2. The Halloween Party
Chapter Two
THE HALLOWEEN PARTY
At a quarter to eight Friday evening, I’m still at my desk even though the office closed almost two hours ago.
Amy left at six after asking three times whether I wanted dinner, but I need to finish quarterly reviews, and if I went to a restaurant, I’d spend the meal thinking about the files waiting for me.
She called me boring, and I called her distracting. She said she loved me anyway.
As I’m starting to wrap things up, my phone buzzes beside my keyboard. I expect Justin, but Amy’s name appears. There’s a photograph beneath her message.
Please tell me you know about this.
For several seconds, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. I recognize the community center’s wood-paneled walls, the double doors, and the beige folding tables they’ve owned since approximately 1987. Everything else is unfamiliar.
Orange lights are strung across the ceiling. Black balloons cluster in the corners, fake cobwebs hang from the rafters, and someone has constructed an entire cemetery beside the stage.
The room is packed, but not with families. There are no kids around, only adults. Lots of them.
Several are holding red plastic cups. There’s a makeshift bar along the far wall, a DJ on the stage, and not one donation bucket or raffle table in sight.
But that isn’t why my fingers go cold. Justin stands in the middle of the photograph wearing blue scrubs beneath a white doctor’s coat. A stethoscope hangs around his neck.
Julia Thornton is beside him.
His ex-girlfriend.
She’s dressed as a nurse, although no actual medical professional could wear that costume without being dismissed before morning rounds. The white dress barely reaches mid-thigh, the neckline plunges over generous cleavage, and a little red-cross cap sits on her blond hair.
Justin’s arm is around her waist, and Julia’s hand rests flat against his chest. They’re both laughing, and they look natural. That’s the part that makes my stomach drop.
They’re not posing for the picture. They’re not awkward like two old friends who happened to choose costumes from the same theme.
Julia is standing beside my husband like she belongs there, and he’s touching her.
I type with stiff fingers: Where are you?
Amy responds immediately: Community center. Kara talked me into coming. Brooke, I swear I thought you knew.
Then my phone rings.
“What is this?” I say as soon as I answer.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s the fundraiser?”
“I don’t think it’s a fundraiser,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been here twenty minutes. Nobody’s mentioned raising money. No raffle, no tickets, nothing. I asked Kara where the donation table was, and she had no idea what I meant.”
I stand so abruptly my chair rolls backward. “Where’s Justin?”
After a pause, she says, “Across the room.”
“With Julia?”
“Yes.”
I grab my purse. “I’m coming.”
“Brooke—”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Don’t drive furious.”
“I’m not furious.” My voice sounds unnaturally calm. “I don’t know what I am.”
Confusion leaves too much room for hope. Maybe the picture is misleading. Maybe Justin put his arm around her for a photo someone else was taking. Maybe the costumes are a coincidence. Maybe there’s a fundraiser component Amy hasn’t seen. Maybe?—
No. The matching costumes aren’t a coincidence. He told me to stay home.
I drive over to find cars lining the community-center road for almost a quarter mile.
This isn’t a casual gathering thrown together by volunteers.
Someone planned this. Someone decorated, promoted it, and organized food, music, drinks, and a costume contest while I was spending portions of my lunch hour handling things Justin didn’t have time to do.
I park behind a pickup I recognize from the hardware store. Music reaches me before I open the front doors. Inside, the air smells like cider, beer, pizza, perfume, and too many bodies in one room. Nobody asks me for money or gives me a raffle ticket.
A woman dressed as a witch nearly walks into me. “Brooke!” It’s Carrie Milton from the bank. Her eyes widen. “Oh.”
That single syllable tells me more than I want to know.
“Hi, Carrie.”
“I didn’t realize you were coming,” she says, her smile wobbling.
“Great turnout.”
“Is it?”
I keep walking, and people notice me. Heads turn. Eyes slide away.
Amy is near the far wall in jeans and a sweater. She hurries toward me. “I can leave with you.”
“I just got here,” I say.
“Brooke.”
“Where is he?”
Her gaze moves past my shoulder. Justin is at the bar, and Julia is beside him, standing close. In person, their costumes match even more obviously. Justin has a plastic badge pinned to his coat that says DR. LOVE.
Somebody chose that. Somebody thought that was funny.
Julia sees me first, and her face goes blank. She looks caught.
Justin follows her gaze, and his smile disappears. That’s the moment my confusion begins hardening into something else.
I walk over.
“Brooke.”
“Hi.”
“What are you doing here?” The question is so astonishing I almost laugh.
“What am I doing here?”
“I thought you were staying home.”
“You told me to stay home.”
“You’ve been exhausted.”
Julia, his high school girlfriend, shifts beside him. “Hi, Brooke.”
I turn my head. “Julia.”
She’s still beautiful. That irritates me more than it should.
Julia has always been one of those women who look polished without appearing to work at it. Long blond hair, blue eyes, delicate features, and the kind of body that makes a costume with four inches between neckline and hem look intentional rather than ridiculous.
I hate that I notice any of that.
My attention returns to Justin. “You’re a doctor.”
He glances down. “Yeah.”
“And she’s a nurse.”
“It’s a costume,” he says.
“Obviously.”
Julia touches the little cap on her head. “It was supposed to be funny.”
“Whose idea was it?”
A man carrying two beers approaches before either answers. “Hey, Justin, they’re asking if you want to start the costume contest at eight—” He sees me and stops. “Oh. Brooke.”
“Hi.”
He glances at Julia. Then Justin. Then back to me.
“Great party,” I say.
“Yeah. These two went all out. A J and J production, just like old times.”
These two. J and J. Is that what people used to call them when they were together?
