Таррин Фишер - The Wives

It was by accident that she saw the emails from his father. Seth had forgotten to close out the window and when Regina sat down at the computer she was able to see them all. She said the emails were sent before Seth’s father had killed his wife and then himself. The emails were convoluted. His father raved about conspiracies the government had to kill him and his wives and take his children. He suspected Seth’s mother of slipping medication into his food to make him tired and foggy. The very last email he’d sent Seth was the day before he died, where he’d outlined his plan to kill his wife and then himself. It would only be the two of them—he would spare his other wives. Regina had searched Seth’s in-box for his replies, sure he’d tried to talk his father down, convince him to get help, but there was nothing of the sort. She’d confronted Seth about it and he’d gotten angry. It was the only time I’d seen Regina show any emotion other than her hard coldness. Her eyes had filled with tears as she told me how he’d smashed everything around him: vases, plates, he’d even tossed the television onto the floor. He accused her of snooping where she didn’t belong. Then he’d threatened her. Grabbing her by the neck, he’d pushed her up against a wall until Regina had screamed out that she was pregnant.

Seth had dropped his hands immediately and smiled like the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. And then he’d cried. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he’d sobbed uncontrollably, saying that he was sorry, and that talking about his parents’ deaths had triggered something in him. As Regina stood numbly with his arms wrapped around her waist, Seth had promised to get help, saying things would change. They’d moved on from there and for the first months of her pregnancy, everything had been perfect: Seth, the doting father-to-be. She’d almost forgotten about the incident. And then, suddenly, she’d miscarried at twenty-one weeks along. She’d had a bump, and she’d already felt the baby move. She had to give birth to it—a girl. Seth had acted devastated, promising they could try again. But Regina refused. Frightened of experiencing the same thing, she got on birth control—the kind they insert into your arm—and focused on her career instead. He’d pleaded with her take it out and when she refused, they’d grown apart. Eventually, Seth suggested a plural marriage, because he wanted children. When Regina said no, he’d asked for a divorce and she’d given it to him, though he didn’t stop coming around. He was paying half of her bills, as that had been the agreement when she’d given him the divorce. So when he came to Portland for work, he stayed at their old house, first in the guest room, and then back in their bed. I’d almost seen shame on her face when she told me they’d still have sex when he visited, even though he was married to another woman. She told me that she’d never known about Hannah, and I believed her.

“The week before my miscarriage, he’d started making me tea,” she’d said. “I thought it was strange because he’d never been one to do much in the kitchen. He didn’t even make coffee in the mornings, and then all of a sudden, he’s boiling water and seeping leaves like an expert. It didn’t occur to me until you mentioned it.”

“It could be a coincidence,” I’d said.

Regina had shaken her head. “He was the oldest of his siblings, and he resented them. Thought they took attention away from him. He told me that he hated having to share space with a bunch of toddlers...”

“What are you saying?”

She’d just stared at me like she expected me to get it and then she’d finally said, “I think he’s going to do the same thing to this other girl, Hannah. We have to stop him. I need a few days to find out where she is.”

Regina sends me an address in the Pearl District and I punch it into my phone as I wait at the light to turn onto 5. I can feel my heart beating; it feels like it’s lodged in my throat. I try to quell the panic rising in my chest. I have to hurry. I have to help Hannah. I’d only ever been to the Pearl District in passing, driving through what was once the warehouse district, now known for its art galleries and upscale residences. Seth and I had eaten lunch there at a restaurant that sat on the Willamette River, sucking oysters from their shells, and then held hands as we walked back to our car. It was a perfect day. Not long after, I’d found out I was pregnant, and wondered if our baby had been conceived that night under the crisp hotel sheets.

I make a few necessary calls as I drive, my voice calm despite the level of mania I’m feeling on the inside. I’d tried calling Regina after she sent the text, but my call had gone straight to voice mail. She will be there , I tell myself. We’re working as a team. Something lingers in the back of my mind but I push it away. She’s all I have and I’m going to have to trust her. I’m jittery through the drive, leaning forward in my seat and talking to the cars that get in my way. Was Hannah all right or was Seth keeping her prisoner? Will she be relieved to see me or act like she doesn’t know who I am?

It’s all so unsettling, the type of wandering thoughts that could make you question your own sanity. I’ve certainly done enough of that in the last weeks. I push down on the accelerator and my car lurches forward, almost rear-ending a truck. I ride his bumper until he moves out of the fast lane. He gives me the finger as I speed by, yelling something into the wind. I ignore him and move on to the next car, almost slamming into the back of it, too. This continues for several miles until I see the flashing red and blue lights in my rearview mirror; the brief shrill of the siren sounds behind me, and I’m forced to move over two lanes to reach the shoulder. I wait for the officer to walk up to my window, my stomach clenching in knots.

“Ma’am, license and registration, please.”

I’m ready. I pass them through the window, willing him to look into my eyes. He does, though I can’t see his hidden behind reflective glasses—the type you see the police wear in movies. He disappears back to his cruiser, my paper held in his hand. After a few minutes he comes back.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“I was speeding,” I say without hesitation.

His face doesn’t betray anything; he stares from behind his glasses, stony and expectant.

“I’m late. My fault, I totally deserve a ticket.”

Still nothing. I tap my finger on the wheel, wishing he’d hurry up and get on with things. He hands me my papers.

“Be more careful next time.”

That’s all? I look at his badge: Officer Morales.

“Um...thank you,” I say.

“You’re all set,” he says. “Have a good one.”

It takes me ten minutes to merge back onto the highway, my heart still ringing in my chest. But once I am on my way I almost feel good—better than I had before. I ease up on the gas and follow behind a semi, keeping to the speed limit this time.

I cross the bridge into the city just as the sun is making its descent. Warm orange light illuminates the buildings, and for a moment, I get the impression that it’s summer—a long time from now. This is all sorted out, a big misunderstanding, and my life is back to normal. The feeling is so powerful that I have to fight it back, push it away. A woman’s greatest foe is sometimes her hope that she’s imagined it all. That she herself is crazy rather than the circumstances of her life. Funny the emotional responsibility a woman is willing to take on just to maintain an illusion. I think about what it feels like outside: the air cold enough to show my breath. My life a twisted, frightening mess of deceit, my mind easily beguiled...that’s my lesson as of late: things are not always what they seem. I shake off the last of the feeling, my resolve returning as I drive off the bridge and turn into the bustle of downtown Portland. Seth and his little harem. I’d checked my bank account before I left and found a pattern of cash withdrawals: two a week for the past six months. How had I not noticed before? Seth was syphoning money from my account to pay Regina back. I wonder if she knows where he’s getting the money from, if it would have made a difference? He is going to answer for all of it. I push down on the gas pedal.