Page 117 of The New Couple in 5B

I run my fingers along the beautiful fabric of her clothes, think of our own messy closet at home, Chad’s side even more chaotic than mine. No wonder they didn’t make it. They don’t fit. Chad couldn’t fit into this perfect space; maybe no one could. Suddenly, I feel lonely for Olivia. Life and love, people, are complicated and messy. That’s part of the beauty of life, that nothing fits perfectly into a little box.

A noise from the bedroom startles me, and I freeze, listening.

A shuffle of the bedclothes, the sound of something falling to the floor with a thud.

My heart leaps into my throat. Who’s here?

I move quietly from the closet, mouth and throat gone dry, fingers shaking against the drywall. I pause in the hallway, listening. Nothing.

Slowly, I peer into the bedroom.

He comes from nowhere, a shadow leaping from the dim of the room with a horrifying yowl. I am knocked back against the wall, issuing a scream as he runs past me toward the kitchen, disappearing around the corner.

My heart hammers, my knees weak beneath. I lean on the wall for a second, trying to catch my breath.

Truman. The cat.

We terrified each other.

“Truman,” I say, steadying myself, following. “I’m so sorry, buddy.”

In the kitchen he forgives me, walking figure eights around my ankles as I clean his water bowl and open a can of food for him, fill his second dish with kibble. I pet him on his head, and he deigns to let me scratch him behind his ears, his purr a furry engine running in overdrive.

“I’m so, so sorry, buddy,” I tell him again, my heart still racing, hands shaking.

He goes to his bowl and starts eating as if he hasn’t been fed in days. When was Olivia home last? The place is spotless, not a speck of dust, not a dish in the sink, or any evidence that the stove has been used—ever.

Another sound, this one coming from the bedroom. A low buzzing, over and over.

I follow the tone into the bedroom and sit on her tightly made bed. This is wrong, how totally I am invading her space. Still, guiltily, I open the drawer in the side table. There, a buzzing cell phone.

But that’s not the first thing I see.

The only other thing in the drawer is a picture of Olivia with Chad.

They stand on the beach; he’s wearing white linen pants and an open linen shirt, exposing his muscular abs and chest, hair wet with seawater.

She wears a stunning sarong, brightly colored in reds and purples. Her smile as she looks up at him, pure joy and love. He has his arms around her waist. I can’t help but notice that he doesn’t look at her the same way, his gaze drifting off into the distance. I know they were together. But somehow this still hurts, feels like a betrayal. Does she lie in bed at night staring at this image of their past couplehood? How long ago was this? They both look younger, fresher. I have never seen Olivia smile that way; it brightens her face and makes her seem girlish, even more beautiful.

I hold the framed picture, stare at the gorgeous sky and blue-green water lapping the shore. The image could be in a magazine—an ad for beachwear or some sunny destination. It reminds me that my husband and I have never had a honeymoon. And I feel a dump of fear and despair so total it nearly buckles me over.

Chad. Where are you?

The phone in the drawer rings again, drawing my attention. I noticed right away that Olivia’s laptop and the phone she uses for work are nowhere in the apartment. That makes sense; she’s never separated from those things. She never stops working. This is another device.

I hesitate, again shocked that I would commit such a horrible, dishonest invasion. The circumstances are extreme, but this is not cool. Still, when it buzzes again, I pick it up. I breathe, terrified now that I’ll find messages from my husband, learn that he and Olivia have been having an affair. That they’ve run off together. She was with him when he came to Dana’s. Maybe this has been happening under my nose all this time.

Everybody’s words about Chad—Max’s, Dana’s, Detective Crowe’s, crowd my thoughts.

He’s a player.

A dark heart beneath a beautiful mask.

A stone-cold killer.

I hit the home screen. Her phone is as curated as her life, the home screen not a chaos of widgets like my own.

I click the text icon and scroll through the only chain I find there, heat rushing to my cheeks as I do.