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Out of the Clear Blue Sky(68)

Author:Kristan Higgins

I muted myself. “See what I have to put up with? I think he has a brain tumor.” I tapped the phone so he could hear me. “We’re not gonna hang out and drink wine, Brad. She is an adulterous slut who ruined our marriage.”

“Can any outsider really do that?” Brad speculated.

“Let me rephrase. You are an adulterous slut who ruined our marriage.”

“Lillie. This anger won’t serve you. It is what it is. I hope you can come to see that for yourself, and that we can all be friends someday. I want us to stay a family. It just looks different now.”

“Save me, Jesus,” Wanda muttered.

“I will never be your friend, and you are out of my family,” I said. “I wish nothing but the worst for you. You hurt my son. You broke his heart. For the rest of your life, the mother of your only child will hate and resent you.”

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” he said. “Maybe someday—”

I hung up.

“Unbelievable,” Beth said.

“The worst part,” I said, “is that somehow I’m the damaged goods here. The aging wife who couldn’t keep her husband.”

“It’s true,” Beth said. “You’re pathetic, am I right, Wanda?”

“Well . . .” Wanda was my sweeter friend, obviously. She took another clam and ate it delicately. “These are amazing.”

“The thing is,” Beth said, “this happens all the time. The Temples? Kate just told me she’s moving to Arizona and hasn’t spoken to Robbie in years. And the Carsons. They’ve been married for forty-five years, and he left her for a Russian college student who works at Ben and Jerry’s. You can’t make this shit up. It’s a pandemic. Zeus, my leg is numb, honey. Your head must weigh thirty pounds. Off you go.” He obeyed sadly, gazed longingly at Wanda, who shook her head firmly, and reluctantly collapsed into his new doggy bed.

“Fill me in on what people are saying, you two,” I said. “Between the two of you, you know everything.”

“This is true,” Wanda murmured. “I’m hearing a lot of sympathy for you, Lillie, a lot of shock. No one suspected your marriage was—”

“Fragile? Built on sand? A lie?” I suggested.

“Yeah,” she said.

“They’re getting around, Lils,” Beth said. “Eating out at least a couple times a week. She’s donating buckets of money and just employed, like, eight people to clean, cut the lawn, service the car, do handyman stuff, all that. Get this. Reverend White just asked her to serve on the vestry after she paid to have the bell tower repaired.”

“Who looks after that poor kid when they’re out buying friends?” I asked.

“Right now, Sophie Lynch, but rumor has it they’re getting an au pair from France.”

“I hope Brad sleeps with the au pair,” I said. “No. I hope Melissa sleeps with the au pair.”

Beth snorted and Wanda clinked her glass against mine.

“Seriously,” I went on. “Why can’t they move? Do they have to live in my hometown? Do they have to live, period? Can’t there be, I don’t know, a tidal wave that hits their house, and their house only, when Ophelia’s in school? Or a shark attack when they’re frisking in the water?”

“So this is your last glass of wine,” Wanda said, “and you know shark attacks are extremely rare on the Cape.”

“Brad hasn’t turned off Find My Phone, so I can track him. I may slash their tires the next time they eat out.”

Beth nodded. “Just make sure it’s really dark, and wear a baseball cap. Security cameras are everywhere these days, you know?”

“Well, I have to get going,” Wanda said, snagging one last clam. “Leila has a shoot tomorrow in Boston at the ass-crack of dawn, and Addo told me it’s my turn. The good news is, the child will be able to pay for college. This modeling thing is crazy.”

“Give her a kiss from me,” I said. “Remind her that I loved her when she was a squishy-faced little baby, long before Gucci was calling.”

Beth left, too, and I cleaned up the paltry mess. The quiet of the house pressed down on me. I could count on one hand how many times I’d been alone in this house before Brad left. He’d always hated visiting his parents without me, and taking Dylan camping or the like? Nah. Brad wasn’t the outdoorsy type. That was more me.

I went upstairs to Dylan’s room, Zeus following me. In a rare hour of domesticity, Dylan had cleaned his room the day before he left, so it was neat and tidy . . . and strange. But it still smelled like him. I lay on his bed, and the dog jumped up next to me and put his head on my stomach.

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