Page 14

Julia

Julia expected to be bone-tired after their first day of vacation.

The packing and long day traveling should have worked like extra-strength melatonin, but she was nowhere near sleepy.

The temperature was perfect, the crisp summer night air just right for snoozing.

It caressed her skin like a soothing touch. So why wasn’t she in la-la land?

Christian dozed peacefully beside her. They’d made love quietly, because the house amplified every sound.

Her lucky husband… his release had put him out like a light, leaving Julia more jealous than satisfied.

She could read, but she was in that in-between state of being just groggy enough not to make the effort.

She knew looking at her phone would be counterproductive, but did it anyway.

Her last post of the bonfire had received quite a number of likes.

So stupid. So vain. And yet, so real. Her caption wasn’t the best, but it got over fifty comments anyway.

Love it!

OMG, just perfect.

Enjoy every minute.

Have the best time ever. You deserve it!

It went on from there.

What would happen, she wondered, if there were such a thing as a what-they’re-really-thinking filter, one that automatically converted all sentiments into some version of the truth?

We get it… you’re having fun. Good for you.

OMG, a real fire. Never seen one of those before.

Only sort of care. Off to the store to buy hemorrhoid cream. Enjoy!

While this thought brought a smile to her lips, it raised a larger issue. What was the point of all this social sharing if people weren’t willing to be authentic?

Oh, whatever. She played the game like everyone else, and it was probably better to question less and post more. So she composed one with a picture of the moon, which she took through the little porthole window over the bed. Her caption was short and sweet.

The magic here never ends. Good night, everyone.

Click. Post. Lie.

Good night, my ass. She was back under the covers, staring at her phone and not sleeping. She worried she already had a hangover and considered getting up for a glass of water when she noticed she had a voicemail message. Wireless could be spotty at the lake, so missed calls weren’t uncommon.

Julia pushed the button to listen, instantly knowing she might not get a wink of sleep all night.

“Hi, Julia, this is Clare Roundtree with financial services at the Purdy School. I hope this message finds you well. I’m reaching out regarding Taylor’s tuition payment for the upcoming semester, which appears to be past due.

We understand life is busy and it may be just a simple oversight.

If you have already remitted the funds, please accept our apologies and kindly reach out so we can rectify our records.

If not, we’d appreciate you making the payment at your earliest convenience.

Please contact us to discuss any concerns or potential arrangements—”

She disconnected without listening to the rest. Nothing went right anymore.

There was always some screwup. Of course the payment had been made.

Christian had told her as much. Even so, she knew it would be pointless to attempt to sleep until she saw the confirmation.

Julia tried her password on the school website, but it didn’t work.

She’d need Christian’s email to reset it, so she nudged her husband awake.

He came to with a groggy moan. “What? Huh? Everything all right?” He sat up, looking about with alert eyes. The jolt of adrenaline sucked the sleep right out of him.

“I need to log in to the Purdy payment portal.”

“For what?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

“I got a call from financial services. Apparently, our payment didn’t go through.”

Christian fell back on the mattress, looking unperturbed. “Ah, shit, Jules. It’s fine; there’s just a delay with the transfer. It’s no big deal. I’ll sort it out in the morning.”

He rolled onto his side and would have fallen asleep if Julia hadn’t pulled him back by the shoulder.

“That’s what you said about the phone company, and I don’t think that bill’s been paid, either. And if that one doesn’t get squared away soon, it’s going to a debt collector. You know, the other day, I had to pay off a tampon repo man from my own pocketbook.”

Christian sat up again. “What are you talking about? What tampon repo man? There’s no such thing,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“But there is. I chased down some guy who’d gone into the women’s room at the gym.

I found him unscrewing the dispenser from the wall.

It turned out he was from Billings Vendors and, apparently, we’re four months behind on our payments.

And I can’t get a repairperson to service our treadmills until we make our franchise payment.

Christian, what the hell? I’m dealing with all the marketing and member recruitment and retention programs, and it’s your job to make sure our bills are getting paid. ”

Christian’s head lolled from side to side like a tendon had snapped. He didn’t have a shirt on, so she could see his stomach muscles tighten. Was that because he was straining to concoct some kind of excuse?

