Page 31 of The Husband I Left

“Well,” Nancy finally manages. “I suppose it’s… your hair.”

She says this as if it physically pains her, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

“Yes,” I agree. “It is. Oh! I see my friends have arrived.”

And with that, I walk away. I greet Kylie and the others with a hug, and when I glance back over my shoulder, Oliver and his mother are still staring in my direction, their expressions a bit stunned.

“Is everything all set?” I ask Kylie under my breath.

“Everything’s in place,” Kylie murmurs. “Brock texted. He and the boys have parked a couple of blocks over. They have a map with the route they are to take, and Brock knows that if things go sideways, they are to be gone before anyone can call the police. He’s just waiting for me to text him that it’s time.”

“And did you check—”

“The gate is unlocked. I checked. Walked right past it like I was admiring the roses.”

“Kylie. There are no roses on that side of the house.”

“Well, nobody stopped me, so—”

Harlow suddenly jabs Kylie’s ribs with her elbow.

“May I offer you ladies something to drink?”

I turn towards Frederick’s voice and try my best not to look too guilty. He’s standing just in front of us, holding a tray filled with glasses of sparkling water, and he extends it towards us with a slight bow. None of us heard him approach. I’m beginning to think the man can walk through walls.

“Oh, yes! Thank you, Frederick.” I take a glass. Kylie takes a glass. Harlow takes a glass and smiles innocently. “Lovely garden you have back there,” she tells him, and I barely resist the urge to step on her foot.

Frederick isn’t fooled. He looks at the three of us for a second longer before inclining his head and moving on.

“He knows,” Harlow breathes.

“‘Lovely garden you have back there,’ honestly Harlow,” Kylie hisses. “Why don’t you just tell him the whole plan next time?”

“He doesn’t know anything,” I say, turning back around to face them. “He suspects. There’s a difference. Don’t act suspicious. Don’t give him any reason to look closely at us.”

“Might already be too late for that,” Kylie mutters.

* * *

To what I’m sure is Nancy’s surprise more than anyone’s, the party goes smoothly at first. I make sure of it. I mingle. I make small talk. I don’t do or say anything that would make anyone the least bit suspicious or uncomfortable. I thank people for coming. I accept their congratulations graciously. Nancy trained me well, and I put every single bit of that training to use being a perfect guest of honor. Even if that means I have to listen and make the appropriate sympathetic noises when a woman who serves on one of Nancy’s charity boards tells me a long story involving her husband’s recent skin problems.

Eventually, Nancy taps her spoon against her glass and invites everybody to move into the dining room for lunch. The long table has been beautifully set with Nancy’s best china and arrangements of pale pink and white roses. The French doors along the back wall are closed, the gauzy curtains drawn half across them, and through the gap I can see the stone path winding away through the hydrangeas toward the eastern hedges.

I’m seated at the center of the table with Oliver on my right. Nancy sits at the head. My friends have been placed as far away from me as physically possible, clustered down at the very end, which I suspect is not an accident. Kylie catches my eye and winks.

Lunch begins. I eat my food and listen attentively as the woman on the other side of me tells me about her daughter’s upcoming wedding and watch with amusement as Nancy and Oliver grow increasingly tense with each passing minute. They keep exchanging glances, clearly expecting me to do or say something outrageous.

Every time I laugh, Oliver glances over. Every time I raise my glass or gesture with my hands, Nancy almost flinches. Neither of them eats much.

At one point, Oliver leans in close and whispers, “What are you doing?”

“Eating my lunch,” I reply. “The salmon’s really good. I’ll finish yours if you aren’t going to eat it.”

“Genny.”

“What? Waste not, want not.”

He looks as if he’s going to say something for a moment and then thinks better of it and goes back to picking at his plate.