by Liz Wolfe
“Hey, how long do I have to stay?”
I turned to see Craig standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He looked like a little boy forced to entertain guests after going to church on Sunday. It was such a normal married moment that I felt a tug at my heart. I’d moved back into our bedroom after our last talk. We still hadn’t made love, but Craig would frequently cuddle with me. I tried to ignore the feeling of desperation that accompanied the snuggling along with the strained air between us most of the time. Craig still refused to talk about the lingerie and I’d given up asking about it. Oh, I knew I was avoiding it. But I kept hoping that it really had just been a curiosity on Craig’s part. Something that would just fade away with time.
“Just half an hour?” I asked. “Go make some drinks for people, talk a little? Then you can go home and work on your project.”
“You’ll call me when you’re ready to come home?”
“Sure, but I’ll probably be here for hours. I thought I might even stay the night with Bobbi Jo. Is that all right with you?”
“Of course. I’m sure she could use a friend right now.” He walked across the kitchen, put an arm around me, and kissed the top of my head.
That was the Craig I loved. “Go.” I waved him out. The next six hours were a blur of conversation and activity. Bobbi Jo greeted the guests as they arrived and Lily and I made sure one of us was with her most of the time. Craig held out for at least an hour before he begged off. I couldn’t blame him. I knew how much he hated anything to do with funerals.
Brian stood in front of the huge marble fireplace and talked to whomever approached him. He looked sad and dispirited and went to the guesthouse before most of the guests had left. I suspected that Bobbi Jo needed rest more than the condolences of her guests and set about approaching each one with a gentle hint that it was time to leave. I carried a tray of shrimp to a young man Brian had been talking to earlier. I didn’t recognize him and he’d been standing alone at the fireplace since Brian left.
“Shrimp?” I asked, offering the platter. “Sure, thanks. These look great.” He piled half a dozen of the shrimp onto his plate.
“Were you close to Edward?” I asked. “Actually I got closer to Edward than was probably good for me.”
“Excuse me?”
He laughed and waved a shrimp. “Sorry. Funerals make me nervous.”
“That’s understandable. How did you know Edward?” I asked.
“He took over my company. About three months ago. Took the damn thing right out from under me.” He popped the shrimp in his mouth and dropped the tail on his plate. “Matt Nichols. What’s your name?”
“Skye Williams.” I shook his limp, slightly greasy hand. “When did you sell your company to Edward?”
“Oh, no. I didn’t sell it. Refused to.” He grinned and swilled more of whatever alcoholic concoction was in his glass. “He took it. All by him—oops”—he put his hand over his mouth to cover a burp—”self. Gotta hand it to the man. He went out with a bang.”
“Did you drive here?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“I think maybe you need to take a cab home.”
“Okay. Whatever you say. I think I took a cab here.”
“Perfect.” I waved Lily over. “Lily can you call a cab for Matt?” I gave Lily a look and she picked up on it.
“Come here, Matt. I’ll take care of everything.” She put her arm around Matt and threw me a wink. Another disaster avoided.
I made the rounds with the platter of shrimp, relieved that the problem was resolved. Lily would pour Matt into a cab and make sure he had the cash to pay for it. As I passed the shrimp around and delivered a gentle reminder that Bobbi Jo was exhausted, I wondered what Matt had meant about Edward taking his company. Did the police know that Edward had taken Matt’s company? Had they questioned him? Matt was so drunk I really couldn’t tell if he was angry about it. Seemed like a reasonable response to losing your business to someone. I tucked the information away for future use, because I was still more than a little pissed that the police considered Bobbi Jo a suspect.
Gradually, everyone left. Jimmy McLaughlin and Sean stayed until the end and seemed reluctant to leave even then. I was just glad that it was over.
“Looks like we’re about done.” Lily carried a load of dishes into the kitchen.
“How’s Bobbi Jo?” I asked.
“She’s holding up. The last of the guests are leaving. She’s saying good-bye.”
“I was thinking about staying with her tonight.”
“I don’t think she’ll let you, but it can’t hurt to ask. Go talk to her.”
“Talk to who?” Bobbi Jo asked as she carried in another stack of dishes.
“You,” I said, turning to her. She was pale and her hands shook as she set the dishes down. “Why don’t I stay here tonight? Just in case you need something.”
“No. Really, Skye, I appreciate it. But tonight I think I’d rather be alone. I haven’t finished saying good-bye to him yet.”
“It’s important to say all your good-byes,” Lily said. “Skye, you want a ride home?”
“Will you call me if you need anything?” I asked Bobbi Jo.
“I will. I promise.”
“Come on, Skye.” Lily took my hand and pulled me along. I was reluctant to leave Bobbi Jo. I knew she had to be fragile right now. Hurting. Alone and lonely.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Lily assured me. “Some things people just have to do for themselves.”
I let Lily pull me out of the house. I was totally exhausted and had to admit I probably wouldn’t have been of any real help to Bobbi Jo. But it was hard to leave her. I settled in the backseat next to Lily with Grant and Kyle in the front. As we drove to my house, Grant and Kyle talked softly. It was obvious just from their tone that the two men were close friends and I was amazed again at how this relationship worked for the three of them. Each of them had a strong underlying friendship with the other two. They accepted each other’s flaws and quirks and loved each other in spite of them. Or, perhaps because of them.
