She stared at me. And I watched the gears turning behind her eyes. The calculations, the denials forming and dissolving. The growing realization that I knew more than she'd thought possible. "I need to make a call," she whispered finally.
"No," I said. "You need to see a doctor tomorrow morning. " First thing, her hands were shaking now. Why? What did you What did you do? I didn't do anything, I said.
But you might have. She grabbed her phone from the counter and started dialing, her fingers fumbling over the screen. I watched her try Kyle's number three times. Each call went straight to voicemail. "He's not answering," she said, her voice climbing toward panic.
"Why isn't he answering? " I stood up and clear my plate. My movements's deliberate and unhurried. "You should probably get some rest. You have a long day tomorrow. " Owen, please. What is going on?
I looked at her, really looked at her, and felt absolutely nothing. You made your choices, Angela. Now you get to live with the consequences. Angela didn't sleep that night. I heard her pacing in the guest room, making call after call.
Kyle's number, her colleagues, someone from HR. Each conversation more frantic than the last. By morning, her eyes were red rimmed and hollow. She came downstairs in yesterday's clothes. Phone clutched in her hand like a lifeline.
I'm going to the clinic, she announced. Good idea, I said, pouring coffee. Come with me. No, she flinched like I'd slapped her. Please, I'm scared.
You should be, I said without looking up for my cup. She left without another word. I waited until her car disappeared down the street, then made my own phone call to the attorney I consulted 2 days earlier. She's getting tested now. I told him, "We should have results by tomorrow. " and the prenup ready to execute the moment we have documentation.
You're sure about this? I thought about Angela laughing in that hammock with Kyle, about the hotel receipts and deleted photos and 15 days of lies. I'm sure. Angela returned 4 hours later, ashen and quiet. She went straight to the bathroom and I heard her getting sick.
When she emerged, she looked 10 years older. They're running tests, she said horarssely. Full panel. Tropical diseases, parasitic infections, everything. Results in 48 hours.
I nodded. And Kyle, her face twisted, his numbers disconnected, his work email bounced back. I called his office and they said he's on indefinite medical leave. They wouldn't tell me anything else. Medical leave?
I repeated. Interesting. What did you do? She whispered. How did you know?