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Chapter 17
Much has changed in the past three weeks. Zane and Lana took me into their home, and my brother not only co-signed the mortgage on my apartment but hired me at his company, Eltech. Because of this, I make enough to cover all the expenses on my new place, plus extra. I haven’t heard from Foster, but I’ve been keeping tabs on his company. Articles about the property in New Jersey are sprinkled in the papers. I almost feel bad for him.
In the meantime, I am keeping quiet about the failure of our relationship. When his mother calls to ask about having lunch, I make an excuse. I love Laura, but I have a feeling she would question me, and I am not prepared to be interrogated over poached salmon and cocktails.
On Friday, the third week of our separation, I receive a call as I am leaving work from Mark, Foster’s assistant. I decide to let it go to voicemail, but when he calls me twice more in quick succession, I am compelled to answer.
I clear my throat. “Mark, what can I do for you?”
“It’s Mr. Black; I can’t reach him.”
I sigh, saying, “As I’m sure you’re well aware, I’m no longer together with Foster.”
“I am well aware. However, Mr. Black has been unreachable for the past two days, and I fear something has happened to him.” His voice is shaky, which wracks my nerves.
“Have you called his parents?”
“To call them would open the floor to your whereabouts, and as you know, they are unaware of your separation from Mr. Black.”
I am surprised that Mark has any inkling about the marriage contract since he never let on that he knew.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask after a moment.
“Can you please check on him?”
“I no longer live at the penthouse.”
“Please? I’m highly concerned. He’s never done this before, even during the most intense of negotiations. I’m worried.”
My stomach knots with fear. Suppose something has happened to Foster? Can I deal with the consequences? “I’ll check on him,” I agree.
I hear Mark’s voice pick up as if my involvement will fix the situation. “Thank you!” He pauses, then adds, “For what it’s worth, you were good for him. He changed when you were together.”
“Not enough to keep me,” I mutter automatically.
Mark ignores my statement, adding, “Please call me if you find him.”
“I will.” I hang up, and the previously lifted weight settles back on my shoulders. I text Zane, telling him I will be home later, making the excuse I am having drinks with Rory.
“Foster?” I call out as I enter the penthouse.
It was as spotless as the day I left. When I get no answer, I search my former home. Pacing down the hall, I check his office. It’s the one room in chaos. Papers are stacked haphazardly on the desk, in piles on the floor, and litter the bookshelves and couch. There is no trace of the shattered whiskey bottle.
I continue my search, pushing open the half-closed door to the master bedroom. Inside, Foster lays amid several empty brown and green beer bottles. It looks like a frat house after an epic party. His office and this room are probably the only two he’s banned the maid from entering.
I stop short of the bed where he is curled in the fetal position. Foster is wearing a pair of dirty gray sweatpants and a stained light blue t-shirt. I can make out smears of orange cheese curl dust on the sleeve, matching the bag leaning against the nightstand at my feet. Another empty bag of sour cream and onion chips peek out from under the bed. Candy wrappers are bunched up in balls on the dresser. I shake my head; something is more than wrong. My usually meticulous husband is losing his edge.
For a moment, he mumbles something - my name, I realize. I freeze, and he cries out in his sleep.
“Foster,” I whisper. When he doesn’t respond, I repeat his name again and again until his lids shoot open.
“Paige… what, what are you doing here?” he asks, glancing around confusedly.
“Mark couldn’t reach you. He called me.”
Foster sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with orange stained fingers. “He shouldn’t have done that. You’re not my wife.”
I cross my arms, ready for an argument. “Technically, we’re still married.”
