Han lagde telefonen, kiggede ud mod parkeringspladsen, der var synlig gennem de forreste vinduer, og spurgte: “Har din mand stillet mærkelige spørgsmål om penge?”
Det spørgsmål ramte hende hårdere end kysset.
Fordi ja. Det havde han.
Ikke nok til at alarmere mig i øjeblikket. Lige nok til at irritere mig. Tilfældige spørgsmål om konti. Om min mors arv stadig sad på opsparingen. Om vi skulle overveje at flytte nogle penge rundt for at få bedre afkast. Om mit navn stadig skulle stå på den mindre investeringskonto, hvis vi “alligevel virkelig var én husstand”. Små ting. Den slags, man vifter væk, når man stadig prøver at være en god kone og ikke en mistænksom en af slagsen.
“Han spurgte for nylig om min arv,” indrømmede jeg.
Greg fløjtede lavt.
“Ja,” sagde han. “Det sporer.”
Han må have set noget i mit ansigt, for hans eget udtryk blev en smule blødere.
“People our age don’t usually blow up their lives without a reason,” he said. “Sometimes that reason is love. Sometimes it’s fear. Sometimes it’s money. And sometimes it’s all three at once.” He paused. “But if I’m right, your husband isn’t just cheating. He’s planning something. And whatever it is, it involves you.”
Tom came home around 10:15 that night carrying a small white pharmacy bag and the same relaxed face he had worn for the last several months whenever he lied. That was almost the worst part. Not the betrayal itself. The ease.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re still up?”
The same man I had watched kiss another woman two hours earlier leaned against our counter, opened the refrigerator, and asked if I had eaten.
“Yeah,” I lied.
“Tonight was a mess,” he said, loosening his tie. “Supplier out of Milwaukee screwed up an order. I had to deal with it.”
He nudged the bag toward me. “Picked something up for you.”
Inside was a cheap Valentine’s card and a box of generic chocolate-covered caramels, the kind sold near checkout lanes to men who remember holidays at the last possible second. Eighteen years of marriage, and he couldn’t even lie with decent candy.
“Thanks,” I said.
He kissed my cheek lightly. “I’m exhausted. Going to shower.”
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