But still... deep down... I knew the truth.
I never belonged here.
The doors open again, and I wish I had a pair of binoculars so I could get just a tiny peek inside. Did Marcie play it safe with the dusty-pink roses?
Maybe you should go and find out,my lunatic brain prods.Just quick—no one will even notice.
And I’m convinced.
The sun has begun to set, I reason. The impending dusk will provide enough cover for me to sneak around the back of the building and take a quick look inside. The back wall of the ballroom is all windows that open to a two-story deck and patio leading out to the golf course. Holes one and eighteen have plenty of trees and bushes for me to go undetected.
I grab the handle to open the door when I look down at my feet.
I’m wearing flip-flops.
Because gas station. Because milk. Because mac ’n’ cheese.
Hmm. This could be an issue. It’s February, and it snowed yesterday.
You’ll be so fast, your toes won’t even have time to get cold, I think to myself.
I pull the baseball cap down lower and shove my oversized sunglasses on my face, making it twice as dark as I step out of the car, lock it, and dart off into the trees.
I channel my inner Tom Cruise inMission: Impossible,crouching as I move.
If I were self-aware, my movement would be more Bond and less baboon.
I quickly move from one tree to the next, feet slipping in the plastic shoes. I stop with my back against the tree and peek around to make sure the coast is clear before racing to another when the back of the building comes into view.
Yellowish light spills out onto the brick patio, illuminating the big stone fountain John’s parents donated to the country club a few years ago. The waitstaff weave their way through formally dressed men and women milling around, and I squint to try to see what they’re serving.
Probably shrimp. They always start with shrimp.
I never liked shrimp.
I see the string quartet on the small stage, and I’m glad Marcie decided to hire them again this year. The violinist is a sweet young mom I met a few years ago at a wedding, and I was so happy to give her foursome a little more exposure. I know they’d booked several holiday parties as a result of this gala over the years, and it made me feel good that I got to pass that on.
I miss that part of this life. Having the means to help other people was huge to me.
I huff out a breath as I move in a little closer. If I angle myselfjust right, I might be able to see what big-ticket items Marcie was able to score this year. Last year we had two sets of Nuggets tickets and a pair of box seats to a Broncos game, but those had been my contributions. Maybe it’s wrong, but I want to believe that the gala is a little worse off without me.
From where I stand, though, it doesn’t seem to have missed a beat.
Which is good, Claire. This event is about sick children, not your pride.
I see John andthe other womanstanding in a group with Roxie and Garrett and two other couples I can’t make out from here. The men are on one side, and the women are on the other. And everyone seems perfectly comfortable with my replacement.
I dart out from behind my hiding place and run in the direction of a small patch of bushes, wondering how often my old friends see this woman socially. Do they invite her to spa day? Do they go shopping together?
I squat down and look at the group just as one of the women, who I now see is Lainey Russell, reaches out and takesthe other woman’shand the way you do when...
My stomach clenches.
The women lean in, andthe other woman—Misty—throws her head back and laughs. She reaches her right hand out, and John takes it, sharing with her a knowing look that anyone could see from a mile away.
Is my ex-husband engaged to this woman?
Maybe I didn’t see what I thought I saw.
