You sent him a text yesterday to make sure he arrived at the hotel ok. He was showering in our bathroom.”
There’s silence and then she whispers, “This is insanity.”
“The last ten years have been insanity. This is reality.” It’s now or never. “I’d like to compare some things, if you’re comfortable.”
“Might as well. I’ve devoted years to this prick. If you’re right, I’m about to burn all of his clothes on the lawn.”
Her idea doesn’t sound half bad.