Only a few items remain on my list now.
I open my laptop and clear my browser history, wiping away evidence of my recent investigations. I double-check to make sure my searches into airline tickets and small, non-chain motels are no longer visible to anyone who might access my computer.
Emma does not understand Richard as I do. She cannot grasp what he is truly capable of. It’s impossible to imagine what he becomes in his worst moments.
Richard will simply move on unless I stop him. He’ll be more careful, though. He will find a way to rotate the kaleidoscope and sweep away the current reality, forming a bright, distracting new image.
I lay my outfit on my bed and take a long, hot shower, trying to ease the tightness in my muscles. I wrap myself in my bathrobe and clear the fog from the mirror above the sink.
Two and a half hours left.
First my hair. I brush back the damp strands into a tight bun. I carefully apply makeup and select the diamond stud earrings Richard gave me for our second anniversary. I fasten my Cartier Tank watch around my wrist. It’s essential that I am able to keep track of every second.
The dress I’ve selected is one I wore when Richard and I went to Bermuda. A classic snow-white sheath. It could almost serve as a wedding dress for a simple beachside ceremony. It is one of the outfits he sent back to me a few weeks ago.
I’ve chosen it not only for its history, and for its possibilities, but also because it has pockets.
Two hours remain.
I slip on a pair of flats, then gather the items I will need.
I tear up my list into tiny bits, then flush them down the toilet. I watch as they swirl away, the ink blurring.
A final act I must do remains before I leave. It is the most wrenching item on my list. It will require every bit of strength and all of the acting expertise I have accumulated.
I find Aunt Charlotte in the extra bedroom that serves as her studio. The door is open.
Canvases are stacked three deep throughout the room. Splatters of succulent colors layer the soft wood floor. For a moment, I surrender to the beauty: cerulean skies, clinquant stars, the horizon in the ephemeral moment before dawn. A rhapsody of wildflowers. The weathered grain of an old table. A Parisian bridge spanning the Seine. The curve of a woman’s cheek, her skin milky white and creased by age. I know this face so well; it is my aunt’s self-portrait.
Aunt Charlotte is lost in the landscape she is creating. Her strokes are looser than they have been in the past; her style more forgiving.
I want to capture her like this in my memory.
After a few moments she looks up and blinks. “Oh, I didn’t see you there, honey.”
“I don’t want to disturb you,” I say softly. “I’m heading out for a bit, but I’ve left lunch for you in the kitchen.”
“You look nice. Where are you off to?”
“A job interview. I don’t want to jinx it, but I’ll tell you about it tonight.”
My eyes fall on a canvas across the room: a laundry line hanging outside a building above a Venetian canal, the shirts and pants and skirts billowing in a breeze I can almost feel.
“You have to promise me one thing before I go.”
“Bossy today, aren’t you?” Aunt Charlotte teases.
“Seriously. It’s important. Will you go to Italy before the end of the summer?”
The smile fades from Aunt Charlotte’s lips. “Is something wrong?”
I desperately want to cross the room and hold on to her, but I fear if I do, I might not be able to leave.
This is all in my letter, anyway:
Remember that day when you taught me about how sunlight contains all the colors of the rainbow? You were my sunlight. You taught me how to find rainbows. . . . Please go to Italy for us. You will always carry me with you.
I shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong. I was planning on taking you as a surprise. But I’m worried if I get this job, we won’t be able to go together. That’s all.”
“Let’s not think about that now. You just focus on your interview. When is it?”
I check my watch. “Ninety minutes.”
“Good luck.”
I blow her a kiss and imagine it landing on her soft cheek.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
For the second time in my life, I stand in a white dress at the end of a narrow swath of blue, waiting for Richard to approach.
The elevator doors close behind him. But he is motionless.
I feel the intensity of his gaze all the way down at my end of the hallway. I’ve been deliberately stoking his anger for days, coaxing it from the place where he struggles to keep it buried. It is the opposite of how I taught myself to behave during my marriage.
“Are you surprised, sweetheart? It’s me, Nellie.”
It is precisely two o’clock. Emma is a dozen yards from where I stand, in her living room, with Maureen. Neither of them knows I am here; I snuck into the building an hour ago by trailing a deliveryman through the door. I knew exactly when the uniformed man carrying the long rectangular box would arrive. It was I who placed the order for a dozen white roses to be sent to Emma this afternoon.
“I thought you were out of town,” he says.
“I changed my mind. I wanted to have another chat with your fiancée.”
My hands are touching a few different objects in my pockets. Which I pull out first will depend on Richard’s reaction. Richard takes a step onto the carpet runner. It is almost impossible for me to avoid shrinking back. Despite the summer heat, his dark suit, white shirt, and gold silk tie appear creaseless and elegant. He isn’t unhinged yet, not the way I need him to be.
“Really? And what do you intend to say to her?” His voice is dangerously quiet.
“I’m going to start with this.” I pull out a piece of paper. “It’s your Visa bill showing you never ordered the Raveneau.” He’s too far away to see the fine print and realize it’s actually one of my own statements.
I need to press on before he demands to see the proof. I smile at Richard, though my stomach is churning. “I’m also going to explain to Emma that you are tracking her through her phone.” I keep my voice as low and steady as his. “Just like you did to me.”
I can almost feel his body clench. “You’ve gone over the edge, Vanessa.” Another measured step. “This is my fiancée you’re messing with. After everything I went through with you, you’re trying to ruin this now?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I gauge the distance to Emma’s apartment door. I tense my body in preparation.
“You lied about Duke. I know what you did with him, and I’m going to tell Emma.” This isn’t true—I never found out what happened to my beloved dog, although I truly don’t think Richard actually harmed him—but it hits its target. I see Richard’s face compress in rage.
“And you lied about the sperm analysis, too.” My mouth is so dry it’s difficult to form the words. I take a step backward, toward Emma’s door. “Thank God you couldn’t get me pregnant. You don’t deserve to have a child. I took photos after you hurt me. I collected evidence. You didn’t think I was smart enough, did you?”
I’ve carefully chosen words I know will incite my ex-husband.
They are working.
“Emma is going to leave you when I tell her everything.” I can no longer keep my voice from shaking. But the truth it contains is undeniable. “Just like the woman before me left you.” I take a deep breath and deliver my closing lines. “I wanted to leave you, too. I was never your sweet Nellie. I didn’t want to stay married to you, Richard.”
He explodes in fury.
This I expected.
But I miscalculated how quickly he would lose all control, how fast he would be.
He is upon me before I have taken more than a few running steps toward Emma’s door.