AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I jut my bottom lip out. Avery hands me the water. “Hmm, I—”
The door closes in another part of the house. I hear footsteps I can’t see. Josie
glances toward the front door. “It must have slipped my mind,” she says. She presses her hand to her chest. She’s not sure of herself. I can tell by the way she rolls her eyes. “Thank God you’re not an axe murderer.”
I narrow my gaze. “Me a murderer? No,” I say. “Seems like a lot of work. ”
She laughs. Avery stares at her mother, her mouth open. She looks like most teenagers look when their parents have overstayed their welcome in their presence. “What?” Josie laughs. “It was a joke.”
I want to tell her, her joke isn’t funny, but then Grant walks in. He has his phone in his hand. He’s punching at the screen. I wait for him to look up. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Missi—.
I watch in amusement as he lets the phone go. Just like that, his fingers release it, and it goes crashing to the floor. Suddenly, all eyes are on me. But it’s only Josie’s expression that gives anything away.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Josie
“Not another one,” I say to Grant as he retrieves his undoubtedly cracked phone from the marble floor. Another grand down the drain, just like that. I wouldn’t know this time, though. I’m looking at her. She meets my gaze briefly before turning her attention to my husband. I can’t help but follow suit.
“Whoops,” he says. His eyes are narrowed. His mouth contorted. He holds up the pieces of his lifeline to the world and suddenly it’s show and tell. His lips part slowly. “Didn’t expect to see anyone standing there.”
Seeing his reaction, I feel dizzy. Faint. Sucker-punched. Like the wind has been knocked out of me. I thought I knew that feeling. But not like this. My eyes scan the room, they scan faces, bodies, they scan my whole life.
“I’m from the coffee shop,” she smiles shyly. “Lucky’s.”
“Right,” he says. The muscles in his jaw go slack. “I thought you looked familiar.”
“She’s working with Avery on some dance stuff,” I say. I brace myself. There’s been an earthquake, and it seems I’m the only one who felt it.
Grant cocks his head slowly. He’s precise in his movements. Calculated. “You’re a dancer?”
She blushes. “I used to be.”
I grip the countertop. It’s all there in the red of her cheeks. It isn’t infatuation I see. I’m used to that when it comes to women and my husband. But this time there’s more, a lot more, and as much as I want to, I can’t not know anymore.
I lean against the doorframe and watch my husband brush his teeth. I must have done this same thing dozens, if not hundreds of times over the years, but we both know this time is different. “How do you know Izzy?”
He knows it’s coming. I can see it in the way his shoulders tense when he meets my gaze in the mirror. His brushing slows. My legs feel like jelly. You’ve held it together this long. Breathe. We’ve eaten dinner as a family, discussed the ins and outs of our days. I’ve helped with homework, signed permission slips, hugged my children. I’ve completed our normal routine as though nothing were amiss, as though the foundation of my life has not been ripped at the core.
“Who?” He spits foam into the sink and flips the faucet on. Everything sharpens. Nausea gnaws at my insides. My pulse throbs in my teeth. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the flush on her cheeks, the familiarity in their conversation, has an explanation. Maybe my husband likes coffee more than I thought.
Maybe I already know the truth.
“Izzy,” I say speaking over the sound of the water. “The girl who was in our kitchen earlier.” The girl you’ve been fucking behind my back. The one I was stupid enough to invite into our lives when she’d clearly already had a place in yours.
He spits another mouthful of foamy toothpaste into the sink and then meets my eye. “The girl from the coffee shop?”
I cock my head. Did I not try hard enough? Where did I go wrong?
“Do I know her?” he says drying his hands. “What is that supposed to mean?”
It means— how long have you been fucking her behind my back? How long have I, this life, been a joke to you? How did I not see that you wanted out? How did I misjudge her? It means—silly me. I hadn’t assumed her pretty enough to grab your attention. Somehow I failed to see her youth, her eagerness to please, her perky tits. How is it I’ve become a part of a competition I never knew existed? “It means what I asked… do you know her or not?”
He turns and smiles with one side of his mouth. He takes a few steps forward. He shrugs, noncommittally. It makes sense given the context of the conversation. His smile fades. “I’ve talked with her a few times while waiting for my order. But I’d hardly say that qualifies as knowing her.” He doesn’t admit he’s slept with her. But he doesn’t outright lie either. There’s safety in the gray area. He’s smart that way. He knows there’s not much you can do with the in between.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Izzy
