6. She Wanted My Husband. She Got Him
Chapter Six
SHE WANTED MY HUSBAND. SHE GOT HIM
By Thanksgiving, Julia officially has my husband.
Congratulations to her.
However, it doesn’t appear to be going as well as she may have imagined, and I know this because Maple Oaks has one grocery store, two coffee shops, a diner, and a population fundamentally incapable of keeping information contained.
News finds me, and at first, I hate that. Later, I begin to appreciate the efficiency.
Amy and I are in Patterson’s Market the day before Thanksgiving when Julia walks into the produce section. When we see each other, neither of us moves for a couple of seconds.
Then I place the celery in my cart. “Hi, Julia.”
Her mouth tightens. “Brooke.”
I’ll be civil to her, but we’ll never be friends.
As I turn toward the onions, two women from my mother’s church come into the produce section. They stop talking when Julia walks past, and they’re not subtle about it.
Julia’s shoulders stiffen, and I don’t enjoy that as much as I might have expected.
Later, near the bakery, Amy and I encounter Kara Brown in conversation with Julia. Kara’s tone is enough to make Amy stop beside me.
“Oh boy,” Amy says under her breath.
“I’m not listening.”
“You are absolutely listening.”
We both become deeply interested in a nearby bread display.
Kara folds her arms. “You should’ve told me.”
“Told you what?” Julia asks.
“That Brooke didn’t know.”
Julia glances around. “Can we not do this here?”
Kara laughs once. “That’s funny.”
Julia’s cheeks color.
“You invited me to a party you were throwing with somebody else’s husband and let me think his wife knew.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Julia says.
“I hugged you and said you two looked cute.”
Julia looks miserable. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t correct me either.”
“Kara—”
“No. I brought friends. I laughed about you and Justin recreating the old days. You used everybody there to make it look normal.”
Julia’s gaze shifts toward me, and I look down at my cart.
Kara isn’t finished. “And now I find out he’d been sleeping with you for months?”
“He said the marriage was over,” Julia says.
“They lived together.”
“You don’t know what their marriage was like.”
Kara glances toward me, then back. “I know Brooke showed up in office clothes because she thought her husband was at a fundraiser.”
Julia’s mouth presses into a line.
Kara shakes her head. “I feel stupid.”
Julia draws in a deep breath. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“Maybe not,” Kara says. “It was still what you did.”
Amy grips my arm. Very quietly, she says, “I love her.”
Kara walks away, and Julia stands alone for a second. When she looks my way again, I don’t gloat. I don’t need to. She wanted to be publicly chosen. Instead, she has become publicly understood.
I push my cart toward the next aisle.
After we check out, Amy says, “You didn’t even buy any bread.”
I look in the cart. “Damn it.”
She starts laughing, and so do I. We laugh all the way to the car.
Thanksgiving is harder. Justin and I always hosted both families. This year, I go to my parents’ house.
At eight that morning, his mother texts.
I’m sorry for what he did.
I stare at the words for a long time. Then answer: Thank you. I love you.
Because I do.
Unfortunately, divorce removes people from your life who never betrayed you. I’m losing a mother-in-law I’ve known for thirteen years, a sister-in-law, nephews who call me Aunt Brooke, and traditions attached to a man I can’t remain married to.
These are losses nobody cheers for.
The Sunday after Thanksgiving, Justin comes by to collect more clothes. He looks tired and somehow less polished. His hair needs cutting, and there are shadows under his eyes.
He carries one storage tub toward the door, stops, then looks back. “Do you know anything about furnaces?”
I stare at him. “What?”
“Julia’s keeps shutting off.” Right after he says this, he seems to hear himself. “Never mind.”
When a laugh escapes me, his eyes narrow. “What?”
“You almost asked your wife to troubleshoot your girlfriend’s furnace.”
“I didn’t.”
“You were very close.”
He sets the tub down. “Things aren’t good.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I know,” he says.
“So why are you telling me?”
His gaze moves around our living room. “She hates everyone talking.”
“They aren’t talking because of me.”
“I told her that,” he says. “She thinks Amy spreads things.”
“Amy doesn’t need to. You threw a public launch party for your affair.”
“That isn’t what the party was.”
I raise an eyebrow, and he sighs.
“She says people treat her like…”
“Like what?”
“Like she stole somebody’s husband.”
