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

office and closed the door, talking in a hushed voice. James wasn’t exactly spying, but he wanted to know what was going on. He could usually read people pretty well and thought that while Bella was a bit of a talker, she seemed personable and genuine.

James was sitting in the living room, petting Candy’s head when Robert finished. James turned to him, and Robert’s face was white.

“We have a problem, James.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s no one named Bella Johnson working at the Valley Lake Blaze.” Robert’s face was lined with worry. “I know a guy,” Robert said. “It might take a few days, but I’ll find out who rented that car.”

Who the hell did they just talk to?

29

Tessa

After Jupiter’s opened back up last month with the redesign, people in town asked Michael who he’d used. I just took another meeting with Frankie at Romano’s, a local Italian eatery.

They’re a typical “pizza joint” with a few sets of old, rickety wooden tables to the left with the pizza bar on the right. The tables are covered with plastic red-and-white-checked tablecloths which have grease stains embedded in them from years of use. Parmesan in metal tins with tiny spoons sit next to the salt and pepper shakers, and each table has a plastic daisy in a red plastic vase that both look like they were bought on discount from the dollar store. The dining room in the back has six booths, three on each side, with a big round table that can fit ten in the middle. The table has a linen tablecloth, and there are linen napkins under each set of utensils.

Frankie said he wants to modernize the whole space. Keep the old-school Italian look, but also keep up with a clientele that doesn’t want to use paper plates and napkins from a metal dispenser on the table. His budget isn’t as big as Jupiter’s, but I can still make a couple grand. James, of course, is proud of me and wants to have dinner somewhere new tonight to celebrate. He really is perfect, always showcasing even my smallest accomplishments.

Not like when I got an A in second or third grade, on a math test I studied really hard for, and I brought it home to my mother, proud. She didn’t say a word to me, but instead was happy to use it as a napkin when she drunkenly knocked over her bottle of vodka. I couldn’t tell if the red-marker A was bleeding into the paper because it was wet, or if my tears made it blurry. Either way, I didn’t have much ambition after that. Why bother? Every moment of accomplishment in my life had simply opened the door to disappointment. When Caroline, another girl at school, got straight As, she came in the next day with a tray of fresh baked cupcakes for the whole class, a gift from her mother. All I ever got as a gift were bruises and an occasional hot meal, and by hot, I mean microwaved. Who microwaves ground chuck roast with salt and considers that gourmet? I still gag thinking about it.

But that life is over, and I’m where I’m supposed to be.

James comes home with daffodils, and I place them in a vase with a penny. I read online that placing a penny at the bottom of a vase of water with daffodils or tulips makes them grow up straight and not wilt. Of course, I now use that tip in my business’s Instagram.

Maybe I do know what I’m doing, degree or not. James still believes I went to RISD. I have to tell him the truth. About a lot of things. James doesn’t lie to me. I decide to tell him at dinner.

We get in the car and he drives to a place at the beach, one we haven’t been to before. It’s only six o’clock on a Friday, so the real weekenders haven’t swarmed yet, and we’re seated without a reservation. James orders a bottle of red and holds my hand across the table.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, his smile wide as his face. “You’re going to be the most sought-after designer for the whole county soon. Possibly the whole state.”

I grin back at him, my cheeks full but not showing any teeth. “Thanks. I actually wanted to talk to you about all of this. About my previous design experience. It’s important.”

“Oh?” His face shows concern, and he clasps his other hand over mine. “Everything okay?”

I open my mouth to say it. I swear, I was going to. But out of nowhere, a girl comes by our table and throws a glass of water at James’s head.

“That’s what you get, asshole!”

Asshole. The word reverberates.

The restaurant is still half full, and everyone turns to observe. Who is this woman? She’s tiny and dark haired, with severe dark eyeliner and heavy eye shadow, maybe even fake eyelashes. She’s in a pink sundress with too-high wedges strapped to her feet, making her look like she was going to tip over.

I barely have time to react, and James is wiping his face with a napkin. “Jesus Christ.”

The girl looks at me. “So, who the hell are you? You know he has a girlfriend, right?” She turns her anger back to James. “You never even broke up with me. Way to be mature.”

My blood thickens. “James, who is this?” Why did she look familiar?

She whips to my direction again. “I’m Joanna; who the hell are you?”

“His wife.”

I want to whisper it, but I don’t. I say it with agency. James takes that as me being in his corner, which I am most certainly not at this very moment, but that’s a talk for when we’re alone.

“His what ?” Joanna is not amused.

James, after taking my napkin and wiping the water left on his face, sticks his left hand in the air, showing his wedding ring.

“Well, this is terrific,” she says, then turns to the girl who appears by her side and takes her