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“Oh,” I say, my voice too loud in the silence. “W-What are you doing?”
“What areyoudoing?” It’s not a question. Then I feel his gaze drift to the suitcase. My heart sinks. Once again, I feel foolish for thinking I could trick him.
In a blink, he’s across the room, right next to me. I shrink against the wall as Ollie—well, he doesn’t touch me, exactly. He just stands there...threateningto touch me. The energy crackles off him like lightning. There’s an eerie smirk on his face that turns my blood to ice. He’s pressed so close to me that our torsos are mere millimeters apart. For the hundredth time, I don’t recognize the man I married.
“Don’t do it,” he whispers.
“Please,” I eke out. “Please.”
Downstairs, Freddie lets out a squawk. Ollie glances toward the sound and then, mercifully, steps away. I collapse to the ground as though he’s just tried to strangle me. He bends over me, jutting up my chin to force eye contact. “Don’t do it,” he growls, hate in his eyes. “Or you’ll regret it.”
28
LYNN
FRIDAY, MAY 5, 2017
Morning, Lynn!” Amanda chirps as I walk into the office on Friday. “Ready for the weekend?”
I stare at her as though she’s just spoken in Dutch. I want to rip off her perky barrette. I want to pull out her fake nails. But instead, I smirk and say nothing.
“George wants you, Kit, and some of the others in his office in fifteen,” Amanda adds. “That okay?”
I murmur a note of consent, then close myself inside my office. I sink into my couch; my eyeballs feel freeze-dried from lack of sleep. My nerves are jumping from... well, from nothingspecifically,except the fact that my husband is cheating on me and it’s been four whole days and I still haven’t figured out who the bitch is.
I’ve combed through Patrick’s things. Every pocket of every blazer. Every receipt in his wallet. Every text on his phone. I tried to re-create his schedule, figuring out exactly when he might have seen whoever she is—and when he could have given her that bracelet. Or perhaps he hasn’t yet? Perhaps it’s still hidden somewhere and he’s going to give it to her on an upcoming business trip?
Yesterday, early evening, while I’d been tidying the house andgetting the kids ready for soccer practice, I noticed Patrick in the foyer, putting on his coat. “Where are you going?” I knew there was a paranoid wobble to my voice, but I was already teetering over the edge, trying desperately not to explode.
Patrick worked the buttons of his coat, his head down. “I need to do a few things in the office before I head to Detroit next Wednesday. That okay? I figured you didn’t need me for soccer.”
Call a private detective,my brain blared. What if he was meetingher?
I rose to full height. “Maybe I’ll come to Detroit with you.”
He looked up at me in surprise. “You want to come toMichigan?”
“I’ve never been.” I tried to sound flip and airy. “It sounds fun.”
“But what about the kids?”
“You know my parents would love to have them.”
I watched his face. His straight mouth, his darting eyes. But then he shrugged and said, “Sure, if you really want to. I could probably get you on my flight, though I’m not sure about first class.”
That was the final nail in the coffin. The Patrick I know would be like,Lynn, don’t be ridiculous, Detroit is a cesspool and you’ll be horrified at its idea of a five-star hotel.He’d reiterate that there was absolutely no good shopping and the weather was shit and all the people there were ugly. He’d say that we should go somewhere swanky and lovely the following weekend instead; he’d make reservations on the spot.
It was a guilty Patrick who’d given in. He caved because, perhaps deep down, he knew I was suspicious, and he wanted to lead me off the scent. Maybe I should have pushed the issue and asked for something even more extravagant—a new Chanel purse, hell, maybe even a whole new house. If Patrick felt so guilty, he’d probably cave to anything.
But all I want is for him to get rid ofher.And that, unfortunately, has no price tag.
I can’t just sit back and let this happen. I’m not going to be a wife who just smiles and pretends. Do I explain that I’ve found the bracelet? Is it possible that I’m misinterpreting this and that the braceletisfor me... just for another occasion? Christmas, maybe. My birthday, in four months.
There’s a knock on my door. I shoot up, my head feeling cottony. “Lynn?” Amanda’s voice is muffled. “You ready?”
I heave a sigh. The meeting. I stand and smooth my skirt. Amanda smiles at me as I open the door, and she leads me down the hall into my boss’s office, which is huge and bright and faces a scruffy bar at street level that seems to cater to drunks and people who like to dress in head-to-toe Steelers gear. I sit down on the couch, noticing that a few of the other people on the donations committee are here as well. There’s a knock on the door, and Kit Manning-Strasser hurries in, too.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, falling into the last available chair.
