The New Husband (21 page)

The phone rang at five o'clock exactly. Of course, my phone was in my hand. I must have checked the ringer a dozen times to make sure it was on. I was terrified of missing his call.

When I first heard his voice I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. I thought,
No way, this isn't possible, it's a dream; it can't be him.
But then he called me “Bunny” and I lost it. It was the hard, couldn't take a breath, felt like I was going to pass out, full-on sobbing kind of cry. I was alone in my bedroom but had to muffle the sound with a pillow because Mom was somewhere, downstairs probably. I didn't know where Simon and Connor were, if they were even home, and I didn't much care. All that mattered to me was that for the first time in nearly two years, I was talking to my father. His voice was warm, exactly as I remembered, soothing like hot chocolate on a cold day.

“Hi, Bunny,” he said again. “Hi, my sweetheart.”

“Daddy? Is that you?”

I don't know which was shakier, my speech or my body.

“Yeah, it's me. It's Dad.”

He spoke softly, doing his version of the loud library whisper, or maybe he was exhausted, I don't know what. I tried to answer him, but felt like my throat was full of sand, almost like I was having an allergic reaction.

“Hey, Bun, I know this is hard, but talk to me. Let me hear your beautiful voice again.”

Earlier that day, I'd received a Talkie message from Tracy Nuts letting me know that my father would call at five o'clock sharp, so I should have my phone handy and be somewhere we could talk privately.

Daddy!

All day, I had barely been able to contain my excitement. It was the only thing I could think about, and sitting through my classes had been the worst kind of torture. And now that it was happening, I couldn't find any words to say. I heard his voice, his actual voice, and my tongue was tied in one big knot.

“Maggie, are you there? Did I lose you?” He sounded panicked.

“Dad—”

Turned out talking to my missing father was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I moved into the closet, closing the door behind me, thinking an enclosed, dark space would be comforting, wishing I'd brought Daisy for emotional support. I needed her now more than ever.

The start of our conversation was a lot of back and forth.
I miss you, Bunny. I miss you, Dad. I can't believe I'm hearing your voice. I can't believe I'm hearing yours.
That went on for a bit, him and me, both of us full-on blubbering. But the tears stopped when he said, “I can't talk for long.”

I snapped right back into myself. I got that every word mattered. Every second counted. I couldn't, wouldn't let him go again. He had to come back. I had to convince him to come back.

“Where are you?”

Finally, I managed a sentence where I wasn't choking on tears.

“I'm safe. That's all you need to know.”

“Where?”

“I can't tell you, honey.”

“Are you close?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“To me it does. I need to see you.”

“That's … that's not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because I've done something. Something terrible. And I can't come home. You have to understand that.”

Those hot tears returned to flood my eyes.

“Why?” I croaked out what had to be the saddest one-word question ever.

Dad gave a big sigh. “Some things I can't explain.”

“What about us? You can't just disappear. You can't leave us again—with him!”

“Maybe it won't be forever,” Dad said, using the
be patient
tone I recognized. “But it has to be for now.”

Then he started crying harder. It was anguished; beyond upsetting. I shriveled up inside. I didn't know what to do, because I was the kid, and kids aren't supposed to comfort their parents. So I listened to my father cry, and occasionally I'd chime in with a nervous “Daddy, are you okay?” but for the most part I let him cry. And then all of a sudden he went silent, like he had had a heart attack and died.

“Dad?” I whispered his name, so afraid he was gone, that I'd lost him, that the call had been dropped, or worse. “Are you there?”

Then I heard a noise, a little creak I recognized right away as the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. I sucked in a breath, held it, waited. Another creak, as my father's words, his text messages to me, flashed in my head:
IF SHE FINDS OUT, IT COULD BE VERY BAD FOR ME.

What would happen to him?
I wondered. “Very bad” covered a lot of ground. The footsteps. They were getting closer. Was it Connor? Simon? Mom? I focused on the sound.

“Dad,” I whispered again. “Someone's coming.”

I opened the closet door a crack and slipped out, crawling on my hands and knees. I managed to keep the cell phone where I could see it, making sure I didn't lose the call as I slithered over to my bed. I heard a knock.

“Maggie?”

It was Mom.

For the first time, I noticed the number. The area code was 802.
Wherever that was, I knew that's where he was calling me from. I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over me. I put the phone under my pillow and kept it by my head, feeling the hum, the buzz of electricity, a little reminder that my father was right there, keeping me safe, keeping our secret safe.

“Honey?” It was Mom again, from behind the closed door. “May I come in?”

I took in a deep breath, but my heart was racing anyway.

