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Don’t breathe a word that Nero’s businesses aren’t totally legal. Don’t tell the police that he was worried about enemies. If I conceal all that, the police won’t have the full picture about my potentially missing husband, which means they probably won’t be able to find him. But I’ll have done everything that’s expected of me.
“All right. Bye, Mom.”
I hang up and call the police. They’re not very interested in Nero’s disappearance. A healthy, grown man who’s been gone for just over a day isn’t a high priority. When they ask if my marriage is a happy one, I can’t manage to sound very convincing, and their scant interest vanishes. Still, the report is filed. Dark hair, brown eyes, olive skin, six-foot-three, thirty-two years old. I’m told that they’ll look into it, and they’ll be in touch,but right now they’re busy searching for a missing nine-year-old girl. It’s obvious who the police believe is more deserving of their attention and resources, and in my heart of hearts, I agree with them.
Over the following days, I suffer from debilitating headaches. It could be alcohol withdrawal, or it could be the bump on my head. Maybe I damaged my brain. That thought scares me enough to make an appointment with the family doctor, and when I see him, he scolds me for neglecting to see him sooner.
After a checkup and being told that I may have a minor concussion and need plenty of rest, Doctor Levine asks with a smile, “Did Mr. Lombardi drive you here? I hope you didn’t drive yourself.”
“My husband has disappeared.”
Doctor Levine stares at me, the bright white office lights glinting off his spectacles. “But where is he?”
“I don’t know. That’s what it means when someone disappears.”
“Have you reported him missing to the police?”
“Of course, but they blew me off. I don’t know what else to do.”
The doctor thinks for a moment. “Mr. Lombardi doesn’t have any family. He could be with friends—”
“I don’t think he has any friends. Only business associates, and I don’t know how to contact them. I presume he has a lawyer or an accountant to whom he regularly speaks, and I’m waiting for them to contact me.”
“Do you know where his office is?”
Don’t go there, a voice in the back of my mind screams.Bad things will happen to you there.
“Um…not really.” Why don’t I want to go there? Why this sense of foreboding? I reach up and touch the bruise on my forehead, wondering if that’s where I hit my head. I take ashaky breath. “Nero will come back when he’s ready. I think I did something to make him angry, and he’s punishing me. But there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve been drinking too much lately, and I’m worried about my future fertility.”
“How much have you been drinking?”
I tell him honestly, and there’s a flicker of shock in his eyes. “That’s… You should cut back. To nothing, or almost nothing at the very least. You’re young and relatively healthy, so as long as you learn to manage your problem now, it won’t have any long-term adverse effects on your fertility. I can recommend a discreet rehabilitation facility if you feel you need additional support.” He adds, almost as an afterthought, “And when you’re ready to start trying, Mr. Lombardi can return to the urologist and have his vasectomy reversed at any time.”
A cold sensation washes over me. “His…what?”
The doctor’s polite smile vanishes. “Mr. Lombardi’s vasectomy.”
“But we’ve been trying for a baby for months.”
The doctor pushes his spectacles up his nose. “Mr. Lombardi implied that you knew. I deeply apologize for speaking out of turn.”
My hands clench in my lap and my head throbs. “When did he have this vasectomy?”
Doctor Levine hesitates and taps a few keys on his computer. “It was July last year. That’s all I can tell you, Mrs. Lombardi. I’ve already said too much that breaks my patient’s privacy.”
I sit back hard in my chair. July last year. Just after we returned from our honeymoon. Nero decided right away, in private, that starting a family with me was the last thing he wanted, yet he told me to track my cycle and made me endure a degrading monthly ritual in which he screwed me withoutdesire, emotion, or even kindness. He made me hope for a pregnancy that was never going to happen.
I try to stand up from the chair, but my knees buckle, and I sit back down, dissolving into helpless, humiliating tears.
What was the point?I want to scream at Nero.Why has your every action since our wedding been calculated to inflict me with the most pain? What did I ever do to you?
“Mrs. Lombardi, I can see that you’re in acute distress over your husband’s disappearance. Allow me to prescribe you a sedative so that you can get some sleep.”
The doctor turns to his keyboard, but I hold out a hand and stop him. “No, please. I don’t want drugs, alcohol, anything. All this time I’ve been trying to get rid of the pain, but I’d rather feel it because at least it’s the truth.” I wipe away my tears and stand up. “Thank you for everything, Doctor.”
My heart is full of devastation, but I’m not going to numb it with alcohol or anything else. I will pull the pain out by the roots. Nero’s done me a favor. He’s killed the last of my love for him, and all that’s left for me to do is move on without him.
12
