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What happened to their relationship? |
| Detective Dan Sullivan studied the location listed on his geo tagging app. The murderer’s car was parked by a riverside warehouse. He headed there, radioing for police backup. He paused in the lot, gathering his courage. His bones wanted to wait until backup arrived to storm the building. But Dan knew he had to ensure the man did not escape. He grabbed his gun. Hank stood on the loading dock, with a pile of boxes, shoving them into the murky waters below. “Hands up!” Hank jumped around, glaring at the gun trained in his face. “Who are you?” “I'm here to make sure you don't dispose of that evidence. It'll prove invaluable for your conviction. Let's wait nicely for the cops to arrive, mkay?” Hank glowered and grumbled, shuffling his feet. Dan studied the younger, stronger man with a trained eye. He had a thick neck, muscles bulging under his shirtsleeves. His fists clenched. He leaned forward. Dan's nerves quivered with sweaty tension. “What made you do it? You strangled your girlfriend and spent the next ten days trying to avoid suspicion.” “Whaddya think? That bimbo was sleeping with someone else. I wasn't letting her get away with it!” “Jealous rage?” Dan wrinkled his nose. “You should lay off bodybuilding. The steroids are making you aggressive.” “You wouldn't know,” Hank sneered. “You're just an old fairy with a gun.” “I've got a wife. You won't catch me murdering her for infidelity—or anything else.” “Baloney. If you knew she was having an affair, you'd do the same damn thing. The biblical penalty for adultery is death. I bet you don't know where your wife is right now.” “Reema is not unfaithful. She flew to New York for a book signing. She's an up-and-coming author—I bet you can't even read!” “Book signing—that’s a good one!” Hank guffawed. “Perfect excuse. Whatcha gonna do when you find the truth, huh?” “Shut up, you jerk!” Sirens and flashing lights interrupted them. Dan slipped past the ensuing hullabaloo, collapsing into his driver seat with a sigh. His joints creaked and snapped. He reached behind him to adjust the lumbar pillow against his aching back, suddenly aware of the toll that years of high-risk field work was exacting on his body. A quiet, peaceful retirement seemed inviting. He could be an armchair advisor, maybe help Reema write a detective thriller. The car time read 12:20PM as he hit the highway, GPS guiding him a hundred miles home. He wondered what Reema was up to in the Big Apple—an hour later than Nashville. Probably asleep in her hotel room after a long day. Hank's words bounced through his head. He brushed them aside. The idea of the woman he'd been married to for seventeen years being unfaithful was absurd. Reema would be back home in time to celebrate their anniversary. Dan pulled off at a rest area to check his phone. Uneventful, at one in the morning. Perhaps he should text Reema to let her know he was coming home safely. But he didn't want to awaken her. Instead, he opened her Facebook page—to a heart-stopping shock. She changed her profile picture. Instead of a quietly affectionate portrait of them, it was an impromptu selfie. Reema… and a man. It looked like they were at a dinner party. Dan had not seen such warmth of joy on her face in… what, years? Since their adopted daughter Monica had died. Who was this stranger? Tapping to enlarge it, he observed that, though the man appeared a few years older than Reema, they looked alike. Similar facial shape, nose, jaw. He checked profile updates. The image had been changed a couple hours previously. Scrolling through her timeline, the most recent picture was a group shot of Reema with several people at a restaurant. The stranger sat next to her, laughing. It wouldn't be improper for her to bring John, her publishing agent, if she needed a partner to attend a business gathering. Indeed, he was there, two seats over, along with her editor, Barry. But this stranger was different. Like a friend, only closer. Too close. Crickets droned in the shrubbery beyond his car. He pulled his bleary eyes away from the glowing phone screen, head throbbing with questions. Unease gripped his stomach. His throat tightened forebodingly. Why was this man special enough to put a light in her eyes, to replace Dan in her profile pic? Why didn't she identify him? Dan called her, doubtful he would be able to steady his voice. “Reema?” “Dan?” Her familiar tones were muffled with sleepy confusion. “Is something wrong?” “No, I'm fine. I wanted to check on you.” “It's two AM over here. You woke me up.” “I'm sorry. I—” In those few seconds of hesitation, his world slipped away. He wanted to demand who she had been with that evening, what was going on with her profile picture. Before he could open his mouth again, another voice filtered through the line. “Miriam?” It was a man. Questioning, in one single murmured name, why she was on the phone at 2 in the morning. It wasn't the TV. “Reema…” Dan choked on her nickname, his own creation, the one she'd gleefully accepted when they met as teenagers. Nothing else could get past his constricted throat. He hung up and put the phone away. Yanking the car into gear, he backed up and swung out of the rest area, accelerating down an endless highway towards a dark, empty home. Hank's words rang again, mockingly, “Whatcha gonna do when you find the truth?” Why? Why would she do it? After nearly two decades together, their entire adult lives spent building a home, a family. The sacrifices he'd made, the danger he'd been in. The time she was kidnapped by racketeers and he'd shot them down to rescue her. They were partners then, two enthusiastic young detectives on a mission to make the world safer. Now, what remained? Nothing. She'd cut him out of her life, replaced him without even a text message. Resentment burned hot. The car clattered over a bridge, reverberating rhythmically, high-pitched and hollow. What would he do? Imagining what was going on at the hotel room in New York, Dan felt an empathy with Hank. