Page 39 of Am I the Only One

“Without hard evidence to back your accusations, you’re disposable—not him.”

“Get it together, Carly,” I tell myself because I need to hear the words. I need them to give me strength because I have to become an armored shield when I see Emma and listen to what she has to tell me.

I let my mind go straight to the very thoughts I typically try so hard to bury—Tripp in bed with these women. I think of the sounds they make, the words they speak, their writhing bodies. The visions that play in my head infuriate me, and before I know it, my hands are fisted so tightly they’re shaking. I remind myself of the life my husband stole from me—and for what? For a tryst?

Straightening my spine. I go back to the dining table and pick up my cell.

Me: I missed you last night. How is your morning so far?

I’m surprised by how quickly he responds.

Tripp: Late night working. I’m in the office but about to walk into a meeting. Talk later?

Me: Talk later. Love you.

Now that I have the clear that he isn’t at the hotel, I tap on Emma’s name and send her a text in return.

Me: I’ll be there in 2 hrs.

A weird sense of anticipation comes over me, and I move quickly as I toss the empty bottle of wine and set the glass in the sink. I then rush upstairs, take a shower, throw on some makeup, and get dressed. Before I know it, I’m in the car and heading to the city.

The hour-and-a-half long drive tests my patience. One minute, I’m angry, white-knuckling the steering wheel, and the next minute, I’m fighting back tears. Shuffled in between are moments of pure numbness. I savor the numb; it’s where I feel the safest. No thoughts, no feelings—just emptiness.

After I drop my car off with the valet, I take the elevator up to the sixth floor. When she answers the door, she’s wearing a pair of jeans and a burgundy sweater with her hair tied back. She’s pulled together, which is encouraging, and when I step in, I spot a food cart draped in white linen. I turn cold when I see the two cups of half-drunk coffee and a messy bed.

I don’t say anything at first as I wander over to the set of chairs positioned by the windows and take a seat. She joins me. It’s so quiet in this room that it amplifies the chaos inside my head.

“What happened?” I finally ask. “Was he here?”

“Yes,” she breathes.

“And you two ...”

“No.”

“I want to know everything.”

She pulls her legs up, tucking them in close with her arms wrapped around them. “I showed up at Quill around ten o’clock, and he was there, just like you said he would be.” She speaks slowly and cautiously. “He was sitting at the bar, and I joined him. We talked for a while and had a couple of drinks. When the lounge was about to close, I invited him up here for a nightcap, and he accepted.”

My hands twist as I listen to her, but in a way, I’m detached, as if it isn’t Tripp she’s talking about.

“When we got to the room, he poured us both drinks and we talked for a bit.”

“Did you sit here?” I ask, eyeing the chairs we’re in, and she shakes her head.

“He kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed. I joined him. He seemed comfortable but also uneasy. He turned on the television,” she says and then shrugs. “He turned it to some old movie; a comedy. We drank and laughed, chitchatting all along.”

“What did you talk about?”

“He asked about me. I lied, saying I’d just graduated from the University of Pennsylvania. He laughed, when I told him.”

“Laughed?”

“He said something like ... ‘Leges sine moribus vanae.’ Said it was Latin for—”

“Laws without morals are useless.”I smile tightly as Emma lets out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, that’s what he said. Ironic, huh? Apparently, it’s the university’s motto.”