I let Philippe back in, fed him, and made my coffee, adding a splash of Baileys Irish Cream because…why not?
Mug in hand, I walked to the front door and peered out the side windows. Fortunately, there was no one in the driveway. Part of me feared a swarm of reporters would be circling like sharks to snap the first shots of the heartbroken spouse.
In the living room, I turned on the gas; the flame caught with a flash of blue light and a loud puff. I settled into a comfy chair and pulled a blanket over my legs. The lights of the Christmas tree still glowed from the night before and twinkled as if the Christmas spirit were still strong in the air. As far as I was concerned, Santa could go jump off a bridge, and I’d pop Rudolph right in his stupid red nose if I saw him.
While I waited for the caffeine from my strong coffee to give me a fighting chance to handle the day, I may or may not have been having a few musings of how I might murder my husband. A lawnmower accident could be fun. Perhaps a tumble down the stairs. Or a sudden fall from the roof. A stabbing.Somehow all the knives fell on top of him, officer! Oops! And then the spice rack and the vase and…it all just kept crashing onto his big ugly face. I was upstairs ironing and heard him writhing in pain.
Anyway, I eventually put my focus on my phone.
I’d been dreading this moment, but a part of me felt it had to be done.
It was time to get online.
Rory had texted to say he’d be back later and that two off-duty officers were parked at the end of the driveway. No one could pass without my approval. He’d left me an officer’s number. A few down, a text from Jasper said he’d be landing at two that afternoon.
I waded through the rest of my messages. Apparently, peoplecared about me. I couldn’t respond to them, though. Why would I? I could have lied and typed,I’m okay! Don’t worry about me!No, I’d reach out to everyone later.
The last message had come from Erica five minutes earlier saying she was on her way over, so I called the number Rory had left and let the kind officer know about Erica and about Jasper’s arrival later.
Aching for more torture, I powered on my laptop and scanned through my emails. So many friends and family members had reached out. I’m not sure their caring comforted me, but it at least showed me I wasn’t totally alone. The caring messages also reminded me that so many people close to us were aware of what had happened.
I eventually dove into my regular news channels. Thank God, it wasn’t me front and center. I guess that was nice. No, Rory had all the attention. The more respected news channels didn’t show the blurred-out images of Rory and Nadine. Instead, they featured awful headlines such asNaughty, Naughty MayorandAnother Politician Caught on Tape.Each outlet used stock pictures of Rory that his office had released over the years.
When I clicked on the links, I realized even BBC offered a chance for its readers to view the video that had ruined my family. Though I understood how the media thrived on ratings and clicks, my anger with them for not respecting us boiled.
I kept thinking of Jasper watching the video. It would be almost impossible for him to not see his father cheating on me at some point in the next few days. Jasper would see his father committing one of the most intimate acts you can perform with another person, while breaking the most important promise you could ever make. The video was everywhere; people could hardly avoid seeing it.
The knock on the door startled Philippe and me, and he raced to the door in a tantrum of barking. I saw through the sidewindow that it was Erica, I felt desperate for her company. The loneliness was eating me alive. No offense, Philippe, if you’re reading this.
She gave me a giant hug in the foyer, and I burst into tears. “It will be okay,” she said, removing her coat and kicking off her boots. She was dressed well in slacks and a blouse, likely assuming she might end up on camera.
We shared a teary hug, and then I led her into the living room. I sat back in my chair and pulled the blanket back over my legs. She declined a cup of coffee and sat next to Philippe on the floor, running her hands all over him. As he rolled onto his back and welcomed the attention, I could tell Philippe was happy to escape the sadness for a moment.
I looked down at her. “Is the press out there?”
“Of course. Everywhere.”
My jaw tightened. “It’s not even eight yet, and they’re swarming. What kind of world do we live in where people can make money off another’s pain? And why are so many people fascinated with the misfortune of others?”
Erica nodded. “I know. They’re vultures.” She put her hand on my knee. “You look awful. I mean, like terrible. The worst I’ve ever seen.”
Words only a best friend can get away with. I couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t want to look in the mirror.”
She smiled back. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. You look like you’re still made up from Halloween. Have you eaten?”
“Eaten? I haven’t eaten this year.”
“Let me fix you some cereal or something.”
“Cereal?” I asked, with a repulsed look on my face. “Don’t you know me? What is this, a truck stop? I’ve never bought cereal in my life.”
“Okay, Mrs. Snobby Chef. Can I fix some avocado toast or whatever it is you people eat in the morning?”
“I can’t get anything down right now. My stomach’s a mess. I would have eaten every pill in this house, but I don’t think I could swallow those either.”
She stopped petting Philippe and eyed me, discerning if I was joking. I wasn’t. “Don’t talk like that. Seriously, Margot. We can joke all morning, but I don’t want to hear you talking about hurting yourself.”
I nodded. Cried more. We talked about stupid things. The Christmas parade. Hallmark movies. After-Christmas sales. We avoided the serious stuff. At least for a while. I told her about the fire upstairs, and we madly laughed at the absurdity of the incident.