He gestures between my husband and his ex. “Seriously, Julia, the decorations look incredible.”
Julia’s face tightens. “Thanks.”
“I told Justin you two should bring back the old Halloween parties every year.” The man keeps talking because he hasn’t yet understood that he should stop. “You guys used to throw the best ones. Remember that one at your parents’ barn?”
Silence finally reaches him, and his gaze shifts among the three of us again. “I’m going to… yeah.” He disappears.
I look at Justin. “Bring back the old Halloween parties?”
“Brooke, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do this here.”
Julia drops her gaze.
“What exactly am I doing?” I ask.
“I can explain,” Justin says.
“Good.” I spread my hands. “Explain the fundraiser.”
His brow furrows. “What?”
“The fundraiser I reserved this building for. Where is it?”
“The guys decided to keep things casual.”
“Which part raises money?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It wasn’t really…”
Julia says quietly, “It became more of a social thing.”
I turn toward her. “I’m talking to my husband.”
Her mouth closes, and I face Justin again.
“You used the association rate.”
“No one’s losing anything,” he says.
“The regular rental is nearly six hundred dollars.”
“So?”
“You paid two hundred because I submitted paperwork saying this was a fundraiser.”
“It was supposed to start that way.”
“And then?”
He glances around. “We thought people would have more fun without making everything about donations.”
“We?”
He realizes too late that he used the word.
Julia folds her arms, and it nearly presses her cleavage up over the neckline of her costume. “I helped.”
“For how long?”
“A few weeks,” she says.
I glance around the room again at the printed signs, the coordinated decorations, the bar, and the fake cemetery. “You planned this together for weeks.”
Justin steps closer. “Brooke.”
“Tuesday night, when you said you were handling Halloween stuff?”
“Yes.”
“With her.”
“Yes.”
“Thursday?”
“Yes.”
“Last weekend?”
He hesitates, and Julia’s expression changes.
My stomach tightens. “What about the Saturday before that?”
“I had association stuff too,” he says.
“Answer the question, Justin.”
His jaw hardens. “We worked on the party.”
I was in our garage dragging boxes, sweeping mouse droppings, and wondering whether my husband remembered we owned half the things piled against the wall.
“You told me you had a fire-association obligation.”
“I did.”
“How long?”
“Brooke, this is ridiculous.”
“No. Ridiculous is me spending my Saturday cleaning our garage alone while you build a haunted house with your ex-girlfriend.”
His mouth opens, then closes.
I gesture toward Julia. “Where did the costume come from?”
“I bought mine,” she says.
Justin closes his eyes briefly.
“And his?”
“I bought my coat,” he says.
“What about the matching accessories?”
He looks away. “I picked them up,” he says.
“For both of you.”
“Yes.”
He thought about her costume. He stood in a store and chose something they could wear together. He made plans with her. He made sure I wouldn’t come.
“How did everyone know about this?”
“Texts. Facebook.”
I laugh softly. “I didn’t know there was a party.”
“You knew about the event.”
“I knew about a fundraiser.”
“It was just supposed to be something fun.”
Something fun.
I look at Julia, who’s watching Justin with the tense familiarity of someone waiting for him to handle a problem they share.
“Why her?” I ask.
Justin frowns. “What?”
“Why was Julia planning this with you?”
“She had time.”
“And I didn’t?”
“You’ve been slammed lately.”
I’ve been busy doing things for him. His paperwork. His family errands. His insurance. His household responsibilities. He created my lack of time and then used it as the reason another woman got his.
“I’ve been slammed because you keep handing me your life.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Is it?”
People nearby are pretending not to listen, and Justin notices.
“Go home,” he says.
I stop. “What?”
“You’re exhausted and upset. Go home. We’ll talk later.”
“You’re staying?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I can’t walk out.”
“Why not?”
“People are here because of me.”
I glance at Julia. “And her.”
“Don’t make a scene, Brooke.”
The matching costumes. The secrecy. The lies. The room full of people who seem to know more about my husband’s social life than I do. And I’m the potential embarrassment.
I draw in a deep breath. “Fine.”
Relief flashes over his face, because he mistakes my calm for surrender. He has thirteen years of experience with me making things easier.
Then he makes the mistake that clarifies the whole evening.
“We’ll fix the community-center paperwork tomorrow,” he says. “You know how to straighten that stuff out.”
For years, I’ve straightened things out for Justin. Deadlines, bills, family birthdays, association mistakes, missed appointments, forgotten paperwork. Now he’s standing beside his ex-girlfriend in matching costumes, asking me to clean up the lie that made their party possible.
His plastic stethoscope is twisted. I reach up and straighten it against his coat, and he flinches.
“There.”
His forehead creases. “What?”
“I fixed something.” Then I turn away.
Amy catches up before I reach the door. I make it to the parking lot before my body stops cooperating, and Amy grabs me.
“Oh, honey.”
“He told me to go home.”
“I know.”
“He’s staying. With her.”
“I know.”
“And tomorrow he wants me to fix the paperwork.”
She wraps her arms around me, and I let her.
Then I pull back and wipe my face. “I’m going home.”
“I’ll drive.”
“I can drive.”
“Then I’m following you. No debate.”
I look back at the building. Through the windows, orange lights glow over moving bodies.
Justin doesn’t come outside. Not while Amy gets into her car. Not while I start mine. Not while I pull away.
At home, the bucket is still beneath the outdoor faucet.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I stand on the patio staring at it until the absurdity becomes unbearable. My husband has time to throw a Halloween party with his ex, but he doesn’t have twenty minutes for me.
He comes home at one thirty-two in the morning.
I know because I’m awake, but I’m no longer waiting for him.