He walks over to the bed and stares down at her. Marissa feels pinned beneath his scrutiny. The light in the hallway is the only source of illumination in the room. It backlights him, so she can’t see the expression on her husband’s face.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers. As she speaks the words, Marissa realizes the deep truth they contain. It wasn’t the barbed split that formed between them at the moment of her revelation that created her sense of loss, or even the pivotal moment when she succumbed to the tender touch of another man. The fissure began to form long ago.
He leans down. She inhales his familiar scent and closes her eyes. But instead of his lips touching hers, she feels the brush of fabric against her cheek. When she opens her eyes, Matthew is holding a pillow to his chest. A wild thought flashes through her mind: Is he going to smother me?
“The pillows in the guest room are too soft. Can you buy new ones?” Matthew strides back into the hallway without waiting for her reply.
* * *
Marissa can hardly be annoyed with Bennett for forgetting his saxophone when she herself didn’t remember to bring an umbrella, she thinks as she hops over a puddle. She tries to shield her hair with her free hand until she reaches the entrance to Rolling Hills Academy even though she knows it’s a lost cause. She pulls open the heavy glass door and greets the security guard manning the front desk, flashing her parent ID. He gives her a nod, clearing her to walk past the metal detector into the administrative office. Security is mostly invisible but tight at Rolling Hills, since several high-profile politicians send their children here.
“Hi, Joan,” she calls to the school secretary. “Guess what my son forgot?” Marissa waggles the heavy saxophone case.
Joan laughs. “He’s in Mrs. Tanaka’s class, right? They don’t go to music until after lunch, so you can leave it with me and I’ll have him come down during recess.” Joan, gatekeeper to the school, possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of Rolling Hills and its daily operations. “Oh, and I want to thank you again for the sweet baby gift! I gave it to Laurie and she sent me a picture of my granddaughter wearing the adorable hat and swaddled in the blanket. I hope you don’t mind that I gave her your address. She wanted to write you a note herself.”
For a moment, Marissa wonders if Joan’s daughter could have sent the flowers. But no one would send a thank-you bouquet that cost almost as much as the gift itself.
The sender remains a mystery—at least for now. After Matthew headed off to the guest room last night, Marissa lay awake for hours, staring into the darkness. She used her phone to call up the florist’s website, and she learned Bloom’s hours were 10:00 A.M. to 6:00 P.M. But the yellow roses hadn’t arrived at their doorstep until almost 9:30 P.M.
It was another question for the florist. She planned to call at 10:00 A.M. sharp.
“Please tell your daughter she doesn’t need to write a note,” Marissa assures Joan. “I remember how exhausted I was when Bennett was born.”
Joan is opening her mouth to answer when the phone rings. “I have to grab this, but don’t worry, I’ll reunite Bennett with his sax.”
Marissa waves goodbye as she exits the office. She peers through the glass door of the school entrance, hoping the rain is tapering off. But it’s coming down even harder.
She’s about to brave it and run to her car when she notices another parent approaching the building. The woman’s face is shielded—she didn’t forget her umbrella—but her distinctive walk and the outline of her hourglass shape in her cream-colored belted raincoat make her immediately recognizable to Marissa.
It’s Natalie.
It isn’t surprising that she has bumped into Natalie this morning; they often cross paths at the small school.
Marissa waits until Natalie reaches the door, then pushes it open for her.
“Thanks!” Natalie closes her pretty polka-dot umbrella as she steps inside. “Were you here to help with the auction class gifts, too? I’m getting the first-graders to paint their handprints on the rocking chair. It’ll be so cute!”
“Oh, fun!” Marissa summons the energy to enthuse, even though she feels a little wilted in Natalie’s presence. Marissa takes in Natalie’s shiny black hair, perfectly made-up face, and impractical but gorgeous high heels. Natalie always looks good; her job selling high-end real estate probably requires it. But who appears so polished to spend a morning painting with a bunch of six-year-olds?
“I just had to drop off something for Bennett.” Marissa runs her fingers through her own hair. She feels dampness and frizz; so much for her blowout.