Page 85 of Two Couples

I nodded. “Who was he?”

“That’s not important right now.”

I got up and went to the couch. I put my mug on the table and sat beside her, resting my arm loosely across her shoulders, gently rubbing her upper arm.

“But the thing is,” she said, “he wants to know where I am every minute. He assumes something’s wrong if I don’t answer a text within five minutes. I love him so much, but I think marriage is healthier is there’s some space, some things you don’t know about each other. It’s not like he’s a control freak, or that he’s trying to dictate my life and how I spend my time. But it’s just too much sometimes. I need space. He should need space.”

“Space is good.” My response sounded limp. I felt like the most useless friend ever. Her husband had walked out on her at one of the worst moments in their lives. And he’d accused her of an affair.

I believed Emily. She would never cheat on Keith. Her devotion to him had been clear to me long before they were engaged, and it had never wavered. I was fully aware that no one knows what’s going on in a marriage except the participants. Sometimes, not even them. But Emily and I had spent countless hours together. I would have seen a crack somewhere if she was no longer connected to him in every way imaginable. Emily was practical and clear-headed. She wouldn’t cheat. We shared almost everything with each other, and if she’d met someone else, even casually, she would have told me. She had no hesitation telling me about their occasional arguments, disagreements over petty issues, and even hints about their sex life. Emily was not cheating and I couldn’t understand how Keith had come to that conclusion.

Now, all I’d done was mumble a platitude. “Why do you think he wants to know where you are all the time? I don’t think I’d like that either. Not that I’m trying to hide anything, but I’d feel⁠—”

“Smothered?”

“Yes.” I knew I sounded hesitant. It was all a matter of degree. Where is that line between knowing someone desires and cares about you, and smothering? Controlling. Stalking. I had no idea. It was all so nuanced. Sometimes, yes, you knew. But other times, especially in a marriage, it was blurry. “I feel sick that you’re going through this. Do you think you should go home now? So you can talk?”

She shook her head. “No. If he really wanted to leave, which obviously he did, then I guess we do need time to sort things out alone. But I’m not sure I’ll be doing much sorting. I’ll probably be numbing myself.” Her laugh was sharp and sounded like defeat.

We sat beside each other, not talking. I didn’t reach for my tea. It was probably cold now, and it felt like any movement would break our connection. She knew I felt her pain. I didn’t need to keep talking about it.

The silence stretched on. Then, a scream that pierced my eardrums like a knife filled the room, coming through the open window beside the front door.

SIXTY-THREE

SAMANTHA

Emily and I bolted off the couch and raced to the front door. As I reached for the handle, Emily grabbed my shoulder. “Wait. Maybe we shouldn’t go out there.”

“Why not? We need to know what’s happening.”

“What if she’s armed?”

I laughed, my tone manic. “Why would one of them come to our house armed, and then scream? Armed with what?”

“I don’t know, but we already know they’re unbalanced.”

Were they? Both of them? She spoke as if they were a single entity, and I knew that wasn’t the case. I pushed Emily’s hand off my shoulder, threw open the front door, and lunged onto the porch.

Jordan stood at the foot of the stairs. Her hair was tucked inside a baseball cap and she was hugging a man’s shoe to her chest. Her face was contorted with despair. She pointed to something I couldn’t see.

“What happened?” I started down the stairs, Emily’s panic still in my mind. I didn’t see a weapon, but why was she hugging a shoe?

She was crying; pitiful, pained sounds coming out of her. She rocked herself slightly, twisting from side to side as if she was trying to soothe a baby.

I took another step down. “What’s wrong? Do you want to come inside?”

I heard Emily behind me. “Don’t. Do not let her into our house,” she whispered. “We need to stay away from her, from both of them.”

I reached out my hand. Jordan took it, still clutching the shoe in her other arm. She let me lead her up the stairs and into our entryway. “Can I get you a glass of water? Tea?”

She continued crying, hiccupping every few seconds. I guided her toward the living room and settled her on the couch. Emily stood at the edge of the entryway, staring at us with an expression of absolute horror. She acted as if I was settling a ferocious wild animal inside our living room.

I tried to take the shoe out of Jordan’s hand, but she wrapped her other arm around her body, keeping a firm grip on it.

“Emily, will you get her some water?”

Emily disappeared into the kitchen. My shoulders relaxed. At least she wasn’t going to drag Jordan out of our house, dump her on the front porch, and lock the door. I sat beside Jordan. “Why are you holding that shoe?”