I DIDN’T KNOW June Freundorfer, but I knew who she was. My eyeballs got small and hard just looking at her in the flesh.
She wore a slim gray custom-tailored suit, had perfect wavy brown hair, and a smile as bright as if she soaked her teeth in Clorox. In brief, she was an attractive forty-five-year-old power babe and she had history with my husband.
Here’s the history.
Agent Freundorfer had been Joe’s partner at the FBI. She was promoted to the FBI’s Washington field office about the same time Joe was hired as deputy director of Homeland Security, also in Washington, DC.
June still lived in DC and until recently, Joe had been flying there regularly to see his government-agency client.
I hadn’t known about June, but a few months ago, while I was pregnant with Julie, a photo of Joe and June appeared in the Washington Post’s society page. June was looking up at Joe with twinkling eyes, a flirty look, and they were both in evening wear.
Joe insisted that there was nothing to the photo, just a charity benefit he’d gone to under pressure. He’d caught a flight back to San Francisco that same evening.
Then June called Joe’s cell phone and I picked up. I announced myself, asked a couple of pointed questions, and June admitted that she was involved with Joe, but that Joe really did love me.
I went bug-nuts.
Joe said that June was lying, that she was trying to make trouble for us out of jealousy, and I can honestly say she wasn’t just trying, she succeeded.
I threw Joe out of the house and changed the locks. He slept in his car, which he parked outside the apartment, just about where June’s car was parked now.
It took a while for me to believe in Joe again, but I love him and I had to trust him. And I totally do.
But now, those old suspicions returned as the beautiful Ms. Freundorfer came toward me, carrying a little turquoise shopping bag from Tiffany.
Martha read my body language and stood at my feet with her head lowered and ears back, ready to spring.
“Lin
dsay? You are Lindsay, aren’t you?”
“Joe isn’t around, June. Did you call?”
“So I don’t have to introduce myself. Joe always said you were smart. Anyway, I brought a gift for the baby,” she said. “Did you have a boy or girl?”
“We have a daughter.”
June smiled graciously and handed me the bag. And I took it because to keep my hands at my sides would have been childish. I even thanked her for the gift, a thank-you that was less than sincere and wouldn’t fool anyone, especially an FBI agent.
June said, “What’s the baby’s name? I’d love to see her.”
“It’s not a good time, June.”
It would never be a good time.
She said, “Oh. Well. Best of everything, Lindsay. Best to all of you.”
She returned to her car and after she’d waved good-bye and her taillights had disappeared around the corner, I opened the turquoise bag and undid the white ribbon around the small box inside.
June had given Julie a sterling silver rattle.
Very nice.
I took the rattle, the wrappings, and the unopened card and dropped it all into the trash can on the corner. Then I went for a run with Martha.
I ran. I hurt everywhere, but still I ran. Three miles later, Martha and I were back at our front door. I was soaking wet, but I felt something like my old self. It was a beautiful morning. I was married to a wonderful man and I was the mother of a healthy baby girl.
June Freundorfer be damned.