Surely, Craig and I could work out our situation. We’d been friends for two years before we’d even started dating, and I’d always thought our marriage was based on mutual respect and genuine love for each other. We just had to get back to that friendship and go forward from there.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said as we pulled into the driveway. The lights were out in the house and I was happy that Craig had already gone to bed because even a normal conversation seemed like too much effort right now.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Lily waved.
I checked the alarm pad and was surprised that Craig hadn’t set the alarm. I pulled my keys out and opened the door, flicking on the light as I entered. I remembered that Craig was working on a project for work. He must still be in his office. I looked down the hallway to the den, but the door was open and the lights were off. He was probably working in the bedroom on his laptop. I hated to spoil his fun, but there was no way I was going to try to sleep listening to him tap on the keys. I climbed the stairs and turned on the hallway light just as our bedroom door opened.
It wasn’t so much that Craig was naked that shocked me—it was that he was fully aroused, and wearing a condom.
My stomach churned a flash of white-hot heat up into my chest and onto my face. The tops of my ears burned with the intensity of it. I walked past him to the bedroom door.
“Skye, don’t,” Craig pleaded in a hoarse voice.
I ignored him and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open.
“Skye, please don’t.”
The man in our bed couldn’t have been past his mid twenties. His chest was hairless and he had longish blond hair. One arm was thrown up over his eyes. He was wearing the pink and gold lacy piece of discount crap.
CHAPTER FIVE
I am a total chickenshit.”
“Where the hell did that come from?” Bobbi Jo set two halves of a toasted bagel, a s
mall tub of cream cheese, and a jar of blackberry jam on the counter.
“I’m sitting here waiting to make sure Craig has left the house before I go back to get some clothes. I know I’ll have to talk to him eventually.”
“Well, of course, you’ll talk to him. But that doesn’t mean you have to do it until you’re ready. No sense in letting him call all the shots. I’m still shocked about all this, Skye. I mean, the cross-dressing was one thing, but sex with a man?”
“Shocked is definitely the word for it.”
“And the guy was just lying there in your bed with that thing on?”
“Please.” I held up my hand to stop her. “I don’t want to think about it. Why is that when it happens in your own bed, it seems worse?”
“I think it’s a girl thing. I don’t think men care about that part, and that’s why they don’t think anything about bringing their mistress home when the wife is away. Have you made an appointment yet?”
“An appointment?” I asked.
“With your doctor. You need to get in right away.”
“My doctor? What for?”
“Darlin’, your husband has been having sex with a man. And with you.”
The breath left my body and I didn’t seem capable of inhaling. Why hadn’t I thought of the repercussions to my own health? Oh, right, I’d foolishly been preoccupied with my emotional well-being.
“He was wearing a condom,” I said.
“That time. Skye, you can’t know that he was safe every time. Hell, you don’t even know how many times he’s done this. Call your doctor.”
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and punched in my doctor’s number, trying to remember the last time Craig and I had made love. Three months? No, it had been cold because I’d been wearing flannel pajamas, so it had to have been at least five, maybe six. Had Craig and I really not made love for six months? It seemed like a very long time, but I was sure that was right. A few minutes later I had an appointment for that afternoon. The receptionist had tried to get me to tell her exactly why it was an emergency, but I’d gotten by with mumbling something about the possibility of being exposed to an STD. I closed the phone and looked at the clock.
“He must be gone by now.”
“I’ll call and see if he answers.” Bobbi Jo picked up the phone and punched in the number. After a few seconds she shook her head and hung up. “Went to voice mail. Let’s go.”
“You don’t have to go with me, Bobbi Jo. I’m just going to pick up a few things and come back.”
“I know. But we’re girlfriends. Girlfriends stick together. Besides, I need something to do.”
Bitterness roiled through me as I drove to my house. My house? Then why was I the one packing up and leaving? Because Craig wouldn’t. He’d stay there, hoping that it would all blow over or disappear or something. I wasn’t much for confrontation myself, but this I couldn’t ignore.
I’d never expected my marriage to end. I knew that over the years Craig and I had settled into an uneventful relationship. To be honest, it had always been more comfortable than exciting. I wondered if I was more upset about losing Craig or about losing the life I’d become so comfortable with. Still, I hated what he’d done. I hated the deceit. I hated not knowing how long it had been going on. I hated not knowing why or how it had happened. I hated thinking that somehow it was ultimately my fault.
I pushed the button on the garage door opener and breathed a little easier when I saw Craig’s car was gone. I pulled into the garage and closed the door. The neighbors didn’t need to watch me loading my stuff into the Escape. Not that they would say anything. At least not to me. Our neighborhood was filled with people who thought they had too much class to interfere. But they sure talked to each other about what went on.
“What do you want me to do?” Bobbi Jo asked.
“There’re some suitcases in the closet in the guest room.”
“I’ll get ‘em.” Bobbi Jo left me in the living room and headed up the stairs.
