Chapter 9
By five o'clock, Kimberly and I had transformed into war generals planning our strategy. She sat at the kitchen island while I prepped dinner, both of us discussing Brett's homecoming like it was a military operation requiring precise execution.
"Remember, you're supposed to be happy he's home," Kimberly said, scrolling through her phone but keeping one eye on me. "Not suspicious. Not angry. Just a normal wife glad to see a normal husband."
"Right. Normal wife." I seasoned the chicken breasts with movements that were probably too aggressive for someone who wasn't mentally planning her husband's demise. "What's normal again? It's been so long since I felt anything real around him."
"Interested in his trip but not overly curious. Ask about the meetings, but don't interrogate him about details. Make it seem like you trust everything he tells you."
It was laughable that my daughter was coaching me on how to lie to my own husband. But then again, Brett had been lying to me for months, so maybe turnabout was fair play.
I went upstairs to check myself in the bathroom mirror, practicing expressions that looked welcoming instead of homicidal. Smile. Not too bright, that would seem fake. Just pleased. A woman happy to see her husband after a successful business trip.
"Welcome home, honey," I said to my reflection. "How were the meetings?"
The woman in the mirror looked convincing enough. Nobody would guess she'd spent the afternoon researching divorce attorneys and calculating how to split assets accumulated over twenty-three years of marriage.
I heard Brett's car in the driveway at six-fifteen and felt my stomach drop like an elevator with cut cables.
Showtime.
He came through the front door looking relaxed in a way I hadn't seen in months. Truly relaxed, not the tense exhaustion he usually brought home from business trips. His face had color, his shoulders weren't hunched with stress, and he was almost humming under his breath.
Of course, he looked good. He'd just spent three days with his girlfriend, playing house in Dallas while his actual family waited at home like well-trained pets.
"Hey, beautiful," he said, dropping his briefcase and pulling me into a hug. For a moment, muscle memory kicked in and I almost let myself sink into the comfort of his arms. Then I remembered the video and held myself at a distance.
"How was the trip?" I asked, stepping back to study his face. He looked happy to see me, which was either excellent acting or the kind of compartmentalization that let cheaters sleep peacefully at night.
"Great. Really great. Better than I'd hoped." He loosened his tie and headed for the kitchen, where wonderful smells were already drawing him like a magnet. "Is that rosemary chicken? God, I missed your cooking."
He missed my cooking. Not me, specifically, but the domestic services I provided. The distinction felt important.
"Dad!" Devin appeared from the family room where he'd been pretending to do homework while texting his friends or Madison Fletcher. "How were the meetings? Did you close the deal?"
"Not quite closed, but very close. The European partners are impressed with our approach, especially our regulatory compliance strategy.
" Brett opened a beer and settled at the kitchen island like a man without a care in the world.
"Alison did an amazing job presenting the legal framework. Really brilliant work."
Alison. He said her name like it was music, with affection and admiration that made me feel empty inside. How long had it been since he'd talked about me that way? Had he ever described anything I did as brilliant?
"That's great, Dad," Kimberly said from her spot at the counter, playing the role of supportive daughter with Academy Award precision. "You must be really proud of your team."
"I am. They're exceptional people. Alison especially. Her expertise in European Union law is exactly what we needed for this expansion."
Her expertise. Right. I was sure her legal skills were the primary reason Brett was so enthusiastic about working with her.
I set the table while listening to Brett describe the meetings with enthusiasm I hadn't seen from him in years.
He talked about regulatory frameworks and market positioning like they were the most fascinating topics in the world.
Maybe they were, when you were discussing them with someone you were sleeping with.
"Dinner's ready," I announced, carrying serving dishes to the dining room. "Let's eat while it's hot."
We settled around the table like a normal family having a normal dinner after a normal business trip.
Brett carved the chicken while sharing stories about Dallas and the conference hotel and how impressed the European partners had been with their presentations.
I made appropriate sounds of interest while internally cataloguing every detail for future reference.
"The hotel was incredible," he said, passing plates around the table. "Right in the heart of downtown, walking distance to everything. My room had this amazing view of the city skyline."