“She didn’t steal you.”
His eyes lift, and I hold his gaze.
“You volunteered.”
He looks down. Then, after a moment, he says, “She liked it better before.”
“Before what?”
“Before I moved in.”
This time, I manage to hold in my laughter as a small, sharp satisfaction unfurls in me.
Before, Julia got edited Justin. Helpful, fun Justin. The man who arrived with tools, fixed her railing, brought takeout, kissed her in the kitchen, and left before the trash needed to go out.
Now, she gets mornings, bills, laundry, wet towels, and truck registration. The full subscription.
“What happened?” I ask.
He grimaces. “She got mad because I asked whether she’d picked up my dry cleaning.”
I cover my mouth.
“Don’t,” he says.
“I’m trying.”
“You’re laughing.” His expression darkens. “You always picked it up.”
That makes me laugh harder. “Justin.”
“What?”
“You moved into another woman’s house and expected my services to transfer?”
“I didn’t expect anything.”
“You clearly expected dry cleaning.”
“I was just asking her a question,” he says.
“A question based on the belief that clean shirts appear through some sort of feminine magic.”
He rubs his face. “It isn’t just that.”
“What else?”
“She says I’m messy.”
“You are.”
“She says she doesn’t want to spend every evening figuring out dinner.”
I blink, then smile.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Say it, Brooke.”
I lean against the doorway. “She wanted the man who showed up at six with takeout and a toolbox. She didn’t realize somebody else had already made sure he had clean clothes and a dentist appointment.”
His face falls, and for half a second, I feel cruel. Then I remember the cabin, and it passes.
“She’s getting a lot of crap from people too,” he says.
“That isn’t my problem.”
“Kara won’t speak to her.”
“I know.”
“She was supposed to help with the downtown Christmas decorating committee. She backed out because she said everybody made her uncomfortable.”
That one surprises me. Julia loves town events, or she used to.
“Did someone ask her to leave?” I ask.
“No.”
“Then she made a choice.”
“She says people whisper.”
“Maybe they do.”
“You don’t feel bad?”
At first, all I can do is frown at him. “Why should I feel bad?”
His eyebrows rise.
“I’m not campaigning against her,” I say. “I’m not calling people. I’m not trying to ruin her life. But I’m not going to feel guilty because people know she slept with a married man and helped him lie to his wife.”
Justin looks down. “That’s fair.”
The words are so unexpected that I study him. He looks exhausted.
Then he tells me Julia got furious when he left three empty glasses on her nightstand, and I point out that I have photographic evidence of the same offense dating back eleven years.
Somehow, we end up laughing about it together. For one painful second, we’re us again. A married couple laughing in our living room.
The ache arrives immediately, and I stop.
So does he. “Brooke.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
His shoulders sink. “I miss you.”
My chest tightens. “I know.”
“I miss home.”
“You should’ve valued it while you lived here.”
“I do now,” he says.
“It’s too late.”
“She means nothing compared to you.”
My anger returns, and I’m grateful for it. “No,” I repeat.
“What?”
“You don’t get to make her nothing.”
“I’m trying to tell you?—”
“You spent months giving her the best of your time. You repaired her house. You took her away. You lied for her. You humiliated me in front of half the town.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I want to come home.”
I shake my head. “You were coming home.”
He frowns. “What?”
“You came through that door every night.” My voice stays quiet. “You just weren’t living here.”
I can see the words wound him, and a small part of me feels bad for him, but it’s only a small part. I open the front door.
He picks up the storage tub. Before he leaves, he tells me again that he’s sorry. I believe him, but that doesn’t mean he gets anything for it.
By Christmas, the story is no longer new. People become less obvious around Julia. Justin settles into the diminished version of his old reputation.
Life continues, and mine gets strangely quiet.
There are no evening fire-association emails, no reminders about Justin’s appointments, no errands he assumes I’ll absorb, and no last-minute requests to fix something he forgot.
At first, the empty hours hurt, but I start to fill them with dinner with Amy, coffee on Saturday mornings, an antique market forty minutes away, and a whole novel read in three nights.
I repaint the downstairs bathroom and hire a handyman to fix the sticking closet door. Every time I pay someone to repair something properly, I experience a tiny pulse of rebellion.
Julia wanted my husband, and she got him, laundry included.
I get my time back.
The trade increasingly feels like I got the better bargain.