“I'm fine,” I answered, realizing too late that wasn't her question.

“Maggie?” Mom was confused, and the door was opening. I turned my head to see my phone peeking out from beneath the pillow. That's how close we were—me, Mom, and Dad—to being together again. All I had to do was move my pillow and she'd see I was talking to someone from the 802 area code.

Very bad for me.

Can you keep a secret? I trust you. Only you.

I shoved the phone farther under the pillow.

Mom entered my room, looking around, surprised to find me in bed. Then she saw my face and her expression turned to worry.

“Honey, what's wrong?” She came in and sat down beside me. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Nothing,” I said, sniffling.

She touched my shoulder.

It hurt, real physical pain, not to talk to my father. It took everything I had to keep myself from pushing the pillow away, to make sure he was still on the phone, to scream out, “MOM! MOM! It's Dad! He's alive! He's okay!”

But I couldn't break his trust. I couldn't bring myself to give up his secret—our secret.

“You're crying,” Mom said, stroking my hair, her hand only a few inches from the phone.

“I was just … just thinking about Dad,” I said, giving her a half-truth.

“Oh Mags,” Mom said, in that mom voice. “I know this is so difficult for you.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes to meet hers. She leaned on the bed, her fingers brushing against the pillow where I'd hidden the phone. My stomach clenched and released. She shifted position, her hand moving closer to the phone. I took in a breath and held it.

“Do you need to talk? I know I haven't been as available to you as I should be.”

I need you to go,
I was thinking.

“I'm fine,” I managed. “I just want to be alone.”

Mom felt my forehead, looking a bit puzzled. She knew I wasn't acting like myself.

“Okay,” she said, concern in her voice. “But if you want to talk, I'm here. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” I said, watching her go, unable to wait for her to get out of sight before I started to reach under the pillow.

When the door clicked closed, I put the phone to my ear. “Dad, are you still there?”

Glen couldn't speak even though he heard Maggie repeatedly ask for him.

It had been painful and wonderful to talk to his daughter, to hear her beautiful voice, but hearing Nina's, not having prepared for the possibility, made it impossible to utter a single word. His throat closed. The emotions came hard—guilt, regret, self-hatred, all of it pouring down on him in an avalanche of grief.

“That's her voice,” he finally managed.

“You're still there!” Maggie exclaimed.

“Your mom. I heard her voice.”

“She's not in the room anymore. She's gone. It's safe to talk.”

“God, I love you all. I miss you all so much.” Tears stung Glen's eyes.

“Please let me tell Mom,” Maggie said, whimpering her plea. “I can't keep this a secret.”

Glen checked in with Simon, who was standing next to him, holding the Taser to his neck.

Simon hit Mute on the phone. “Won't have to. Not long,” he said in a low voice. He hit the Mute button again.

“You won't have to keep it secret for long,” Glen said. “We'll tell them soon.”

He knew he'd have to embellish a bit to make the conversation sound natural, but he couldn't deviate from the main message. If he did, Simon
would jolt him—fast. He had threatened repeatedly to drive to the house and end it for everyone if Glen tried to warn Maggie in any way. He'd do it then and there, he vowed. Glen took him at his word.

Simon hit Mute again.

“You gotta get somewhere safe,” he instructed.

Mute off.

“But I have to get somewhere first. I have to get somewhere … somewhere safer.”

Simon pantomimed putting a phone to his ear and mouthed the words “Nina” and “Connor.”

“And when I do, you can tell Mom and Connor that I'm all right. Tell them I'm alive and well. Maybe I can even call, like I'm doing now.”

He looked over to Simon, hoping for approval. He had guessed right. Simon's expression remained placid.

“Where are you calling from?”

Simon shook his head and Glen understood. They'd rehearsed this answer.

“I can't tell you that,” he said. “You've got to trust me, okay?”

Simon gave a nod. Maggie said okay.

“Can you come home?”

Simon shook his head. Hit Mute.

“Ask about Nina,” he said in Glen's ear.

Unmute.

“No, honey, I wish more than anything that I could, but I can't. What about Mom? Is she hanging in there?”

Glen's mind was churning, thinking how to work in something, that one little reference to tell Maggie about the danger, perhaps reveal something of his location. But he had pondered it, turning his ideas this way and that, coming up with nothing. Anagrams for Simon, like “minos,” were nonsensical.

He had tried to think up a sentence where the first letter of each word would spell out a secret message, like he did with “NICE GUY,”
but ran into the same problem. Nothing sounded natural, so Simon would know. For days Glen had barely slept, thinking, thinking, but his mind wasn't sharp anymore.

