“I’m not ready to say,” Irene said.
Both women understood why Irene wasn’t answering the question. Luna and Irene were good friends, maybe great friends, but Luna’s primary allegiance was to Owen.
“I understand,” Luna said.
“I better go,” Irene said as she left her mug in the sink. “Is there any chance you can keep this conversation between us?”
“Of course,” Luna said.
They both knew she was lying.
* * *
—
Later that afternoon, Owen texted Luna.
Owen: Halfway at 5?
He was suggesting a drink at their local bar. After her morning conversation with Irene, Luna wondered whether that was a good idea.
Luna: Maybe you should go home.
Owen: Why?
Luna wasn’t ready to answer that question.
Luna: One drink.
Owen: Be there in 20.
Luna arrived at the Halfway House first. She ordered a bourbon and checked her phone to get Owen’s ETA. She’d convinced him to install the app years ago after he’d left her waiting over an hour at the train station. At least she’d know if he was stuck in traffic, almost there, or truly off-grid. She could see the Owen dot moving on Route 9. He was less than ten minutes out. She then texted her husband to tell him she wouldn’t be home for dinner. Book club, she lied.
After five minutes, her husband replied: K.
The Halfway House was a dive so divey that Owen and Luna could safely assume they’d never run into anyone they knew. Finding a place in a small town where you could remain entirely anonymous made up for a sticky bar-top and filthy restrooms. After a few drinks you didn’t notice the grime or the sour stench anyway.
When Owen arrived, he ordered a dirty martini with three olives. He would switch to an entirely different drink after that, never able to stick with just one. He was obsessed with variety, which Luna had only recently correlated with his inability to stay faithful.
“What’s Irene up to?” Luna asked.
“I don’t know,” Owen said. “She left this morning and I haven’t heard from her all day.”
Owen and Irene weren’t the kind of couple who routinely checked in. In fact, it was fair to say they were the opposite. Early in the relationship, Owen established a pattern of going AWOL, which Irene soon learned to mimic so she could feel a sense of parity. That said, if Owen repeatedly texted his wife, she’d usually respond.
“I saw her this morning,” Luna said.
“What did you talk about?” Owen asked.
“Bigfoot,” Luna said, after a pause. “Apparently the secret to surviving—”
“I’ve heard it already. She’s been listening to that podcast nonstop. It’s getting weird,” Owen said. “Do me a favor and send her a text. See if she gets back to you?”
Luna typed: Run tmrw? 8:30? and immediately felt virtuous, as if she’d already taken the run.
“Maybe she’s ignoring you,” Luna said.
“Why would she do that?”
“Maybe you did something bad,” Luna said.
The bartender served Owen his martini. Owen lifted the toothpick of three olives from his glass and offered them to Luna, who bit the first one off. Owen took the second one and dropped the third back in the martini glass. He was debating how to answer. His silence gave Luna the impetus to keep pushing.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Owen said without any conviction.
“Who is she?” Luna said.
“No one.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a no one?”
“Because I can’t stand that judgy way you look at me.”
Owen finished his martini and slid the empty glass with the lone olive in front of Luna. She ate the olive and finished her bourbon. They ordered another round—bourbon for Luna, a gimlet for Owen.
“She’s a student, I assume,” Luna said.
“Why do you assume that?”
“Where else are you going to meet women?”
“Women are everywhere, if you haven’t noticed,” Owen said.
“So, a student?”
Owen nodded.
“You’re so boring,” Luna said, disappointed by his lack of originality.
“That’s it,” Owen said, pointing at Luna’s face. “That look. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
Owen picked up Luna’s phone as if it were his own and looked for a response from Irene. “Now I’m worried,” he said.
“Don’t be. She links me with you. When she’s angry at you, she’s also a little angry at me.”
“So, she knows?” Owen asked, trying to read Luna’s expression.
“I don’t know,” Luna said.
“Spill it. What did she say?”
“She said you had a side piece,” Luna said.
Owen took a sip of his sour drink. He liked the idea of gimlets more than gimlets themselves. “She actually said side piece?”
“Yes, but then she switched to paramour.”
“Huh,” Owen said. “It’s enough that she dresses like a mobster.”
“You have any other response to what I just said?”
“How’d she find out?” Owen asked.
He felt mildly queasy and took another sip of his drink, which didn’t help.
“Don’t know,” Luna said. “Tell me about her, your…paramour.”
“She’s just a sculptor with spectacular tits.”
“You need to listen to yourself sometimes,” Luna said, rolling her eyes. “Does she have a name?”
“Amy. It didn’t mean anything,” Owen said.
“Did it mean something to Amy?”
“No,” Owen said. Although he couldn’t say for sure.
“Was she the first?” Luna asked.
Owen tried to ignore the question.
“How many?” Luna asked.
Owen knew that she was asking not as a concerned friend but as an advocate for Irene.
“Not many,” Owen said.
“Oh god. Jesus, Owen.” Luna made a face like she’d swallowed a bug.
“Only two. I really tried for Irene,” Owen said.
Luna finished her drink and threw a few bills on the bar.
“Don’t tell her I told you, okay?” Luna said. “Whether you stay together or not, she’s my friend too. I’m not taking sides.”
“Bullshit, Luna. You can’t be Switzerland.”
“Watch me.”
That night, Owen returned to an empty home. He left a few more messages on Irene’s cell and wondered how she had learned of the sculptor. Another man might have called the police. Owen went to bed.
* * *