I stare at her, my mouth hanging open. Why is she doing this to me? She can’t possibly think I read this horrible book. “I just thought it was very…” I’m grasping at straws here. “Romantic.”
Obviously, that was the wrong thing to say. Julie is gaping at me, and I hear a couple of giggles.
“April,” Julie says, “Gisele was Tom’s dog.”
Oh. Whoops.
“Did you even read the book?” she hisses at me.
“I read part of it. A large part of it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Gisele was introduced in the second chapter!”
Everybody in the room is looking at me. So I didn’t read the stupid book about the stupid bird guy. So what?
“The rule,” Julie says tightly, “is that you have to read the book to come to book club. This is not a social group.”
She’s looking at me pointedly. Is she throwing me out? Does she expect me to leave?
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Julie,” Carrie says. “Leave her alone.” She winks at me. “If she leaves, she might take the turnovers with her, and I don’t think I could handle that.”
Julie gives me a sharp look, but doesn’t say another word about it. Still, the whole experience leaves me feeling awful. I mean, who actually reads the book for book club? Julie was acting like I was worse than Hitler. Although the amazing part was all the other women had apparently read it.
But what made me most uneasy is that Maria was the one who instigated the whole thing. I’m certain I told her I never read the book club books.
Didn’t I?
Chapter 14
Maria and I walk back together to our respective houses after book club is over. I’ve got the mostly empty tray of apple turnovers and she’s clutching her copy of the bird book to her chest. I watch her profile in the moonlight. There are moments when Maria looks pretty, but in the nighttime shadows, she looks old. The light casts dark shadows under her eyes and around her mouth.
“That was fun,” Maria says. “I’m so glad I went.”
“Yes…” I look down at my ballet flats. I hadn’t wanted to say anything about what she did, but I can’t stop thinking about it. “By the way, I thought I told you I hadn’t read the book.”
“Hmm?”
I clear my throat. “We were talking the other day and I said I hadn’t read it. But back there, you kept asking me about it. And it was… you know, awkward.”
“Oh!” Maria’s eyes widen. “I’m so sorry about that, April. I didn’t realize you hadn’t read it. I liked it. I couldn’t put it down!”
She couldn’t put that book down? Is she kidding me? “Well, I just get busy, and sometimes I don’t have time to read it.”
“Of course. I know how busy your life is. It’s not a big deal.”
But there’s an edge to her voice. Is she being sarcastic? Does she think I shouldn’t be busy? Or that I am less busy than she is? “I mean, I have to run through recipes for my show every week. And the silent auction is taking up so much of my time. Also, I’ve been cooking dinner every night for Mrs. Wright. You know, that elderly woman on the next block who broke her hip last month?”
Maria nods. “I know. It’s so busy, isn’t it? Anyway, don’t worry about it. Nobody but Julie cares if you read the book.”
I let out a breath. Maybe I’m reading too much into this. Maria has a lot on her mind, and I can’t expect her to remember every little thing I tell her.
But on the other hand, she had such a strange look on her face when I told her I had given those turnovers to Sean. Could it possibly have something to do with that? Was this some sort of revenge for talking to her husband?
But that would be crazy. Nobody is that jealous. She said she forgot, and I’m sure she’s telling the truth.
After dropping Maria off at her house, I walk the rest of the way to mine. Bobby is surely asleep by now, but there’s a light on in the living room, which means Elliot is still awake in there. I look down at my watch and see that it’s nearly ten o’clock.
The drapes are partially open, and I can see Elliot through the window. Good—he’s still awake. Maybe we can have a drink together.
Then I hear my phone buzz inside my purse.
Immediately, my heart jumps in my chest. Getting text messages has become terrifying. What if it’s another picture of me and Mark? Or something worse? But at the same time, I have to look. I fish my phone out of my purse and stare at the screen:
Shh. Your husband is in the middle of a secret phone call.
That’s when I realize that Elliot is sitting on the couch, but he’s not watching television or on his computer. He’s on the phone.
I can’t hear anything he’s saying, but there’s a tiny smile on his lips as he speaks into the receiver. Who would he be talking to this late? It couldn’t be someone from work, could it? He doesn’t look like he’s having a work conversation.
I look down at my phone again. The words are still on the screen, taunting me. I want to ask them who they are again, but I know they won’t answer.
I press my ear against the window, which is freezing cold against my cheek. It doesn’t help. I can’t hear a word. I better get inside before somebody sees me.
I try to be as quiet as I can when I open the front door. It occurs to me too late that I could have gone in through the back. The second I step inside, I hear Elliot’s voice. “Gotta go.”
Well, he sure got off the phone fast when he heard his wife coming in.
“Hi, honey.” He jumps to his feet and comes to greet me at the door. “How was your book club?”
“Great.” I try to keep my voice even. “What have you been up to?”
“Oh, nothing too exciting.”
“Doing work?”
“Yeah, mostly.”
Who were you talking to just now? I want to ask him the question, but I also don’t want to sound like a crazy jealous wife. I can’t figure out a way to ask him the question without it sounding that way. And I can’t tell him about the text messages I’ve been getting—not after that threat they made about circulating the photo of me and Mark.
I push past him and go to the kitchen with the tray containing five remaining turnovers. I had meant to store them in the refrigerator for later, but instead, I shove one of them into my mouth. Then another. God, these are good.
Before I know it, the turnovers are gone. The apple and sugar and flour feel heavy in my stomach—I never indulge myself like that. I can’t believe I allowed myself that moment of weakness. Tomorrow I’ll have to make up for it.
I start washing the tray, because I can’t go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink. And God forbid Elliot would ever help me with that. Elliot wanders into the kitchen, yawning. He rubs a hand over his bald scalp. “I’m exhausted. Want to go up to bed when you’re done?”
The hot water feels nice on my cold hands. I love washing dishes. I find it relaxing. “I guess.”
He puts his arms around my waist from behind, and I feel myself stiffen. Who was he talking to on the phone? It’s driving me crazy. I could ask him, but he’ll just lie and blow it off. What’s he going to say—oh yeah, I was just chatting with the woman I’m having an affair with.