“Mom's with Simon now,” Maggie said, as if that said it all.

Mute again.

“Is she happy?”

Glen knew that was for Simon's benefit, and wondered:
Does he think Nina confided in Maggie?

“Is she happy? Does she love him?”

Maggie fell silent for a moment. “No. She's not happy. She loves you.”

Darkness seeped into Simon's eyes.

Glen made a noise, a little clearing of the throat. He was delaying. Time was running out … he had to get the message to her, now. But Simon was watching him closely. One wrong word … one slip. Fear chilled his blood and held him back.

He wanted to scream, “CALL THE POLICE, I'M A PRISONER AT SIMON'S,” but couldn't risk it. He had timed it, all sorts of variations, and thought it would take two, maybe three seconds to get the words out. A Taser fired faster than that. Maybe Maggie would catch enough to make some meaning of it, maybe not. All Glen heard in his head was his daughter screaming, begging for her life as Simon moved the knife from one side of her throat to the other.

He felt his opportunity slipping away.

Simon pointed to the cue cards on the floor, which he had written out prior to the call. He had returned the LED light so Glen could see the words.

“I know adults, Maggie, and I understand kids, too,” Glen said, reading from card number one. “You miss me, you miss the way things were, but it can't be like that again. Not ever. Now listen to me, and listen carefully, even if you don't understand what I have to say.”

Simon pointed to the second cue card. Glen read from it.

“I'm hiding for a reason. I've done bad things. I've hurt people.”

“Who? Who have you hurt?” Maggie sounded wounded and in utter disbelief.

“That's none of your concern.”

Glen went slightly off script there, but Simon seemed good with it.

“Your mom has done some bad things, too. Things that have contributed greatly to my situation. Trust me, she's no angel.”

Back on script.

“What things?” Maggie asked, still alarmed.

“Things I can't tell you. Things I have to handle myself, okay? I'm still angry at your mom for what she did to me and I have to do something about it. It can't go unpunished. I'm not saying I'd hurt her. I'd never do that, and I'd never hurt you or Connor, but something has to be done. Understood?”

“No, I don't … I don't understand at all. What do you mean you have to do something about it? Do what?”

Simon tapped his foot on cue card number three.

“That's not your concern. Now, if this Simon person is treating you well, helping out financially, it makes things easier for me. I can't provide for you all like I once did, and he can.” This part of the script was Glen's idea. He had to embellish a bit to address Maggie's specific comments, but knew to keep to the main points. “I don't expect you to understand, but having Simon there with you gives me less to worry about. It's up to you to find a way to make the peace. It's important and it's what I need you to do.”

It sickened Glen to ask his daughter to enter into a truce with Simon, but he had no choice. If he was right, and Nina left Simon instead of her job, doing so for Maggie's sake, it could prove deadly for them all.

It took some convincing, but Glen eventually got Simon to agree it would be better if things were less fraught with tension at home. The question was how to get there. He knew Maggie wouldn't respond well to a demand, but suspected she'd be more malleable to guilt. He eventually settled on financial concerns to coax his daughter into making nice with Simon, but equally important to him, if not more so, was
the coded message he still hoped to deliver, and for that, he knew time was running out.

“I've given this a lot of thought,” Glen read on. “Simon can take some of my pain and worry away. All I care about is that you children are protected and looked after.”

“If you want me to be happy, then please come home,” Maggie said, her voice breaking again, basically sobbing out the words.

Simon hit Mute.

“Tell her to stop asking for you. I'm sick of it.”

Unmute.

“You've got to stop, Maggie,” Glen said, sensing if Maggie pushed too hard, Simon might push back harder. Now … he had to say something now. But what?
First Simon's demands,
he thought.
Make sure she understands. Protect her. Save your daughter.
“You can't keep asking me to come home. Do you understand? Make it better at home. If that means making peace with Simon, then you do it. If you do, then we can talk again. That's a promise. I love you so much, Bunny. I—”

Simon hit the button that ended the call. And that was it. It was over. He had failed to alert Maggie to the family's peril. He had let them all down. A crushing sorrow overcame Glen as he slumped to the floor of the box. Simon fished out a tissue from his pants pocket and handed it to Glen, who was crying now. From the same pocket he produced a scalpel, tweezers, and a test tube that might have come from the school science lab.

“Okay, good job,” he said, giving Glen's shoulder a gentle squeeze. “This should work nicely. I expect to see a new and better Maggie and a happy, more content Nina. But there's still more to do, much more, starting with turning you into a monster.”