The Leaf

Written

Claire

Tony was going to be late again. He didn't even have to call, it was his house. Claire stared at her empty wine glass.

Seven days sober. And no one to tell.

At eleven PM it crossed her mind that she shouldn't let him get to her, he was probably doing it on purpose, part of his punishment of her: the silence, the absence. Then, the violence, when she'd let go and her heart grew cold -- to draw her attention back to him.

As she sat on the living room couch, the TV light kept her company, as usual. Some news channel was always on, but she never really watched it.

She left the glass on the table and went upstairs to sleep, refusing to let Tony win.

Four days and long nights later, she knew she would eventually have to call the cops. Tell them about her husband's disappearance, fearing he was holed up in some motel with some prostitute. It was unlike him, but maybe he'd finally snapped.

The first reaction of a worried wife would be to call her husband's friends. Repulsed, Claire found Jaime's contact in her list: Tony's best -- and only -- friend. Best man at their wedding, Jaime was the mastermind behind the stripper decorated festival known as Tony's Bachelor Party -- a full weekend where no one could contact either. Its debauchery had been sworn to secrecy in blood or something, although Claire honestly didn't care. Even if Tony didn't get it, all she wanted was for him to talk to her, show her who he was. They could survive anything if only he would try that instead of his games.

Claire tried not to think about how her sudden understanding nature spawned itself the moment the odds her husband would be back settled on zero. He wouldn't risk being the bad guy in their divorce, so something had to have happened to him.

What made Claire want to refill her glass was far pettier than concern: the thought of Tony finding love in someone else's arms -- someone who made him so happy that he'd leave his old life behind. Claire along with it, just a dark cloud over his past. They were supposed to be together forever! The thought of spending that life alone made her realize just how miserable it was.

"Claire, how is everything?" Jaime swarmed. "Been meaning to call you guys, me and Betty were thinking about having you guys over."

So his cover story was he didn't know where Tony was. Claire stood silent, wanting to close that call.

"Is everything alright?" he asked. He had the same fake-concern as Tony, for the sake of the conversation. Indeed, she'd never called him directly before, not even to check if Tony was with him on the nights he was late.

"Yes, I'm just... worried. Tony hasn't shown up," she avoided mentioning in how long, "And... I..."

"He'll turn up," Jaime was quick to console her, as she knew he would. "He's been buried at work, maybe he's blowing off some steam with the guys," he sounded confident. "He doesn't always behave, but you know he always comes home."

"The guys" was the two men's usual excuse when hiding something from their wives, not realizing that both Claire and Betty knew their husbands had no other friends. It was just a thin cover-up. At least she'd made Jaime call Tony, tell him to bring his ass home -- if he knew where he was.

Two days later, calling the police started to feel like the only option, left at the bottom of Claire's arsenal, because how was she going to explain waiting for so long? That she liked her life in loneliness? That her reasons were not rooted in concern. That she thought they were playing one of his games.

Reluctantly, she reached for her cellphone, almost dropping it when Jaime's profile picture started to vibrate in her hand.

"Hello?"

"Hi Claire, I just wanted to call you to tell you not to worry too much. Normally I wouldn't do this, but I haven't been able to get through to Tony. He's having some quarter-life crisis, up at a cabin with some woman he met online. He'll be back, I know it, but he's refusing to talk to you. I think he's ashamed..."

Claire stopped listening: it was the usual "he's an asshole but he loves you" speech. Her mind went through a temporary top five of what she could do to get Tony so angry that he'd be forced to come back. She settled on one before Jaime ended his half-ass second-hand apology. The devil's advocate, she labeled him, disgusted.

"It's just a phase," Jaime concluded, almost pitying Tony.

"Thanks," Claire closed the call, she needed both hands to open a new bottle of vodka. Some liquid courage -- what she had to do called for it.

The night grew into a haze, as her best nights did, numbed to everything. Claire took her phone and started typing.

If Jaime answered the next day, she'd have almost no other plan to attack Tony. She'd find one eventually, but it might take a while, it was why she had to be careful with her new distraction.

The phone lit up, the collateral damage answered too fast.

I'll come by tomorrow after work.

Even if he refused to give up Tony, Claire had a sure way to drive a wedge into that old friendship, maybe even convincing her husband to resurface. Out of anger, if not out of love.

If not even an affair with Jaime brought Tony out of hiding, then he was dead. Claire needed to know, to decide in what direction to move on. Until then, she poured alcohol over her wounds and reread her message.

I know it's wrong but I can't stop what's happening to me. It's why Tony's gone. Could you come over?

Jaime didn't match Tony's height, the door framed him less threatening. His surfer-in-a-suit blonde hair helped his overall harmless look. Unlike Tony, he needed people to like him for his schemes to work. As with Tony, there was always a scheme.

Hungry eyes met Claire's, like when they'd used to ogle her back in college. The vulnerable were his specialty.

"Thank you for coming," Claire demured like Tony liked.

Jaime passed her to walk inside, where he stopped by the coffee table, looking at the two empty bottles of vodka resting on its glass.

"Is everything okay?"

He almost sounded sincere, but Claire didn't care.