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A few minutes later, she got a reply from Richie’s friend Chris, who said Richie had been in a car accident.
He was okay, thank God, but the doctors wanted to do some extra testing, since he’d suffered head trauma while in Afghanistan.
Missi Brandt had emerged from a rough few years with a new sense of solidity.
At 45, she was three years sober and on the leeward side of a stormy divorce.
When she finally did meet him in person, her relief was even more profound.
Richie was tall and charming, a good talker and a good listener who seemed eager for a relationship.
Maybe, he told her, with the benevolent confidence of a wealthy man, she wouldn’t have to work.
The wallet also contained a couple of credit cards belonging to someone named Linda. She’d had a nagging sense that something wasn’t right in her relationship, but she’d shaken it off as her being untrusting.
These mysterious objects in his wallet, though, seemed to affirm that Richie was engaged in some larger form of deceit, even if she didn’t understand all the details just yet.
Chris sent Missi a picture of Richie in a hospital bed, looking a little banged up but grinning gamely for the camera.
Missi felt a wave of relief, both that Richie was okay and that her suspicions were unwarranted.
When Missi got fed up—Why did I get out of a crappy marriage just to be in this crappy relationship?