UNINVITED

Chapter 4

Darkness hadn’t covered the entire neighborhood around dusk. Tom Grant pulled up his white Lexus—the one he’d bought alongside Elodie’s black Lexus and cut the engine. The headlights illuminated the front porch which looked neat as usual, then gradually went off.

     He sat in the car for a while, thinking or so he was doing. From his vantage point, he noticed that the house was pitch-black, and Elodie’s car wasn’t in the driveway. She must have parked it in the garage.

     After their heated argument this morning, he expected this. She was probably tucked in bed by now after crying herself to sleep. Today’s fight had been fierce. He’d strangled her so hard that she grabbed the pan from the kitchen counter and smacked his head. Had it been a lethal object, she’d have hurt him. That had forced him to let of her and she ran out of the house.

     He’d gone too far. Would Elodie forgive him? Maybe. This time round he was certain flowers wouldn’t solve the problem, or a date at one of those expensive restaurants. Neither would apologies. But he knew Elodie would eventually forgive him and they would patch things up. Then after some days, when they didn’t agree on a petty thing, they would start arguing again. He would accuse her of cheating, while he had no evidence. His conscience was killing him after what he did behind Elodie’s back. He broke their first rule—no cheating.

     He thought because he’d cheated, she was also cheating to make him suffer. Elodie had no idea about his affair with her best friend, or was it possible she knew and was acting clueless?

     He couldn’t stop the feeling that Elodie would leave him this time. He had pushed her to the breaking point. Lately, he felt they were going in circles with their marriage. Their arguments wouldn’t cease and he wouldn’t see a shrink for what happened years ago.

     Perhaps that was what contributed to the pain he inflicted on Elodie. Past traumas had the tendency to affect the present. Maybe he never recovered from the shock of learning his father abused his mother—from the shock of everything that had happened when he found out—how his Dad had died so strangely and everyone believed the story he and Mommy dearest made up.

     What if Elodie was right, and he needed to see a shrink? That wouldn’t happen. He would fix this like he had always done. After he created problems, he solved them. He just wished he wasn’t too late.

     Loosening his tie, he grabbed the briefcase with one hand while the other brushed through his dark silky hair. Then with a sigh, he opened the door and slipped out of the car, walking to the front porch of their large brick Tudor house with a well-manicured lawn.

     He climbed the short staircase and went for the knob. The door wasn’t locked. Thank God. Elodie was home. He could still fix their marriage. This time, he’d set things right. He’d tell Elodie about Anne before she did. Sometimes, he wished Anne hadn’t shown up in the picture. She was the reason their marriage was in ruins now. Then he’d beg her forgiveness and maybe—just maybe—consider meeting this shrink she wouldn’t stop talking about for her sake.

     The door swung open. He stepped into the familiar environment, flicking on the overhead light in the foyer. Gleaming light gushed from the bulb and brightened the place.

     “Elodie, darling. I’m back,” he called out, dropping the keys on the table by the vase of golden tulips.

     Silence. He only received an echo of his voice.

     He went into the interior, passing by the short hallway to the living room, where he stopped momentarily and swept his eyes across the fireplace, the loveseats, the ottoman, and then the sofas. On the mantlepiece, the portrait of Elodie smiled at him. He remembered the day it was taken. It was her birthday. She wore a belted dress with a gold necklace. Tom stared into her dark brown eyes. As he neared the photo, he realized how much he had missed her already. He wasn’t going to mess it up again.

     He picked it up and traced a finger across the glass seal, gazing at her slender face with sharp cheeks and thin lips. He replaced the portrait, slipped out of the coat, and flung it on the sofa.

     “Elodie?” he called again, this time louder than before.

     He took off his leather shoe, and peeled the other with his toe, leaving them in the living room. Clomp, clomp, clomp sounded as he went into the kitchen. Moonlight poured into the big space through the slats of the window blinds. The evidence of the fight was still there—the shards from broken ceramic, the pan she’d used to hit him, the upside-down chair—she didn’t clean them up.

     This didn’t feel like Elodie, who was such a stickler for tidiness. She probably just arrived from wherever she’d run to and went straight to bed. That must be it.

     He grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and downed it, then deposited it on the counter.

     The Rolex around his wrist suddenly made him uncomfortable. He undid the clasp as he climbed the spiral staircase upstairs. He walked past several rooms lined up across the hallway and stopped at the last door.

     “Elodie?”

     No response. The bedroom was also pitch-black when he stepped inside. He located the switch and turned on the light. To his dismay, the bed was empty. He massaged his temple, fearing what he’d thought earlier.

     Crossing the room to the nightstand, he bent down and pulled out the drawers, his fingers trembling. Her car keys weren’t there. So were the pills she purchased recently. He checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and found himself staring into vacuum. He came out and stood in the center of the room, sweating profusely even when cold air surrounded him. His heart thumped. For the first time, Tom Grant felt scared.

     His voice husky, he said, “Elodie, what did you do?”

     Throwing the Rolex on the bed, he neared the wardrobe and opened the door. A good number of her clothes were gone just as he’d thought. He inhaled and exhaled, then fixed a punch. With a yell, he slammed it into the wood. His wife was gone, and it was all his fault.

     I’ve got to find her, he thought.