Page 35 of Dear Debbie

Again, I have to cling to the banister as I make my way back upstairs to where I left my phone. Once at the top of the stairs, I hold on to the wall as I go down the hallway in the direction of the master bedroom. I make it back into my bed, and then I grab my phone from where it’s charging on the nightstand.

I bring up the Findly app. There are flashing dots on the map indicating where each member of my family is. Both of the kids are home, thank God. I don’t know what I would think if both of them were missing as well. But Debbie’s dot is not positioned over our home, and as far as I can see, she is still sharing her location.

I squint down at the screen. It looks like she’s at an address in Weymouth. It doesn’t sound familiar to me. In fact, as far as I can remember, I don’t know anyone who lives in Weymouth, although it’s just the next town over.

When I click on her dot, a street name pops up. There’s no guarantee it’s one hundred percent accurate, but just in case it is, I scribble it down on the notepad that I keep on the nightstand. It’s barely legible but good enough.

I stare at the address, trying to figure out where Debbie would be at this hour. An affair with another man? Christ, that would be…awful.

Maybe I should call her. Instead of lying here, wondering what the hell she’s doing, I could call her right now and demand to know where she is. It would certainly be a reasonable thing to do.

But before I can call her, the dot on the screen starts moving. Wherever she went, she’s leaving right now.

I drop my phone and rest my head on the pillow. Debbie is only fifteen minutes away, which means she’ll be home soon. As soon as she gets home, I’m going to ask her where she was. We’re going to sit down and have a long discussion about…well, about everything.

Like I said, it’s time to come clean. Her dirty laundry and my dirty laundry.

Except about two minutes after I vow to talk to my wife as soon as she gets back home, I pass out and don’t wake up till the next morning.

27

DEBBIE

I wake up early the next morning feeling oddly refreshed, even though I took a little middle-of-the-night excursion.

Cooper is passed out next to me in bed, snoring more loudly than he usually does, drool pooling in the right corner of his mouth. Unsurprisingly, he’s still out cold.

I slide out of bed as quietly as I can and hit the shower. There’s nothing like a nice, hot shower to start the day, and I turn up the temperature as high as it will go. Cooper always takes lukewarm showers, but in my opinion, a shower can never be hot enough. You could drop me in a pot of boiling water, and I’d turn up the heat a few degrees.

I dress quietly, putting on another dark blouse with a pair of wide leg jeans that have recently become all the rage. Lexi seethed when I first wore them, because she felt wide leg jeans belonged to her generation, and I was “too old” to pull it off. But I actually think they’re very flattering.

The hallway of the second floor of my house is silent—both girls have another hour until their alarms go off for the day. I should be back before that happens.

I get in my Subaru, and twenty minutes later, I am pulling up in front of Kenneth Bryant’s house. Unlike last night, the street is well lit, and there are people leaving their houses to start their day. Still, I’m pretty sure nobody will notice my unassuming vehicle. And it’s not like a middle-aged housewife attracts any unwanted attention around here.

The lights are on in Ken’s house as I approach the front door, my purse slung on my shoulder. Cooper told me Ken’s always the first one at the office in the morning and the last to leave, so I was certain he’d be awake when I arrived. He’s probably enjoying a nice cup of coffee while reading the morning news.

I press the doorbell.

A minute later, the locks turn on the other side of the door. The door cracks open to reveal a tall man with thin hair and even thinner lips. I’ve never met him, because Ken Bryant never had any interest in socializing, but I recognize him from photos. He narrows his eyes at me.

“I don’t speak to solicitors,” he barks at me.

My, what a lovely greeting. How about hello?

“Actually,” I say, “I’m Debbie Mullen.” He looks at me blankly, so I add, “Cooper’s wife.” He still looks confused, so I further clarify, “Cooper Mullen. Your employee.”

“Oh.” He allows the door to swing open another inch. “Right. Cooper’s wife. Dottie.”

“Debbie.” I clear my throat. “May I please come in?”

Ken looks like he’s considering slamming the door in my face, but after a moment of deliberation, he steps aside to allow me to enter. It’s a start.

I’ve never been inside my husband’s boss’s home, and it’s about what I expected. It’s a large living space but spartan and without personality. I’ve seen homes staged for viewings that had more personality than this house. He has a leather sofa, but he doesn’t offer me a seat.

“You probably want to talk to me about Cooper getting a promotion,” he grumbles.

“Well,” I say, “yes. My husband has been with your company for a long time, and he’s a hard worker.”