Immediately after she placed the order, a thought sizzled through her mind like a lightning streak: if Frank and Dana had spent the night together on their business trip in Atlantic City, then woken up and shared breakfast in bed, there might be evidence.
The realization galvanized her, sweeping away her lethargy. She bolted out of bed, her breath coming quickly, scrambling to grab her purse from where it hung on the knob of the closet door. Frank had a credit card he used for business travel, one that his company had given him. Presumably his room was billed to that account. But Frank might not have charged a breakfast for two on it, since anyone in the office who reviewed that expense would presumably have flagged it.
Who paid? she’d asked Frank.
I did.
Maybe he’d charged breakfast in bed with Dana to his personal credit card—to their credit card. He might have felt safe doing so, because he was the one who saw the statements.
Josie and Frank had fallen into an unspoken routine when it came to household chores. He cooked dinner on nights when he arrived home early; she shopped for groceries and made the other meals. She did all of the laundry and took on far more than half of the household cleaning—they’d bickered about that countless times, with Frank claiming he did at least 40 percent (another lie)—yet nothing ever seemed to change.
But Frank handled the bills.
He collected them from the pile of mail in the dining room every week or so and took them into the office, where he kept a checkbook and stamps. He’d told Josie that occasionally, during long conference calls, he pressed the mute button and knocked off that chore.
Josie dug her hard gray card out of her wallet, then flipped it over and located the customer service number.
She dialed it and was eventually connected to a customer service representative whose voice contained a bright smile.
“So, I just—” Josie’s voice was husky. She realized she hadn’t spoken to anyone since the waiter the previous night, more than twelve hours ago. Normally, by this time, she would’ve cajoled the girls to get dressed, negotiated with them about what to eat for breakfast, and hustled them out the door to the park or the free play hour at the local gymnastics center. She cleared her throat and began again.
“I need to double-check a charge,” Josie began. She sat down on the bed and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her free arm around them.
“Certainly, I can help you with that. Can you give me your name?”
“Josie Moore.” If they divorced, she’d have to go back to her maiden name, Shaw. She’d have a different last name than her children.
“Wonderful. And can you just first verify the primary cardholder’s social security number?”
Frank was the primary cardholder. He’d opened the account before they’d gotten married, then he’d added Josie to it. But Josie had committed Frank’s social to memory long ago because he was so terrible with numbers.
She heard the woman’s computer keys clicking, then: “And which charge would you like to verify, Mrs. Moore?”
Josie hesitated. “I’m not sure exactly . . . It would be in Atlantic City. Can you just let me know about any charges that were made to this card about two months ago in Atlantic City?”
“Certainly,” the woman said again. “Let’s see . . . I’m finding an eight dollar and forty-six cents charge at an Arby’s. Then I see a bigger charge here—”
“Yes,” Josie interrupted. “What was that one for?”
“Just a moment, please . . .” The woman’s voice was a shade less bright, perhaps because of the tension in Josie’s.
Josie’s abdomen clenched.
“It was a four-hundred-dollar cash advance.”
“Cash?” Josie echoed. “Why would he do that? Why wouldn’t he just use an ATM if he needed cash?”
The customer service representative remained silent.
“Are those the only charges?” Josie asked. She became aware that she was tapping the fingers of her left hand against her thigh and she stilled the motion.
“They’re the only ones I see originating in Atlantic City.” By now the smile had completely vanished from the woman’s voice.
Josie thanked her and hung up. She dropped her head into her hands. Had Frank needed money to wine and dine Dana? Perhaps he’d been wary of removing the money from an ATM, knowing she might see a sudden dip in their joint checking account balance.
Four hundred dollars would have paid for a few very nice meals.
She’d ask him about it. But she’d hold the information close until the right moment.
Her head jerked up at the sound of a knock on the door.
She uncurled her legs and stood up, the carpet soft beneath her bare feet. She slowly walked across the room and looked out the peephole.
It was only room service.
“Just a second,” Josie called. She grabbed the bathrobe from the closet, wrapped it around herself, and opened the door.
The delivery woman wheeled a cart into the room. “Here?” She gestured to a small table by the window.
“Perfect,” Josie said. She watched as the woman made a production of removing a tray from the cart, centering it on the table, and whisking off the silver cover from her entrée.
“Your eggs Benedict. Sugar and cream for your coffee, and a glass of filtered water . . .” The woman pointed to each item as she named it.
“Great, great,” Josie said.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“No. Thanks.”
“Are you here on business, or on pleasure?” the woman asked as she handed Josie the leather folder containing the bill.
“I— A vacation.”
“How nice. And where are you from?”
“Ahh, Ann Arbor,” Josie said. She’d never been to Michigan, but it was the first thing that had popped into her mind. She gave up scanning the small print to see whether a service charge was included, added four dollars to the total, and quickly handed back the bill.
“Enjoy your visit.” Josie hurried to the door and held it open as the woman wheeled the cart back out. The woman was older, and beneath her black skirt, her ankles looked swollen and tired. Josie felt a flash of guilt, not for the lie but for answering so abruptly. The woman had only been trying to be nice.
