I can’t search for the phone while Graham is still around.
I have to wait for him to go to work. It’s another agonizing half-hour of bringing me back into the living room to introduce me to a woman named Camila. Camila is absolutely beautiful, and it’s also clear that she is going to be my jailor today. Because nobody trusts me to be alone.
After Graham leaves, I’m left alone with Camila. She smiles brightly at me, which makes me want to hit her. “Is there anything you’d like to do today?”
“I’d like to go to work and be a productive member of society,” I say.
The smile drops off her face. “Tess…”
“Don’t worry, I’m just going to watch some television.” I glance at our almost ludicrously large television screen. “I’ll stay out of your way.”
I’m hoping Camila will go in the kitchen or upstairs, but instead, she just stands there, looking at me. “Listen, Tess…”
I shouldn’t have made that sarcastic remark. Now she feels sorry for me. I should have pretended I was happy with my situation. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“We’ll have a nice time today,” she says. “I promise. We can take Ziggy for a walk. Go shopping for whatever you want. Maybe some clothing?”
I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that why would I enjoy buying clothing? The fun of buying outfits is looking forward to wearing them. But when there’s no tomorrow, the fun is lost.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I force a smile. “That sounds great.”
She frowns, still lingering in the living room. “Was Graham a jerk to you this morning?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, he was fine. He made me breakfast, although it was a little burned. And he gave me that pomegranate juice that I apparently like so much.”
Camila gives me a funny look. “You hate that pomegranate juice.”
“I do?”
“I once poured you a glass of it and you acted like you were drinking cyanide. I mean, I think it’s pretty gross too, but you really hated it. Did you like it this morning?”
I remember how Graham set the glass of juice down in front of me. I took a sip and immediately ran to the sink—he followed me there and watched me decontaminate my mouth. At the time, I thought he just seemed worried about me. But in retrospect, he had this little smile lingering on his lips. Like he was amused by the whole thing.
My stomach turns. I’m beginning to think that letter wasn’t right. I’m not sure my husband is such a great guy.
But I can’t let on to Camila that I know the truth. And I definitely can’t tell her about the cell phone. So I just shrug. “It was okay.”
Finally, she goes upstairs to work on “cleaning.” And she leaves me alone in the living room to “watch television.” But I have no intention of watching television. I’m finding that goddamn phone.
There’s a leather recliner next to the sofa. In front of it is a brown ottoman. I bend down beside it, feeling the edges. That’s when I realize that the top comes loose. I slide it off and peer inside.
There’s a phone inside, identical to the one I saw Graham talking on this morning. It’s plugged into some sort of charger, but I pull it loose. I’ve never used a phone like this before, but my fingers weirdly know what to do. I press a button and the phone comes to life.
The first thing I see is all the text messages filling the screen. There’s a couple from Lucy, my best friend, but most of them are from an unknown number. I start scrolling.
The ones from Lucy are very strange:
I’m so sorry.
I hope you can forgive me someday. It will never happen again.
I can’t even imagine what she’s talking about. In my memory, she has never done anything to be sorry for. But for all I know, she could have betrayed me yesterday. That’s when the text messages came.
I put that mystery aside for a moment and start looking at the other text messages. They all come from an unknown number, but I assume it must be Harry. I start reading through them, a lump rising in my throat.
Tess, we need to talk.
I think you’re in danger.
Let me know you got this. I’ll meet you anywhere. Are you OK?
I don’t know if you’re getting these messages or if he took your phone. But you need to know I love you. Please message me. It’s Harry.
If he did anything to hurt you, I’ll kill him.
I wonder how long he’s been trying to contact me. How many days has he met with me covertly and warned me
about this situation? I wish I could remember. It’s so frustrating that I can’t.
I type a message into the phone, praying that he gets it:
I have my phone. Thank you for telling me where it was. Can we meet?
Three bubbles appear on the screen. He has to say yes.
We shouldn’t. It never helps. And he’s punishing you for it.
Please meet me. Please.
Three more bubbles appear on the screen. I don’t know what he’s writing to me, but it seems to take an eternity. By the time the message appears, I half expect it to fill the entire screen. But instead, it’s one line.
Better we don’t. Trust me.
And then:
Delete these messages.
I almost hurl my phone across the room in frustration. I write him half a dozen more messages, begging him to meet with me. But he never responds again.
