and watch the news?” I offer him my arm, trying to hide the fact I’m heaving my breaths.
“I do.” He nods and tries to get up but he can’t. I lift, grunting under the weight of him. He’s an easy forty-five pounds overweight at two hundred and thirty. We stagger and I have to use strength I didn’t know I had to get him to the comfy chair. He flops in and mutters something I can’t comprehend.
“I’m going to hell,” I whisper.
He laughs.
I position him comfortably and wait the ten minutes, pretending to clean the dining room, but I’m watching him. It takes almost no time before he’s passed out and making whimpering noises.
I check his pulse but I can’t focus on counting.
He snores and I relax.
It worked.
I reach for his phone with unsteady fingers, again pressing to unlock it with his thumb. He moans a bit as I leave.
I open the garage door to Liz and a teenaged boy.
We don’t speak. It’s precision. And stressful. And creepily exhilarating.
Shit is wrong with me.
I hand Rod’s phone and mine to the boy. He’s skinny, maybe sixteen, and has the cliché geeky appearance I expected when Liz told me her neighbor kid was a computer genius who knew how to clone phones. I don’t want to know how that conversation started. She’s so weird.
He is with Rod’s phone and mine for eleven stress-filled minutes of me running into the living room and back out to the garage before the boy hands them back. He grins and holds out his hand. Liz places a hundred dollars in it, and he walks out of the garage, waving over his head. “Nice doing business with you, ladies.”
“That was easy,” I whisper.
“I know. Kids are way too damned smart.” She stares at the phone. “I can’t believe that turd installed the exact same app.”
“I can.” I hurry back into the living room to check on Rod. He is peacefully resting. I don’t know if he’s fully sleeping or not.
Then I hurry back to Liz who has opened his Facebook Messenger, a place I’ve checked before and found nothing—conversations with a bunch of guys and some old high school nonsense.
There’s a message from someone I didn’t notice before at the top of the list of contacts this time. A Lenny with an anime picture for his profile.
“That’s odd,” Liz says and opens the message and reads aloud, “Hi, Rod. Just wanted to let you know that the ring you ordered has been delivered and she loves it.” She clicks on the picture that follows.
It’s of a woman’s hand with a stunning pale turquoise stone set in a white-gold band with diamond braiding around it. The ring is gorgeous and resembles something you would get from Etsy but this is far more expensive.
“That’s her hand, isn’t it? This is her messaging him and talking about herself. They are sneaky.” Liz takes out her own phone and takes a picture. “To add to the file.”
“Okay,” I say with a sigh. The anxiety is wearing off and the realization that I’ve drugged my husband to catch him in his affair feels as icky as it should. My desperation has come to a low place. Bottomed out.
I almost wish I’d never heard of the app.
I would have left weeks ago instead of staging this.
But now I’m obsessed with outing them.
“You’re sure you want those texts to go to your phone? I suspect the pictures and such will get bad,” she says as she closes out the apps and turns off the phone.
“Yeah. I’ve prepared myself emotionally for this part. Brent had Elaine sign a prenuptial agreement. I’d like him to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
“If she is caught cheating, she gets nothing? Damn, I didn’t know that. Brent’s going to love you for this,” Liz mutters.
“Also, I want to be able to look Rod in the face and show him I caught him. Otherwise, all this fancy footwork was for nothing. I don’t know why, but I need him to know I am smarter than he thinks.” I scowl, not enjoying this part of the story as much. It’s petty and I should be better than this. My drugged husband in the living room would suggest I am not. “I want him to know he didn’t fool me or make me believe I’m crazy or needing meds.”
“And your exit strategy? Obviously, beyond moving into our apartment.”
“It’s done,” I confirm, noting my lack of emotion. “I’ve separated all finances, which