Rating: ★★★★☆ Tags: Mystery Detective, General, Fiction

former
anythings. 
Hold tight
, I told them, we’re working on
it. Hilary and Tommy and Jacqueline and Boney and Go
and I, we’d have our moment. I told myself I believed it.
‘What if we at least got Andie?’ I asked. ‘Got her to
testify that everywhere Amy hid a clue was a place where
we’d, you know, had sex? Andie’s credible; people love
her.’
Andie had reverted to her old cheery self after Amy

---

returned. I know that only from the occasional tabloid
snapshot. From these, I know she has been dating a guy
her age, a cute, shaggy kid with earbuds forever dangling
from his neck. They look nice together, young and healthy.
The press adored them. The best headline: 
Love Finds
Andie Hardy!
, a 1938 Mickey Rooney movie pun only
about twenty people would get. I sent her a text: 
I’m sorry.
For everything
. I didn’t hear back. Good for her. I mean that
sincerely.
‘Coincidence.’ Boney shrugged. ‘I mean, weird
coincidence, but … it’s not impressive enough to move
forward. Not in this climate. You need to get your wife to tell
you something useful, Nick. You’re our only chance here.’
Go slammed down her coffee. ‘I can’t believe we’re
having this conversation,’ she said. ‘Nick, I don’t want you in
that house anymore. You’re not an undercover cop, you
know. It’s not your job. You are living with a murderer.
Fucking leave. I’m sorry, but who gives a shit that she killed
Desi? I don’t want her to kill 
you
. I mean, someday you burn
her grilled cheese, and the next thing you know, my phone’s
ringing and you’ve taken an awful fall from the roof or some
shit. 
Leave
.’
‘I can’t. Not yet. She’ll never really let me go. She likes
the game too much.’
‘Then stop playing it.’
I can’t. I’m getting so much better at it. I will stay close to her
until I can bring her down. I’m the only one left who can do it.
Someday she’ll slip and tell me something I can use. A
week ago I moved into our bedroom. We don’t have sex,
we barely touch, but we are husband and wife in a marital

---

bed, which appeases Amy for now. I stroke her hair. I take
a strand between my finger and thumb, and I pull it to the
end and tug, like I’m ringing a bell, and we both like that.
Which is a problem.
We pretend to be in love, and we do the things we like
to do when we’re in love, and it feels almost like love
sometimes, because we are so perfectly putting ourselves
through the paces. Reviving the muscle memory of early
romance. When I forget – I can sometimes briefly forget
who my wife is – I actually like hanging out with her. Or the
her
she is pretending to be. The fact is, my wife is a
murderess who is sometimes really fun. May I give one
example? One night I flew in lobster like the old days, and
she pretended to chase me with it, and I pretended to hide,
and then we both 
at the same time
made an 
Annie Hall
joke, and it was so perfect, so the way it was supposed to
be, that I had to leave the room for a second. My heart was
beating in my ears. I had to repeat my mantra: 
Amy killed a
man, and she will kill you if you are not very, very careful
.
My wife, the very fun, beautiful murderess, will do me harm
if I displease her. I find myself jittery in my own house: I will
be making a sandwich, standing in the kitchen midday,
licking the peanut butter off the knife, and I will turn and find
Amy in the same room with me – those quiet little cat feet –
and I will quiver. Me, Nick Dunne, the man who used to
forget so many details, is now the guy who replays
conversations to make sure I didn’t offend, to make sure I
never hurt her feelings. I write down everything about her
day, her likes and dislikes, in case she quizzes me. I am a
great husband because I am very afraid she may kill me.
We’ve never had a conversation about my paranoia,

---

because we’re pretending to be in love and I’m pretending
not to be frightened of her. But she’s made glancing
mentions of it: 
You know, Nick, you can sleep in bed with
me, like, actually sleep. It will be okay. I promise. What
happened with Desi was an isolated incident. Close your
eyes and sleep
.
But I know I’ll never sleep again. I can’t close my eyes
when I’m next to her. It’s like sleeping with a spider.

---