His Other Wife

His Other Wife

Deborah Bedford

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B
oo never moved until Hilary got up. Eric went about his same routine every morning; he rolled out when the clock radio turned
itself on just after five, rummaged through the drawer in search of athletic socks, tugged on his sweatpants, stuck his arms
through the sleeves of the T-shirt that was worn so thin you could have read a newspaper through it, and headed downstairs
to work out on his home gym. For almost a half hour, Hilary could hear the
clank
of the barbell returning to the weight bench, the
whir
of the pulley as Eric worked the leg press, the final silence when she knew he’d be doing chin-ups on the bar that hung from
the doorway. And still the dog waited for her, his head resting atop his two front paws, one eyebrow cocked in a question
over his liquid eyes. When she adjusted the pillow, he lifted his head and cocked one ear.

“I don’t know why he can’t just go out for a
run
.” Hilary covered her head with the pillow. “Then he could take you with him.”

Boo, a Jack Russell terrier with a brown spot around one eye and a black ear, didn’t move a muscle.

Hilary swung her legs to the floor. “Why does it always have to be
me
?”

The dog was gone in a shot. He barreled out of the bedroom before Hilary could even stand. He tore down the stairs, tumbling
over himself with a thunderous clamor that could have come from a pack of dogs five times his size. He danced circles around
his empty food bowl. Hilary came behind him much slower, cinching her terry robe around her waist.

“Calm down,” she said, yawning herself awake. She opened the slider so he could go outside and sniff around the backyard.
“How can
anything
have that much energy this early?” She scooped kibble from the bag in the pantry and ran fresh water into another and set
both bowls on the floor. Then she opened the slider where Boo was already impatiently making nose prints against the glass.
“Now,” she said as he started eating. “See? You’re going to live.”

Hilary reached for the carafe on the coffeemaker and stopped short. It was empty. She’d forgotten to put in the grounds and
set the timer the night before. As she reached for the French Roast overhead, she noticed the clock on the microwave and did
a double take. “Oh
no.
” She gave up on the coffee and headed toward the stairs. She’d have to pick up a cup at the drive-through near the hospital.
“I’m glad
somebody
gets breakfast this morning.” She gave a rueful glance toward the dog.

She hadn’t heard Eric finish his workout and go upstairs, but there was water spraying in the shower. Good thing they’d built
the bathroom with room for two. Hilary rapped on the door, said “May I come in?” and walked in without waiting for his answer.
She never waited for his answer. She always knew it would be okay.

Hilary unfogged a spot in the mirror with a towel. “Good morning,” she said as she tucked strands of blond hair behind her
ears and made a critical exam of her face. “Sleep well?” She set about polishing her teeth with the Sonicare.

Soap thudded on the shower floor. Eric must have dropped it.

“Can you make sure Seth makes it to the bus?” she asked. “I’ve got to get going.”

She expected Eric’s chatty voice from behind the glass, teasing her about being late again. She was always turning off her
alarm. But he said nothing.

“Eric?”

“Yes. I’ll take care of it.”

She heard something in his voice. “Everything okay, Eric?”

“You getting in the shower?” he asked. “I’ll leave the water running for you.”

“I will in a minute. Let me make sure Seth’s up.”

“I’ll take care of Seth,” he said as he swung the door open. “Here. I’m out. You get in.” Eric grabbed a towel to scrub his
hair dry and stepped past her.

Their arms brushed as Hilary hung up her robe. Hilary shot him a smile. Here they were after a fifteen-year marriage and she
still melted at the sight of him. Water ran in rivulets down his chest. Wet hair clung to his forearms in dark curls. She
pressed her lips against his damp shoulder. He smelled like soap and aftershave. “Hmm-mm,” she said, closing her eyes. “I
love the smell of man in the morning. Minty fresh.”

It was the perfect opening. He could have used it to tease her.
But what about the smell of a man in the afternoon?
Only he didn’t.

Hilary stepped into the flow and let the water drum her shoulders. She raised her face to the stream. She felt so lucky. God
had blessed her with so much. She had one great kid, a good job, a satisfying marriage. Never mind the days when things got
stressful in PCU. As she soaped herself up and rinsed herself off, as she ran a razor up her legs and slathered on lotion,
she thought how nice it felt to be secure with a man who loved her, to have a job where she helped people.

“I didn’t make coffee —” she called to Eric as she stepped onto the bath mat. But he would already have gone to the kitchen.
He would have already found the empty carafe and would be laughing at her for it.
Forgot to turn it on again, did you, Hil?
But when Hilary slipped her arms into the robe again and carried the used towels into the bedroom, she found him still there,
sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to yell about the coffee. I thought you’d be downstairs.”

He’d already dressed. He’d pulled on his pinstripe slacks and found the black shirt she’d given him for Christmas last year.
He usually never got ready for the office until he made his energy shake in the mornings. He was on his vitamin B
₁₂
kick again. “Did you wake Seth up yet?”

“Hilary.” He gestured to the bed beside him. His eyes, which never left hers, held something unfathomable. “Will you stop?”

She stared at him, uncertain. “Stop what?”

“Running around. Come sit down for a minute.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“But Seth needs to be up.”

“Hilary, please.”

“Something wrong?” In spite of all the changes this morning, the way Eric had acted different in the shower, she hadn’t quite
spent the time to decipher it. Here they were starting their day together, rushing on with their routines, getting Seth off
to middle school, going on with their lives. Why would Eric act so somber?

“Yes. There’s something wrong.”

“What is it?”

“We have to talk.”

A sense of foreboding began to creep up Hilary’s limbs. Her skin had gone cold. What was this? “Can’t it wait until tonight,
Eric? I’ll be late.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“It can’t wait.”