Perhaps the room service attendant was divorced. Maybe she needed this job to make ends meet. Josie recalled the total on the bill: her breakfast had cost twenty-one dollars, twenty-five with the tip. It was almost certainly more than her server made in an hour.
If she and Frank divorced, Josie might need to get a better-paying job. She would insist upon staying in the house, of course. She was the primary caregiver, and the girls would need consistency. But they could barely afford one mortgage, let alone two.
Josie sat down heavily in the chair next to her tray of food. Then she picked up her fork and pierced a poached egg, watching the yolk run down the side of the English muffin.
All she had to do right now was eat breakfast, she told herself. She could deal with the rest of her life later.
* * *
Chapter Ten
* * *
WHEN JOSIE WALKED THROUGH her front door with her suitcase, the house felt unnaturally still.
“Izzy?” she called. “Zoe?”
In the kitchen, a note rested on the counter: We went to the mall. Be back soon. It was Frank’s handwriting, but Izzy had decorated the paper with fat pink crayoned hearts. Josie stared down at them while she stroked Huck’s soft ears, then she gave the dog a scoop of food, just in case Frank had forgotten this morning. It was one of Josie’s usual chores.
Josie let Huck out the back, then thumped her suitcase upstairs and stared at the bed. The bedding was rumpled, which meant Frank had slept in it last night. There was still a dent in the center of his pillow. The television remote rested on his nightstand.
Had it been there the previous day? Josie couldn’t remember.
Perhaps Frank had enjoyed a
little television while she’d tried to force down a dinner that had been a disaster because of what he’d done. She felt a thrum of rage—how could he be watching sports? Frank shouldn’t be allowed to sing along to his favorite song on the radio, or savor a hot, gooey piece of pizza, or linger in a warm shower.
She grabbed the remote and turned on the television. It was tuned to ESPN. She navigated to the screen showing the programs recorded on the DVR. She knew Frank loved Game of Thrones, so she deleted the episodes he hadn’t yet watched. She didn’t feel any better when she watched them evaporate from the screen, though.
She lifted her suitcase onto the bed and began to unzip it. Then she glanced at their closet again.
They’d divided it down the middle—Josie’s things were on the left, and Frank’s on the right, which happened to correspond to the sides of the bed they slept on. Josie walked over and pulled the closet door open wider. Frank’s side was filled with suits on hangers, and more casual clothes—jeans and T-shirts—stuffed into drawers and bins. A few were crumpled on the floor, too. Although Frank was careful with his suits, he was terrible about taking care of his more casual clothes. The man was incapable of folding, so his things were always wrinkled.
She stepped into the closet. He’d probably worn suits when he’d gone out with Dana, since their dates were likely all after work. But Josie couldn’t assume anything. Perhaps he’d also snuck out to see her on a weekend under the guise of going to the gym or getting a haircut.
She’d take advantage of the unexpected gap in the day by investigating Frank’s belongings, even though she suspected Frank would have thrown out anything incriminating by now. But he might have overlooked an item. She ran her hands through the pockets of his suits but turned up only a ChapStick, a few crumpled tissues, and a parking ticket dated the previous week. She searched his drawers and his jeans pockets, but nothing of interest turned up. She smoothed the crumpled bits of paper he’d left in the bowl of change on his dresser, but they weren’t illuminating: he’d ordered coffee and a bagel at Au Bon Pain and had gotten his car washed a few days ago.
She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. A receipt from another hotel that Frank and Dana had used as a daytime love nest. Or a tube of lipstick. Josie was hungry for more information about Dana, and even the brand of makeup she used could’ve told Josie something about her.
Her brain, which had felt almost aggressively sharp following her discovery, was growing muddy. She knew she was missing something. What was it?
The clue was the credit card receipt for Au Bon Pain, Josie finally realized. She’d only checked their card charges for Atlantic City. But it would be easy enough to review all of their Visa charges for the past two months. She could trace Frank’s movements. If he and Dana had met for a lunchtime tryst at a hotel, he would have had to put it on their credit card. If he’d bought her a birthday gift, or a Christmas present, the name of the store and amount would be identified.
The thought of what she might learn made her feel as if she were teetering on the edge of a precipice. Maybe that was why her brain was slowing down. It could be a form of self-preservation, to keep her from learning too much, too soon, and falling into the void.
The front door opened and Josie heard the girls burst inside, arguing about who’d pushed whom and sounding, as they always did, as if they were a much bigger collection of people.
“Mommy?” Zoe called over the sound of Huck barking.
“I’m here.” Josie walked downstairs. She swept past Frank without a glance and gathered her daughters into her arms. She could feel Frank’s presence looming over her. Watching to see what she’d do next.
“Hey, how about we go out for dinner and then ice cream?” Josie suggested. “Just the three of us. We’ll let Daddy get some work done here.”
She kept her gaze lowered so Frank couldn’t catch her eye. She scooped up her purse from where it hung at the bottom of the staircase banister, then shepherded Zoe and Izzy back through the door.
“When will you be back?” Frank asked.
“Later!” Josie closed the door in his face. She couldn’t be around him.
