Free A Stranger Like You by Elizabeth Brundage Page A

sitting there in Hedda Chase’s living room with Tom Foster felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if they were old friends, as if what he’d done to her last night had been nothing more than a bizarre fabrication in his mind. Now he wished it had been. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if she walked in here.
    “It’s getting late.” Hugh stood up. “Look, I should go. Say hello to Hedda for me.”
    Tom glanced at his watch. “Here, let me try to call her again.” He opened his cell phone and pressed send. He shook his head. “She’s not picking up. I’ve been calling her all day. It’s pretty obvious she doesn’t want to talk to me. For a woman with such big balls she’s pretty goddamn histrionic.”
    Hugh held up his hand as if he didn’t need to hear it—it wasn’t any of his business.
    But Tom confided, “She wants me to leave my wife.”
    Hugh tried to hide his surprise. “You’re married?”
    “Of course I’m married.”
    “Does your wife know?”
    “Of course she knows. This isn’t a town where people are particularly skilled at keeping secrets. Discretion isn’t exactly a virtue here.”
    “Oh. Well. I’m sorry.”
    Tom shook his head. “It’s my own fault. Lucia is very emotional.”
    “Your wife?”
    “Here, you try. Let’s have your phone.”
    It wasn’t smart to take out his cell phone, but Hugh handed it to Tom and watched him punch in the number. He put on the speakerphone. They sat there listening to it ring. Just minutes after putting her in the trunk, Hugh had set her pocketbook on the front seat of the car. The phone had continued to vibrate and, out of frustration, he’d dug it out and tossed it into the glove box. He pictured it there now, vibrating. Stupidly, he hadn’t turned it off, but perhaps it had been deliberate. He had thought, perhaps, that someone might be able to locate her; an open door that invited in the world.
    Sweat prickled his skin as he waited in anticipation of Hedda’s agitated voice, but it was someone else who picked up—a man. “Yeah?” The voice gritty, tentative. “What?”
    “Who the fuck is this?” Tom shouted.
    “Who the fuck is this ?”
    “Where is she?”
    “She’s not here,” the stranger said.
    “Look, I know she’s fucking there.”
    “Nobody here but me,” the man said.
    “You put her on the phone—right fucking now!”
    “Hey, go fuck yourself.” The line went dead.
    Tom checked the phone to make sure he’d dialed right. He hit the send button again, but this time her voice mail picked up. Now they heard the voice of Hedda Chase identifying herself, the characteristic inflections of condescension as it requested the caller to leave a message—she’d call you back, her tone seemed to suggest, if you were important enough.
    Tom sat there shaking his head and muttered, “I don’t fucking believe this.”
    “What? Who was that?”
    “I don’t have a clue.”
    The queasy feeling Hugh had had before came back. A sour taste coated his tongue. He washed it down with some more scotch. Tom sat there with his head in his hands. He looked at Hugh. “Could she be fucking somebody?”
    Hugh shrugged.
    “I didn’t recognize his voice.” Again, he looked at Hugh as if waiting for his answer. “This is her getting back at me. I guess it really is over.” He shook his head and conceded, “She should be with someone else; I can’t give her what she wants.”
    “What does she want?”
    “What do any of them fucking want?”
    Hugh thought about Marion. Before they were married, she’d been livelier, more convincing about her love for him. Once they’d gotten married, she’d become secretive, remote. It occurred to him now that he didn’t have the slightest idea what she wanted.
    “Truth is, I’ve never had much luck with women and I’ve had no shortage of opportunities, I can tell you that. But with Hedda it was different. It makes me feel hollow to admit it, but I’m in love with