“You can’t be late, either.” It took a quarter of an hour for him to get to his office at the investment firm in the Loop,
a little less if he took the L.

“That doesn’t matter right now.”

“The traffic —”

“I’ve waited too long as it is.”

She dropped the laundry on the floor and drew the robe tighter around her. Her hair was still wet. She was freezing. “Is it
money?” she asked. “I know I put the tires on the credit card, but it’s hard making things balance the month insurance is
due.”

“It isn’t money,” and, for a moment, Hilary felt relieved as she stood before him. “Well, what is it then?”

“Put something on.” That was when her fear started, the moment he spoke and, at the same time, looked away. “Get dressed.”

“But you said you wanted to talk. You want me to get dressed now?”

“I do, Hilary. Yes.”

She’d asked all those casual questions in the bathroom, the same script she followed every day. They never thought about the
things they said to each other.
May I come in? Sleep well? Everything okay?
Only now did she realize. All those questions she’d asked, and he’d never answered.

Eric found her something to wear in the closet. Hilary had a dozen scrubs or more; she needed them for the long hours she
spent on the PCU floor. Eric didn’t thumb through them; he grabbed the first one he came to. She’d worn it yesterday, the
blue shirt with smiling sunflowers. Her security badge still dangled from a Tweety Bird clip on the pocket. Bold letters read:
Hilary Wynn, R.N.
The yellow sun faces leered at her. “What is this, Eric? Just tell me.”

Eric drew a deep breath. “It’s not easy.”

She reached for his hand. “Should it be? Is this something you want me to make easy for you?” Outside, the garbage truck turned
onto their street. It picked up speed, its engine crescendoing as it roared toward the neighbor’s driveway. Brakes hissed.
A horrific clatter came as the hydraulic fork reached for a container, lifted it, and rained its contents into the hopper.

Eric squared his shoulders and said, “I’m seeing someone.”

Hilary stared at him. “Seeing someone? What? Someone? Who, someone? A doctor? A financial advisor?” It took her that long
to begin unraveling his meaning. “What are you telling me, Eric? I don’t understand.”

“I’m seeing
someone
,” he said again.

Oh.

Oh.

“A woman,” he clarified.

A hundred emotions ran through her at once. Shock. Disbelief. Confusion. She must have heard wrong. She reacted as if she’d
been burned, jerking her hand from him before her nerves signaled pain. “A woman,” she repeated, as if she had to say it herself
to hear it. “You’re having an
affair
?”

For the first time, he didn’t speak.

“Eric, what are you saying?”
Deny it!
she wanted to scream.
Tell me it’s a mistake. Tell me you aren’t serious.

“I never meant it to get this far.”

The air had gone out of the atmosphere. Hilary couldn’t breathe. She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. “This is
how you start my
day
? You’re telling me
this
?” She could still be dreaming. She could wake up and find Eric sleeping beside her. The alarm would sound and she’d stagger
out of bed and Boo would be dancing at her feet, waiting for his breakfast. The breath would rush from her lungs; she’d go
limp with relief.

“There’s no way else to say it,” Eric said. “I’m sorry.”

For long seconds she couldn’t speak. If she tried, words might betray her. Words, spilling to the ground like blood spills
from a wound. Her ears buzzed. Her hands started shaking.

“Hilary, I —”

“Don’t say anything more, Eric,” she said. “Please just
stop
.”

It didn’t make sense. Eric was the man who’d loved her, who’d actually gotten permission from her father before he’d asked
her to marry him, who’d positioned an engagement ring precariously in whipped cream and hot chocolate after they’d gone skating
in Grant Park. He was the man who had held her after her father died. He was the one who’d placed his hand over her belly
to feel the baby move, who’d wiggled her stomach and talked to unborn Seth in “Mister Ed” horse voices, who’d brought her
Jolly Rancher candies and let her squeeze his hand during labor and breathed cleansing breaths with her when the contractions
got too fierce to bear. What was he thinking, that he could throw it away?

“That’s all you have to say? That you’re sorry?” Later Hilary would be furious. Anger would grow inside her like a geyser,
ready to erupt. But for now she could only swim through a fog with everything upside down. She had no idea when they’d started
living this lie.

The neighbors were coming awake. Hilary glanced out the window to see the Hartmans, the retired couple who had lived on this
street for the past two decades, out for their morning stroll. They’d always been the sweetest couple around, making sure
everyone knew when their grandchildren would be coming for a visit. As they walked, the elderly woman curled her fingers around
the crook of her husband’s elbow and gazed up at him. Mr. Hartman cocked his head and smiled at something she said. Hilary
had thought she and Eric would grow old together like the Hartmans, celebrating milestones, amazing their friends with their
exemplary marriage.

“Do you want to tell me more?” she asked, her voice a study in control. “Or do you want me to ask questions?”

She had
trusted
him. This couldn’t be the man she’d pledged her life to, the one who’d promised to stand beside her through better or worse,
through richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parted them. Eric wasn’t this man anymore. He was a stranger.
Sure, they’d had their rough spots, everyone did, times when one or the other of them had been bored or unhappy, but they’d
been honest with each other, hadn’t they? Sure, there had been times when she’d worked the long night shifts at the hospital.
That wasn’t any reason to break a lifelong promise, to find someone else, was it? Her fists ached to pummel him. She wanted
to hurt him the way he was hurting her.

“Mom!” Seth’s voice came from the family room. “I’ll get detention if I’m late again. How come nobody woke me up?”

Oh, Father
, she prayed.
What do you want from me? How do I respond? How do I stay sane and guard my heart and do the right thing?