The Housewife(23)

I smile back, tilting my head. “I’m just happy.” He caresses my cheek, and it occurs to me that if anyone walked in right now, they would undoubtedly think, “Now look at those two lovebirds.”

Which goes to show, you never know what goes on inside a person’s head.

“And what are you up to today, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Shopping mostly, then I’m having coffee with a friend—”

He looks up sharply, eyes narrowed. “A friend? ”

“Her name is Erin,” I say lightly, buttering a piece of gluten-free toast. He waits a beat, then relaxes.

“Do I know Erin?” he asks.

“You haven’t met her because I only met her yesterday for the first time, but she’s very nice.”

Roy smiles. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart. I’m pleased to hear that.”

I steal a glance at Marie who has come in to clear some of the dishes. I flash my sunniest smile at Roy. “Thank you, darling,” I say, even though I never call him that. “It pleases me that you’re pleased.”

He gives me that smile, the one that tugs on one side only, and I catch a strange look on Marie’s face, like a shadow.

“And by the way, I have a doctor’s appointment on Monday,” I say after Marie leaves.

“A doctor’s appointment?” He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

I was taking a bite of my toast so I have to wait and chew. I pat my mouth with my napkin. “Nothing,” I say finally, one hand in front of my mouth in case some piece of bread got lodged between my teeth. “I was thinking about what you said, and you’re right, Roy. I should get help. I’m going to talk to my GP—Dr. Kowalski, do you know him? Meredith recommended him. Anyway, I’ll see if he can recommend someone.”

He puts down his coffee cup. “Well, if you want to… I mean, I do think it’s a good idea. But you don’t need Dr. Kowalski to recommend someone. I’ll give you some names.”

“Thank you, Roy. That would be very kind.”





He leaves for work, and I put the breakfast things away. I open the cupboard to put back the jar of chia seeds and glance at Deb’s shelf.

My heart stops. The note I put in the jar of cookies is gone. I grab the jar. There are three cookies in it. But I know, I know that I put four. I turn to Marie who isn’t even pretending to be busy. She’s leaning against the counter, drinking her coffee, watching me clean.

I hold up the jar. “You didn’t have one of those, did you?”

She gives a look, a quick roll of the eye. “I’m a diabetic.”

“I know. I was just wondering.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t touch them.”

She turns around and puts her cup in the dishwasher.

I put the jar back on the shelf but I leave my hand on it for a moment, feeling the sting of tears behind my eyes. I don’t believe in ghosts—for good reasons, considering all the people I… Anyway, my point is, if ghosts were a thing, let’s just say, I would know.

But still.

I swallow a lump at the back of my throat and close the cupboard door.





15





I get everything together for dinner—I’m making pulled pork and roasted vegetables, one of Roy’s favorites. I turn on the slow cooker, then go to meet Erin.





She’s already at the café when I get there. She stands and smiles, like she’s happy to see me, and then she hugs me. I’m not used to being touched by strangers so I don’t quite know what to do. I mentally ask Deb. Just go with the flow, she would say. So I hug Erin back, going with the flow, until I feel her disengaging herself from my embrace.

“Thank you for yesterday. You were so sweet,” she says, giving me an odd look. Or maybe I’m imagining it. “I feel much better about everything. ”

“I’m glad,” I say, sitting down opposite. “But it’s me who should be thanking you.” I open my purse and slide a fifty across the table.

“There was no need, but I appreciate it,” she says, folding the note and putting it in her purse. You can tell Erin has money. She has that look about her. Her hair is nicely cut in a feathery bob, light brown with subtle highlights, and she sports an impeccable French manicure.

“So? Where do you live?” she asks after the waitress has brought my coffee.

“Beverly Hills. Camden Drive.”

“Nice,” she says.

“What about you?”

“Not far from here, on the other side of Mulholland Drive.”

“Nice,” I say.

She chatters on about everything and nothing. She tells me she grew up in these parts. Nice, I say. I tell her I grew up in Oklahoma, which is a lie, obviously.

I like Erin. I’ve never had coffee with a girlfriend before, and I find I like it very much. I pepper her with questions. Where do you shop around here? Do you prefer white chocolate or dark chocolate? What kind of house do you have? What do you do for money? She laughs, flicking her hair. I laugh too, mirroring her and flicking my own hair. She tells me she’s a yoga instructor. I tell her that I love yoga. She looks surprised, but pleased. I don’t love yoga, of course. I don’t love anything except cooking and cleaning. Then she tells me that she has her own studio and that she’s very busy.