“They are getting paid,” he explained. His sigh made it painfully clear Julia was wasting his time, not to mention keeping him awake.

“The franchise knows our summer receivables are lower than the fall. I’ll catch up in September.

And besides, we’re on a payment plan with them.

It’s all ‘left hand not talking to the right’ nonsense.

Same with the school. It’s no big deal. I’m on it. ”

Christian rubbed his temples. She was quite familiar with his tic, a relic from his drinking days that kicked in anytime he and the truth were at odds.

“Show me the tuition payment,” she said, offering him her phone.

He shoved it away, groaning. “I’ve got it all under control. Trust me.”

“So, what then? I can’t see it?”

“You can. But it’s not there.”

“You said it was taken care of, left hand not talking to the right. Was that a lie?”

“I said I’m working it out with them.” Only one hand went to his temple, so perhaps that was a half-truth. “Obviously, the person I’m in touch with didn’t update the system, but it’s fine. We have until September 15 without a penalty. I’ll call the school tomorrow and get it sorted out.”

Julia’s head sagged forward. Christian was the numbers guy and better at managing the investments.

Still, he gave her all the passwords. She could log in to any account of theirs anytime—except for Purdy.

Or could she? When had she last checked their bank balances—or their investments, for that matter?

She’d been so busy trying to drum up new business that she’d taken her eyes off the ball. Well, no longer.

Christian rolled back onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin like a force field.

Screw him. She accessed the Fidelity website using her phone and keyed in the password.

They had an algorithm based on Taylor’s initials and birthday, one password for all accounts to make it easier.

Julia quickly got a return message that her credentials weren’t accepted.

She tried again. Fat fingers. Just a typo. But no luck. Same message.

Next, she went to the Ameritrade website. Same result.

She jostled her husband awake once more. “I can’t get into any of our accounts,” she informed him as he blinked his eyes open.

“Julia, what are you talking about?” he mumbled.

“You changed all the passwords and didn’t tell me. Why?” Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

Christian tried to bury his head under a pillow, muffling his displeasure.

“I clicked on something I shouldn’t have and was worried I downloaded spyware,” he explained in a muffled, somnolent voice.

“I changed all the passwords as a precaution. It’s no big deal.

Please, just get some sleep, or at least let me sleep. You’re worrying too much.”

“You’re not worrying enough.”

Christian didn’t take the bait, and Julia wasn’t in the mood for a fight. Their arguments always went the same way—the angrier she got, the calmer he became, trumpeting AA platitudes like they were going out of style, until it felt like he was a therapist talking to a crazy lady. It was maddening.

She let him sleep. What good would it do to keep rehashing it all?

Besides, it was the middle of the night.

She couldn’t do a thing about it now. Come morning, she’d ask again for the new password and she’d try not to assume the worst because Christian said he was on top of the bills, and he was her husband.

They were a team, meaning there had to be a baseline level of trust.

Trust.

The word was enough to bring back the memory of that day.

It was years ago, but any reminder made the wound feel fresh again.

The seismic upheaval nearly sank their marriage.

She didn’t see it coming, but isn’t that the cliché?

She’d had no suspicions. There were no warning signs of any kind.

There was, however, unfortunate timing—or fortunate, depending on one’s perspective.

She had been looking for her phone, which she often misplaced. She was forever asking Christian to call her number to help her locate it. On this particular afternoon, Christian was out in the yard, and in her search, she found his phone at the exact moment he received an incoming text message.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

Julia’s legs had gone weak. She was standing near a vase full of fresh-cut hyacinths. It was funny how, to this day, the smell of hyacinths still made her knees buckle.

The message didn’t stay on the screen, but it didn’t matter. The words were seared into her mind.

Can’t. Stop. Thinking. About. You.

She found him in the garage, putting gardening tools away. She thrust the phone into his hand.

“Who is she?”

Christian did the expected tap dance routine.