Despite the time I’d spent at the restaurant I hadn’t actually eaten or drunk anything, so my first port of call at home was the kitchen. I was vaguely thinking of ordering Chinese when my eye fell on Carolyn’s mug, still sitting on the countertop. I wasn’t happy with the way she’d behaved that evening, but that didn’t stop me worrying about her. Or wondering if I’d been too harsh, accusing her of only wanting the memory stick to appease LeBrock. Maybe she had been looking out for me? So when I pulled out my phone it was Carolyn’s number I summoned from the directory, not a take-out service.
Her phone rang. And rang. But she didn’t answer. Eventually I was dumped into her voicemail, and as I listened to the bland generic greeting—she hadn’t bothered to record one of her own—I couldn’t help wondering if she’d seen the call was from me and ignored it on purpose. That was all it took to send the pendulum swinging back the opposite way, so when I heard the beep I followed the anonymous announcer’s instructions, and I left a message. Not a very pleasant message. But when—if—Carolyn listened to it, even she would have to acknowledge the change. Because I certainly didn’t hold anything back that time.
——
STANDING IN THE KITCHEN with my absent wife’s discarded mug in one hand and an unanswered phone in the other, I realized I don’t usually spend much time in the house on my own. Not unless I’m doing something specific, like working or watching a game on TV. Then, I’m only really aware of the room I’m in. But for the first time I was conscious of the entire, empty structure massing around me. Six thousand vacant square feet. Each one emphasizing Carolyn’s absence. The fact that I’d done nothing to stop her leaving. And had failed to convince her to come back.
I needed to distract myself. Urgently. But how? Work was out. The computer wouldn’t be ready yet. Food? I dumped the mug, wandered into the dining room, and decided I wasn’t hungry. There was a TV in the living room, and another in the den, but nothing I wanted to watch. There were books in my study, but nothing I wanted to read. I wasn’t tired. I didn’t want to exercise. Of all the possibilities our home had to offer, nothing seemed interesting. And nothing could distract me from wondering where Carolyn had stormed off to.
Her words from the afternoon started to ring in my head. How does a pitcher of margaritas sound to you? So I crossed the room, opened the liquor cabinet, and smiled at the irony. There’d been tequila in the house the whole time. One bottle we’d already started, and another still in its box. What if we’d just got drunk, together, instead of arguing? And with that thought in mind, I did another thing I don’t normally do. Fixed a drink for myself. Then another. And another. And I’m not sure how many others after that …
Tuesday. Morning.
NEVER KICK A MAN WHILE HE’S DOWN MY PARENTS USED TO SAY.
It’s a shame no one ever urged the hangover I had the next morning to show the same restraint. It had already been to work on my head and my stomach before I woke up, replacing my brain with molten lava and filling my gut with swamp water. Then, once I was conscious, it moved on to my heart, waiting till I’d reached out across the pillow in search of Carolyn to smack me with the memory of why she wasn’t there.
I staggered to the bathroom and once the urge to throw up had subsided, I dosed myself with Advil then headed downstairs in search of caffeine. But when I reached the hallway, all thoughts of coffee were put on hold. I stopped dead in my tracks. Because the front door was standing wide open.
My first thought was that Carolyn had come home. My heart raced, and the pain and sickness were forgotten as I called her name and ran to the kitchen. I pictured her standing at the stove, humming as she cooked something delicious for breakfast. Sitting by the French doors, reading one of the historical novels she loves so much. Even striding around the room, brandishing a random utensil and looking to reignite the fight over the memory sticks. Anything would be better than her not being there at all …
There was no answer to my call. When I reached the room, it was as empty as it had been the night before. I shouted again, louder, and went to check the dining room. It was deserted. As was the living room. And the den. I even looked for her in my study. Then I wondered if she could be upstairs, in one of the spare bedrooms. I started back along the hallway, and two other thoughts crossed my mind: If she was back, her car would be in the driveway. And if she was in the house, why had she left the door open?
Maybe she’d gone outside to get something from her trunk? She hadn’t taken any luggage with her, but she could have bought clothes or overnight things after she left. I diverted to the doorway and looked out. My Jaguar was where I’d parked it yesterday. But there was no sign of Carolyn’s Beemer. Only the tracks it had left in the gravel when she’d sped off.
What about a taxi? Maybe she’d continued drinking, and had taken a cab home? She’d always been responsible that way. And because the trip was unplanned, she may not have had much cash with her. She could have come inside to get enough to pay the driver. I went all the way to the street to see, but again, there was nothing.
I stood at the end of my driveway, deflated, suddenly aware of the pain in my head, the cold pavement beneath my bare feet, and the wind tugging at my pajama top. I saw that I’d misaligned two of the buttons, causing it to gape open around my stomach. And then a question popped into my mind, far more hurtful than the embarrassment or the physical discomfort. The last time Carolyn had left the front door open, she was leaving me. Temporarily. What if this time she’d only been here to collect her things before leaving again, permanently? How deeply had I been asleep? Could she have sneaked in and dismantled our marriage without me hearing her?
I hurried back to the house and shut the door behind me. Then I took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the throbbing between my temples. All our suitcases were still in the spare-room closet, so I moved on to Carolyn’s dressing room. I couldn’t be sure nothing was missing, because who could memorize every single outfit his wife owns—especially one as devoted to shopping as Carolyn—but there were no obvious gaps. What else would a woman need if she was going away for a while? Underwear? I checked her drawer, and it was full to overflowing with tiny scraps of colorful lace. Bathroom stuff? I looked, and the cabinet was crammed with all kinds of feminine things, the way it usually was.
I had to face facts. Carolyn’s things were here, but she was still gone. I moved over to the bed, fighting the temptation to crawl back under the covers and wait for the disappointment to pass me by. But before I could lie down I realized that an ember of doubt was still smoldering away at the back of my mind like a warning beacon, barely visible through the mist.
Something else was wrong.
It had to do with something I’d seen. When I was looking for Carolyn. Something had been disturbed, or out of place. Not up here, though. And not in the kitchen. Not in the dining room. Or the den. In my study! Suddenly the picture in my head was as clear as day and I was out of the bedroom before I even realized I was moving, heading back downstairs.
I hurried to my desk, sat in front of my computer, and stared at the screen. It was dark and lifeless. For most people, this wouldn’t be a problem. But it was a major red flag for me. Because the first thing I always did when I set up a new computer was to disable its ability to sleep. It’s an old quirk of mine. When I’m working I often have to pause to figure out a problem—often for thirty or forty minutes straight—and it drives me crazy if I have to wait for the machine to wake up when I’m finally ready to continue. So, there was no way the computer should have been dormant like this. It should have still been running my tests from yesterday, or waiting for me to review the results, patiently filling the screen with a succession of digitized Lichtensteins. Unless—could there have been a power outage when I was lost in the tequila haze?