I walked over to the built-in bookshelves flanking the fireplace and picked up a framed picture of Sheridan. It was a photo I’d taken last summer while we were at the beach. Her long, dark hair blew out behind her and she held a shell to her ear. Was I doing the right thing by leaving? Maybe there were other options, but I needed to leave for a while. I needed to be away from Craig to think it all through.
“What all do you want me to pack?” Bobbi Jo asked from the top of the stairs.
“Just enough to last a week or two.” I went to Craig’s office to get the bills that needed to be paid and an extra checkbook.
I grabbed the bills from the wooden holder where I kept them and opened the bottom drawer of the desk for a checkbook. When I pulled it out, the edge caught on a folder and lifted it from the drawer, spilling the contents on the floor. Craig’s pay stubs. He was so careful to file them in chronological order. He’d have a fit to find them on the floor. I laid the bills down and picked up the check stubs, trying to keep them in order. What did I care if he was upset? I was upset about a lot more than some papers being out of order. I stuffed them back in the folder without straightening them. One fell out and I picked it up.
What was this? The amount on his pay stub didn’t match the amount that was deposited to our joint checking account every two weeks. There was a five-hundred-dollar difference. I looked at the stub closer. Under direct deposit there were two listings. One was the amount regularly deposited into our account, the other was the five hundred dollars deposited to a different account.
Son of a bitch!
I pulled the drawer open farther and felt around the back. Nothing. If he had another account, then he had to have a checkbook for it. I stood in the center of the room and looked around. The room was almost bare with only the desk and chair and a small loveseat under the window. I opened the closet door. Winter coats hung from the rod with mismatched luggage on the floor, and boxes on the shelf above. In the corner was a small, camouflage-print duffle bag. Craig had used it as a gym bag until I’d bought him a new one. I reached up, pulled the bag down, and opened it.
Checkbook and register. Condoms. K-Y Jelly. Several cocktail napkins with email addresses and phone numbers scrawled on the back. My hands shook with anger.
I turned one of the cocktail napkins over. Meat Packers Union 69 was printed in neon-colored blue and green. What the hell was that? I opened the checkbook. The first check was numbered one hundred. The check register was unused except for the initial deposit. Two thousand dollars, dated three years earlier.
“Hey, I got pretty much everything you’ll need for a week.” Bobbi Jo set one of the suitcases down.
I stuffed everything back in the duffle bag and shoved it back on the shelf.
“Here.” I handed Bobbi Jo one of the suitcases from the closet floor and grabbed the other two. “I’m taking everything I can pack.”
Bobbi Jo lifted her eyebrows but took the suitcase and went back upstairs. I picked up the bills and shuffled through them looking for the two credit cards that I used. I stuffed them into a pocket and tossed the bills on the desk. Let Craig figure out how to pay the damn bills himself.
We filled the luggage with my clothes, lugged it all to the garage, and tossed it in the back of the SUV. I went back to the den and grabbed my camera bag, then stopped in the kitchen to get the bowl I’d gotten from my great-grandmother and the expensive set of knives in the solid maple knife block. I pulled the magnet Sheridan had made in kindergarten off the refrigerator and looked around the room. There was so much of me in the kitchen. I wanted to take the Waterford crystal and the good china. I wanted my food processor and marble rolling pin.
Stuff. It was just stuff. Besides, I could get it later. Right now, I just wanted to get out. I trudged to the garage, threw everything into the backseat, and climbed into the Escape.
Next stop—the bank.
“What happened to you?” Bobbi Jo’s eyes were wide. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
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I told her about the contents of the camouflage bag. “He’s been seeing men for at least three years and he was having five hundred dollars a paycheck put into that secret bank account.”
“But you do all the banking. How could you not know?”
“Because I was a stupid, trusting wife, that’s how. I never looked at his pay stubs.” I pulled into the bank’s parking lot and dug the checkbook out of my bag. “I’ll be right back.”
I stood behind the only other person in line and opened my checkbook. The register showed just over nine thousand dollars. The next clerk smiled and motioned me to her counter.
“How may I help you?”
“I’d like a cashier’s check in the amount of nine thousand dollars,” I said. I pulled out my bank card and identification.
The clerk took the cards, punched the information into her computer, and smiled. “Who would you like that made out to, Mrs. Williams?”
“Myself.”
A few seconds later a machine spit out a cashier’s check and the clerk handed it to me. “Will there be anything else?”
“Yes, I’d like to take my name off this account.”
“You would?”
“Yes. Please.”
The clerk disappeared for a moment, then came back and handed me a form. “Just fill this out and sign it. Will you be opening another account?”
“Of course.” Did she think I was going to stuff the money under my mattress or put it in the freezer?
“I’ll get one of our new account representatives for you.”
I didn’t want an account at the same bank that Craig used. I didn’t want to be reminded of him every time I wrote a check. “I don’t have time for that just now. I’ll open a new account later.” At a different bank.
“Fine. I’ll take care of this for you, Mrs. Williams.”
“Thank you.” I hurried back to the parking lot and got into the Escape. “Where do you bank, Bobbi Jo?”
“First National. Why?”
“Where’s the closest branch?”