“All right, Thursday, you came all this way, so tell me why you wanted to see me. I gather it’s not about divorce.” Her lips are tucked in at the corners—resolute and disgusted. She’s very wrong about the divorce, but I don’t tell her that. Let her think what she wants. All I want are answers about the man we both married.

I look around the office for the personal touches of the woman I’m speaking to: picture frames, rugs, anything that will tell me more about who she is. The decor is masculine, which could have very little to do with her; women don’t opt for this much cherrywood. She has a penchant for ferns, as there are three in total: one sits on top of a bookshelf with its leaves spilling over the sides, the other is smaller and on her desk and the third rests on the windowsill—the healthiest of the three. They’re well-tended, too, lush.

“I’m here because I don’t know my husband. I was hoping you could give me some clarity.” That’s the nice way of putting it, really. My husband hits women and had me institutionalized for asking too many questions. As it turns out, I am a really stupid woman, and I need Regina to tell me that she was equally as stupid for trusting him, and then I can tell her about Hannah.

“Your husband?” Her face is amused, eyebrows raised.

I want to tell her that now’s not the time to get into a pissing match about who Seth belongs to, but I stay quiet.

“I’m not sure I can help you—in fact, I’m not sure I want to.” She smooths out her skirt and glances at her watch. It’s subtle, but she meant for me to see it. I’m wasting her time. I suddenly don’t feel as sure as I did a moment ago. The temperature has switched.

“You’ve been with Seth for eight years—” I begin.

“Five,” she interrupts. “Seth and I were together for five years before the divorce, but of course you know that because you’re the reason we got divorced.”

I stare at her blankly. Of course I was, but she’d agreed to it. This isn’t going the way I expected it to. Why is she being so sour about something she agreed to? Seth met and married Regina five years before me. I remember the jealousy at all the extra time they’d had together, how I’d never be able to catch up.

“And these last three...?”

“These last three, what?” She snaps that part, the poise falling away for the briefest of moments as something flashes in her eyes.

“That...you’ve been together. The plural marriage...”

Regina looks like I’ve slapped her. Her slender neck jerks back. I can see the starburst pattern of pink rising above her neckline. I’ve made her nervous. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but it’s something to be making her nervous.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I don’t know what you mean.”

I know that if I jump out of my seat and shake her while screaming, Tell me the truth, you bitch! the police will be called. At the very least, I’d be escorted out of the building and one more person would think I was crazy.

“Aside from the brief contact he made to tell me that you would be coming to see me, I have not seen or spoken to my ex-husband in years,” she says.

Her words sever my next question. My mouth hangs open until I press my lips together, frowning.

I stare at Regina and then my hands. My thoughts are dumb, thick. I don’t make sense and neither does Regina. I hear white noise and the pounding of my own heart.

“What do you mean?” I manage finally.

“I think you should leave.” Her face is blanched as she stands up and heads for the door.

I follow her, not knowing what else to do. My thoughts are tangled between Regina and Hannah.

“You need help, Thursday,” she says, looking squarely at my face. “You’re delusional. Seth said you were sick, but—”

“I am not sick.” I say it with such force that we both blink at each other for a few seconds. I repeat it in a calmer tone. “I’m not sick, despite what Seth has told you.”

“Get out.” She holds the door open and I stare past her, my thoughts spinning.

“Just tell me one thing,” I say. “Please...”

Her lips pull into a tight line but she doesn’t refuse.

“Seth’s parents. Did you ever meet them?”

She looks confused. “Seth’s parents are dead,” she says, shaking her head. “They died years ago.”

“Thank you,” I breathe before walking out.

   TWENTY-EIGHT

Hannah’s car is parked in its usual spot along the curb. I walk toward it and briefly lay my hand on the hood as I pass, checking for heat. Cold. She hasn’t driven it in a few hours. At least I know she’s home. I move quickly up the path, past the planters to the front door.

I feel skittish, like someone is watching me, but in neighborhoods like this, there is always someone watching. It’s specifically why Seth and I chose the anonymity of a condo instead of a neighborhood and a house: neighbors bearing casseroles in dishes they want you to return, walking their dogs past your house in the evening so they can peer into your windows. I look over my shoulder, scanning nearby windows suspiciously. “You really are crazy, Thursday,” I say under my breath. New level of madness: talking to yourself in public.

The pressure on my chest is almost too much to bear as I near the front door. I feel like I can’t get a good breath. My foot catches a pebble and I slide a little. Take it easy, take it easy. I stare down at my feet, the well-loved flats that are beginning to smell. If Hannah invites me in I don’t want to take them off. Had she made me take my shoes off before? I can’t remember. I ring the bell and step back to wait. What if it isn’t Hannah who comes to the door? What if there is indeed a husband who is living with her? What will I say? My heart is racing as I wait, fingernails pressing into my palms. I’ve begun to sweat. I can feel myself grow clammy.

But then one minute turns into two, and two turns into three. I ring again and peer into the window. No lights are on, though that’s not really telling since it’s the middle of the day. But still, a dark day. The sun has been making short appearances every thirty minutes or so as it searches for holes in the clouds. I walk around the side of the house, past the large windows of the dining room and then through the gate, which is relatively easy to unlatch. If someone sees me they’ll surely call the cops—a strange woman who looks nothing like Hannah circling a home in this upper-class neighborhood.

I’ve never been in the backyard, never even glanced at it when I was inside the house. It’s pretty, Hannah’s little secret garden. I can imagine in summer how the flowers must bloom, but for now the branches are bare, and the rose trellis is empty. There are two empress trees; one grows close to the back of the house, near a window.