It didn’t matter that he could also seize the unexpected gap in the day to get a head start on damage control. She’d found out enough. She didn’t need to talk to Frank again before he returned to the office, after all. What did it matter anymore?
Five times. More than just kissing.
She could never trust him again.
• • •
Today would be a turning point, Josie thought the next morning as she pulled on her jeans. Its contours were familiar, at least superficially: Frank would go into the office. Josie had emails to return and work to do around the house. The girls would go to school, Zoe carrying her Transformers backpack and Izzy with her Little Mermaid one.
Tonight, though . . . Josie had no idea what would happen when Frank returned from the office.
She stayed upstairs until she smelled coffee.
Frank always filled a to-go cup moments before he left the house. He had three that he rotated among. All were the kind that could be decorated and personalized with special markers, and Josie had helped the girls write their names as well as messages to Frank on them before wrapping them up.
Frank was stirring sugar into the insulated cup—World’s Greatest Daddy was written on it—when Josie walked into the kitchen. He always added two heaping spoonfuls to his brew, despite the fact that she’d told him agave tasted just as good and was much healthier.
“Morning,” Frank said. Josie just nodded.
He grabbed a sponge and began wiping down the counters, erasing his coffee dribbles. Somehow this felt like an insult, too: it had taken the discovery of his affair to get him to do his share around the house.
Josie reached into her pocket and pulled out his iPhone. Frank’s sponge stopped moving mid-arc. She set the phone down on the counter. Frank stared at it, then jerked his eyes to Josie.
He’d shaved this morning and had nicked himself. A tiny red cut that looked like a little piece of thread was near his jawline.
She spun around and walked out of the room.
She imagined Frank driving down the block and pulling over once he was out of eyesight. He’d scroll through the emails, wincing when he got to the shower message.
Now he’d know exactly what he and Dana had written to each other. He would know what Josie knew.
Not everything, though. She was still holding some evidence close. The four-hundred-dollar advance on their credit card. The possibility of other charges that would tell more of the story. And the potential loose threads on Frank’s phone—unfamiliar names and phone numbers—that she hadn’t yet investigated.
“Kisses for Daddy!” Frank called upstairs. Zoe and Izzy thundered down for the morning routine: Frank gave them each ten butterfly kisses, then ten Eskimo kisses, and one giant “platypus kiss” in which Frank blew raspberries against the girls’ cheeks. It always made them laugh, although Zoe made a production of wiping off her cheek and claiming it was gross.
“I love you all!” Frank called. There was a beat of silence. Then Josie heard the door close.
It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. Frank was eager to rush into the office.
“Breakfast, girls!” Josie said. She was aware that her voice was artificially bright. Suddenly she needed to hustle the kids outside, away from the charade she and Frank were putting on. Did Zoe and Izzy sense anything? The experts said kids took in a lot, even little ones, so maybe they did.
“Mommy, you’re hugging me too tight,” Zoe said, squirming away.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Josie turned away, so that Zoe didn’t see her wipe her eyes.
She had thirty minutes to fill before she could put the girls in the car and drive them to school. It seemed like a very long stretch of time.
“Guess what? We’re leaving now and we’re all going to get a treat for breakfast. How about hot chocolate and croissants?” Jos
ie suggested.
“Chocolate croissants?” Izzy always seized an opportunity to negotiate a better deal.
“Sure!” Josie said. “But only if we leave right now.”
“Where are we going?” Zoe asked.
“I don’t know.” Josie rummaged through her purse to find her keys. “Panera.”
She said it even though she knew that the girls might want hot chocolate from their favorite treat place, because it was rich and delicious and always topped with whipped cream.
Please don’t, she mentally pleaded with them. She didn’t want to drive into the same parking lot where her life had shattered.
Zoe was putting on her shoes and Izzy was checking her lunch box, to make sure the contents met with her approval. They were both distracted. Josie played a little game with herself: Maybe if neither of the girls mentioned it, it was a good omen. Maybe it would mean that Frank hadn’t slept with Dana, that he’d only ever flirted with other women but hadn’t crossed the line, and that there were no more surprises lurking ahead. It could mean the pain Josie was experiencing had already crescendoed.
Or would the good news be that Frank had had dozens of affairs, that he was so evil and slimy that it would be easy to walk away from him?
Zoe finished tying her shoe and looked directly up at Josie.
“Why can’t we go to Starbucks?” she asked.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
* * *
“I ONLY WANT TO tell you this once, then not talk about it again,” Karin said. “Okay?”
The day was unexpectedly balmy—at least, balmy for winter in the Chicago suburbs, which meant it was in the thirties but sunny with no wind—so they were walking outside, in Karin’s neighborhood. Karin had offered to come to Josie, but as soon as Josie left the girls at school, the restless agitation swept over her again.
She felt as if her skin no longer fit; as if she were itchy everywhere but unable to scratch. She craved activity, but her usual routine—tidying the house, throwing in a load of laundry, returning work emails—seemed overwhelming. She’d slept fitfully last night, awaking every hour or two, but she wasn’t the slightest bit tired. She was glad for the extra few minutes’ distraction of driving to Karin’s.
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