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, fantasizing about showing up with his gun… His headlights flashed over a deer, who leaped and spun away in fright. The speedometer needle yawning past 95 MPH shocked him back to reality. Dan hit the brakes. He pulled in a deep breath, fighting to think straight, to maintain control. No. He wouldn't become one of the monsters he'd spent his career hunting down. This wasn't a noir novel or a Shakespearean tragedy, a situation doomed to end in a gruesome murder-suicide. This was his life. Her life. If he really loved Reema, he would let her go. It was time to move on, accept their relationship was no longer the same. Guilt flooded in. It was his fault if she found someone else. Monica had been killed in a car accident three years previously, because he was working too hard to be there for her. If she hadn't died, Reema would still be a mother. She wouldn't experience the grief, pain, emptiness, bitterness, anger. She wouldn't have pulled away from him. Even after reconciliation and grief counseling, they were never the same together. She spent her time writing and pursuing publication. He threw himself into his private investigation work as if there was nothing else left in the world. When was the last time they'd had a truly meaningful conversation? Did he know who she was anymore? Worse yet, did he even care? He'd accepted her various business trips without questioning. Was it trust, or disinterest? Was this karma for his own neglect? Had he sacrificed his marriage for his career, a career he was now too exhausted to continue? Dan made it to his driveway and stumbled to bed, collapsing on the cold mattress at 1:30 AM central time, without brushing his teeth or removing his socks. After blacking out, he awakened at 4. Unable to rest any further, he reached for the phone. Several texts from Reema awaited: You ok? Why'd you hang up? I cancelled tomorrow's book signing. I'll be home early. With a surprise. Dan wondered why she didn't just come right out and say it. What did home mean to her? He typed in, It's not home anymore if you don't want it to be. He scowled at his cold words on the screen, unwilling to send. This long-distance communication was maddening. It was as if they were total strangers, not telling the full story, afraid of revealing too much, of being misunderstood. Dan swiped away the messaging app and opened Facebook. If he was worth his salt as a detective, he should be able to investigate this without dynamiting his bridges. Looking at Reema's profile with fresh eyes, the uncanny resemblance between her and the older man was unmistakable. He observed the heavy tan, wondering how much time the stranger spent outdoors. The photo at the restaurant had three likes. Two were familiar names: her publishing agent and the editor, both pictured. The third like, unknown: Joseph Elliott Wayne. His profile picture matched hers. “Wayne,” Dan whispered into the predawn shadows. That was Reema's maiden name: Miriam Ann Wayne. According to Joseph's profile, he had been a Baptist missionary in the Polynesian islands for twenty-two years, building a thriving church community. His latest post shared the same photo at the restaurant—with a caption: “So excited to finally reunite with my baby sister Miriam, after over two decades on the other side of the world! We've grown up a lot since we last saw each other. So proud of her. Thank you, Lord, for bringing us together.” Dan tried to remember if he'd known Reema had a big brother. He'd met her when her family moved to his hometown during freshman year. A glance at Joseph's bio showed he set out on missions before the move. If Reema had ever mentioned him, it would have been easy to forget, as he'd apparently never set foot back in the US since leaving. Dan squeezed his eyes shut. The phone slipped from his fingers, plopping away on the bed. He turned sideways, uncertain whether to laugh, cry, or bang his head against the wall. What was Reema thinking, playing ridiculous games with him? Tom Petty's Don't Do Me Like That popped into his head. He couldn't help laughing. If she thought it was funny to send him into an emotional tailspin, well… two could play that game. He texted, Actually, I won't be home today. I'm flying to Paris to hang out with my other wife 🤪 He awaited her response with a goofy grin. It came within minutes. How many do you have 😕 He shot back, Only as many wives as you have long-lost brothers… 😉 Reema: 🤣🤣😳😳♥️♥️How’d you find out? Dan: You can't surprise a 🕵️♂️ Especially not if you're on FB 🤣 *** Dan waited on the front porch. Reema arrived home, running to meet him with open arms. He swept her up in a hug, her warm cheek pressed into his neck. “Honey, did I mention lately how much I love you?” “I love you more!” Behind her came Joseph, rolling their luggage. He shook Dan's hand. “Heard you thought I was taking your wife away.” His eyes twinkled. “Pleased to meet you, sir. The misunderstanding was short-lived, though I'm afraid there will be long-term consequences.” “Like what?” Dan chuckled, running a hand through Reema's hair as she looked up at him. “Like my wife and I spending more quality time together, for starters.” “A worthy goal.” Joseph nodded. “Don't let me interfere!” They shared a hearty laugh. Notes ▼ lyrics to Playing Me ▼ video ▼ bonus video ▼ |
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