His room. Singular. Of course, he'd describe it that way when he'd booked two rooms. One for show, one for Alison. Standard operating procedure for cheating husbands with corporate expense accounts.
"Sounds lovely," I said, cutting my chicken into pieces. "Did you have time to see any of the city, or was it all meetings?"
"Mostly meetings, but we did manage to catch a Wrangler game yesterday afternoon. The European partners are huge American football fans, wanted the full Texas experience."
We. He'd said 'we' like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like taking your mistress to a football game was just part of conducting international business.
"That sounds fun," Kimberly said, her tone neutral. "Did you enjoy it?"
"More than I expected. Great seats, good company, exciting game. The Wranglers won in overtime, which made everyone happy."
Great seats. The VIP box where he'd been photographed kissing another woman. Good company. Alison, who'd made him look happier than I'd seen him in our entire marriage.
"I love Wranglers games," Devin said, completely oblivious to the subtext crackling around the table. "Their stadium is supposed to be incredible."
Brett launched into a detailed description of the stadium's architecture and technology, his tone enthusiastic in a way reserved for experiences that mattered to him.
He talked about the retractable roof and the massive video display and the energy of the crowd, painting a picture of an afternoon that had clearly been one of the highlights of his trip.
One of the highlights of his affair, more accurately.
I ate my dinner and made appropriate comments while watching my husband describe the best day he'd had in months. A day that hadn't included me or our children or anything related to the family he was supposed to prioritize above all else.
"The whole weekend was exactly what I needed," he concluded, reaching for his wine glass. "Sometimes you don't realize how stressed you've been until you finally get a chance to relax."
Relax. With his girlfriend. In a city two thousand miles away from his actual responsibilities.
"Well, we're glad you're home," I said, because someone needed to say something and the kids were just staring at their plates. "We missed you."
"I missed you too," Brett said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "All of you. There's nothing like coming home to family."
His hand was warm, the same hand that had touched Alison's face with tenderness I hadn't received in years. I let him hold it for exactly three seconds before pulling away to reach for the water pitcher.
"Devin has news about UConn," I said, desperate to change the subject before I said something that would blow our cover. "Tell your dad about the visit."
Devin's face lit up with enthusiasm that had been missing during Brett's Dallas travelogue. "Coach Phelps called this afternoon. They want me to come for an official visit next Friday. Full recruiting treatment, meeting with coaches and academic advisors, tour of the facilities, everything."
"That's fantastic," Brett said, and for the first time all evening, his attention was completely focused on someone other than himself. "I'm really proud of you, son. You've worked incredibly hard for this opportunity."
"Thanks, Dad. I'm nervous but excited. Coach thinks if the visit goes well, they might offer me a scholarship."
"They'd be lucky to have you. You're an exceptional player and a smart kid." Brett smiled at his son. "We should talk about what questions to ask, how to make the best impression."
I watched this interaction between father and son, seeing glimpses of the man Brett used to be before work and stress, and apparently Alison Crawford had consumed all his emotional energy.
He was capable of being present and supportive and interested in other people's lives.
He just chose not to be most of the time.
"I'd love that," Devin said. "Maybe tomorrow after practice?"
"Absolutely. We'll make sure you're completely prepared."
For the rest of dinner, the conversation stayed safely focused on Devin's recruitment and Kimberly's classes, and my mother's birthday party. Normal family topics that didn't require anyone to lie or perform or pretend they weren't dying inside.
Brett helped clear the table, which was unusual enough to make me wonder if guilt was motivating his sudden helpfulness. He loaded the dishwasher while humming under his breath, still radiating the satisfaction of a man who'd had an excellent weekend doing exactly what he wanted.
"I'm going to take a shower," he announced after the kitchen was clean. "Wash off the airplane funk. Then maybe we can open a bottle of wine and catch up properly."
Catch up properly. Like we were old friends who hadn't seen each other in months instead of married people who'd been living separate lives in the same house.
"Sounds good," I said, because what else could I say?