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Then I focus my eyes.The shed.
The shed is completely Luis’s domain. I hardly ever go in there, and why would I? It’s where he tinkers with his bikes. There’s nothing for me there. Which makes it the perfect hiding place.
I unlock the door and catch a whiff of chain oil. His red bicycle is resting upside down in the center, tools carefully laid out on the bench, ready to perform some intricate operation. Sometimes I think there’s nothing wrong with his bicycle, but men are like children and they need toys to tinker with, and so Luis goes to his man-shed, takes his bicycle apart, rebuilds it, takes it apart again.
It doesn’t take long to figure out I’m wasting my time here. I’ve looked under every tin of paint, shaken out every oily rag, searched drawers forensically. The only remotely incriminating thing I’ve found is a half-empty packet of Marlboros behind the antique wooden toolbox I gave him years ago.
It’s only when I’m about to give up that I spot his canvas bag in the corner. The kind that you strap diagonally across your torso, like bicycle couriers use.
I open the flap and there’s nothing there, except for a packet of Listerine strips, which is certainly interesting in itself and I wonder what they’re for. Kissing, perhaps? There’s a pocket at the front with its own flap and inside, carefully folded in half, is a receipt from Mol Creations. I smile. It’s the receipt for the earrings Luis bought me to celebrate the Pentti-Stone win.
Except it’s not.
It’s the right jewelry store, Mol Creations, but the date is wrong. The receipt is from three months ago. Luis gave me the earrings only ten days ago. Could he have bought this for me? Something for my birthday, maybe? But that’s in another four months, and our wedding anniversary is another month after that. It doesn’t seem like Luis to plan a gift so far in advance.
I’m biting down on my teeth so hard I’m going to crack them if I don’t unlock my jaw soon. I hold the receipt in my fist and crush it slowly. Because the worst part is, the receipt is not for the pair of heart-shaped earrings, it’s for a necklace—14 karat gold. And it cost $510, which is three times as much as my earrings.
Necklace—14 karat golddoes not tell me much and I absolutely have to know what it looks like. Is it pretty? Is it sexy? Does it spell her name between two interlocking hearts? Luis has taken the car, so I take an Uber to the jewelry store. In the back seat I stare out the window, fingernails digging into my palms. The driver is chatting idly, about the weather, what else, and checking me out occasionally in the rearview mirror. I ignore him. I don’t trust myself to speak without yelling furiously.Yes! It’s cold, isn’t it?!
Instead I close my eyes and make myself breathe through my nose because I can’t go in there with this out-of-control anger barreling through me. I’ll end up smashing something—not a good look in a jewelry store, I don’t think.
By the time I walk in I’ve regained some control. I hand my receipt over to a pretty blonde woman with a very elaborate hairdo, lots of make-up and a bright smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. If they ever did a remake ofStepford Wives, she’d be perfect.
“My husband bought this for me,” I say.
“Lucky you,” she replies, and I nod. Lucky me.
“I was wondering if I could have it resized.” Desperate, obviously. Lame even. I don’t know what size it is to begin with. What if it’s one of those long loopy necklaces that drops down to the navel?
“Oh? Well, let’s take a look. Did you bring it with you?”
“No, I just wanted to know if it was possible first. Do you have another one here? I laugh for no reason whatsoever, waving the crumpled receipt in front of her. She raises her eyebrows and looks towards the door, as if to gauge her escape route. This is going completely wrong. She’s going to have me arrested if I don’t come down soon.
“May I?”
I nod, and she takes the receipt from me carefully, using the very tip of her fingers, and smoothes out the receipt on the glass counter. “I don’t need to look it up. The design is listed right here, see?”
I squint, then I see it.LILIIit says, right above her long red fingernail. “That’s the model of the necklace.”
“Oh, I thought it was…” I don’t know what I thought. Some kind of inventory naming convention I guess.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have another one here…” she says.
I bite a fingernail. “Do you have a picture of it I could look at? I’d really like to discuss with you how resizing it would work.”
“Certainly.” She pulls out a catalogue from under the counter, flicks it open, and turns it around so I can see it.
“Here we are. It sits above the collarbone. Is that not the case for you?” She tilts her head and looks at my neck, which is of normal size and certainly not so big that this necklace won’t wrap around it.
But I’m not listening to her anymore. I pull the catalogue closer and stare at it. The necklace is shown in a full page, color photograph, and the only word for it isexquisite. Of course, the artist and the curator—what else could it possibly be? It’s a fine gold chain, as fine as a gossamer thread, with two narrow baguette diamonds on one side, just above the collarbone. I’m going to be sick. My silver heart-shaped earrings suddenly feel trite, the kind of gift you give your wife to show you appreciate her but without the investment. A gift for the giver’s benefit, just one step up from a KitchenAid.
I snatch up the receipt from the glass counter and walk out.
Nineteen
It’s been two days and I’ve been ruminating incessantly about the necklace. I did another forensic search that afternoon, in case there is a pretty gift box with my name on it hidden somewhere. It goes without saying that I didn’t find one. I was almost tempted to confront him about it, but then I thought, the gift isn’t recent, what if it was given in the heat of lust? What if itisover between them? Luis has been attentive to me lately. We are happier, aren’t we? And what if the gift reallyisfor me? How will it look if I’ve been snooping around, checking his receipts?You’re so jealous sometimes, Anna. Why can’t you trust me?
No. I made the decision: I absolutely have to pretend everything is fine until I figure out what’s really going on here.
