His Missing Wife by Jaime Hendricks (nice books to read .TXT) 📕

here, and finally sold it once they empty-nested and realized they’d be happier in a senior adult community where they didn’t have to worry about shoveling show or mowing lawns. They were motivated, accepted our initial offer, and we closed two weeks later.

I note the time, and I have at least an hour to start dinner. James wants me to learn how to drive and get a car, and eventually I’ll have to tell him why I can’t do that. I should’ve come clean in the beginning, when we got married. About my fake ID and how I procured it. But that would’ve opened up a whole other can of worms, one that I was happy was still closed and sealed.

That being said, I haven’t heard from Maribel at all. I haven’t even googled Drew. It’s because I’m moving forward and I’m happy. But the sick part of me that’s been abused not only for the last four years but for the last fifteen needs closure.

I google him. Nothing.

The burner phone I use to communicate with Maribel is hidden in a knee-high winter boot in the back of my closet. After dusting it off, I try to turn it on, but it doesn’t go on—likely out of juice, since it’s been sitting here for a month. I plug it into the charger, the lights blink, and I wait for voicemail or text notifications from her. She must be wondering what happened to me.

I wait.

Nothing.

After ten minutes, the phone is at almost fifty percent charge, so I know I don’t have any notifications. She’s not looking for me.

Or. Or Drew did something to her. I text her.

Hey! I haven’t heard from you. Is everything ok?

I wait anxiously for a reply, hugging my knees into my chest while I lean against the bed. Then, I rush downstairs to the office and google Maribel Lopez. The regular stuff pops up. Her LinkedIn, her private Facebook, her private Instagram handle. Nothing about a murder or a domestic disturbance.

Thank God.

I text her again.

I’m afraid Drew did something to you. Are you ok?

I wait for a few minutes and then decide it’s time to check out caterers online. We’re having people from the bank over on Friday night after work, just a couple of days from now, to celebrate James’s promotion to manager. It happened on Monday, and I beamed when he told me—like I need anything to be prouder of him. He wasn’t as happy as I thought he’d be, told me with a smile and then shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. I knew he was competing with that girl Rosita and it was a huge deal that he won.

We’re only having twelve people over, so I don’t go crazy ordering. Three different salads: One lettuce, one pasta, and one vegetable mix, two trays each of baked ziti and chicken francese, and a cookie platter for after. That will go along with the congratulatory sheet cake I ordered from the bakery, personalized for him.

The best part about all of it is that I paid for it with my own money. The job at Jupiter’s got me a three-thousand-dollar consulting fee, which I’m not sure is good or bad, but I earned it myself. I had a thirty-thousand-dollar budget to make the space industrial and clean. I opted for black and gold linear pendant lights hanging from the ceiling, and picked a rich red for the walls, speckled with gold. I suggested new furniture, and no linen tablecloths, but made the room look richly elegant with sleek black tables and black metal chairs with red cushions, red dinnerware, and gold cloth napkins. It came out warm. Sexy.

And because I met my wonderful husband, I was able to get the job, because he believes in me. And I believe in him, and I want to show my gratitude in every way possible.

My thoughts are interrupted by a buzz. From the burner phone. Like an athlete, I hurdle to the other side of the kitchen where I’d placed it on the counter near the stove.

Can I see you?

It’s from Maribel. My first thought is thank God she’s alive, and my second is immediately no. I write back.

Maribel! I was worried about you. Why do you need to see me? I’m hundreds of miles away

I wait.

Can you talk?

I call her, and she answers on the first ring.

“Hey, Tessa. I haven’t heard from you in a while,” she says.

“I know. I’ve been getting my life together.”

“How’s that going?”

“So far, so good!” I pause, still guarded, even though it’s her. “Just doing my thing. What’s going on over there? With Drew?”

She scoffs. “You know him. He has everyone in his back pocket. He’s called in favors from local law enforcement around here. It’s pretty much dropped, as far as the cops are concerned. No one cared about the affair when I told the police. Everyone thinks you left him.”

“But what about the article? The blood?”

“They questioned him. He had an alibi. A hundred people saw him at that gala. Without a body, there’s nothing to go on.”

“Oh, Jesus.” I say it, concerned, but I get over it quickly—Drew is my past. I can’t let my need for revenge bleed into my current life. I no longer care, and I won’t get dragged into it anymore. “All’s well that ends well.”

“You seem better,” she says. “What have you been doing?”

I can’t give away too much. I just need to let her know that I’m okay, and she will be too. “I got a job. I’ve been hanging out at the shore. Made some friends. Met some neighbors. It’s all good. A new beginning. One I never thought possible.” My voice lowers, out of the shame of my past. “For someone like me.”

Someone like me. What a loaded statement. According to the mold, I’m supposed to be on welfare and pregnant with my fourth kid, from a third baby daddy. Addicted to drugs, working at the checkout at the grocery store,