Why would Maria have a burner phone? Who has she been calling with it?
And then I think of all those text messages from blocked numbers. That couldn’t be Maria, could it? Why would she do something like that? It doesn’t make any sense.
And then a text message appears on her screen:
When can we meet?
My mouth falls open. Is Maria having an affair? Is she cheating on Sean? I can’t imagine Maria doing something like that, but why would she have a burner phone in her purse and be arranging clandestine meetings with someone?
The area code on the number is local. It’s somebody from around here.
I look for a scrap of paper to scribble down the number, but before I can find one, I hear running water from down the hallway. I quickly snap the phone closed and drop it back into her purse. I can’t let her know I was digging around inside her purse.
“Mom!”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the voice coming from behind me. It’s Bobby and Owen. Their hands are caked in fresh dirt, and my son also has some on his cheeks. That’s a good indication they’ve been having fun.
“Mom, Owen pushed me!” Bobby whines. He scrunches up his freckled nose.
Owen folds his skinny arms across his chest. “No, Bobby pushed me.”
I groan. “Can’t you both say you’re sorry?”
“No!” Bobby looks affronted. “Owen pushed me! He pushed me off the swing and I fell on the ground.”
Admittedly, Bobby’s pants legs are caked in dirt. But that’s nothing unusual.
Owen blinks eyes that are rapidly filling with tears. He has Maria’s dimples even though he’s not biologically related to her, but he has his father’s blue eyes with long eyelashes. He looks like the sort of kid who will be handsome someday. A real ladykiller, but he doesn’t know it yet. “I didn’t push you. I was on the swing and you said it was your turn, but it wasn’t. And then you pushed me off.”
Thankfully, Maria emerges from the bathroom at that moment. The boys reiterate their dilemma to her, both of them insisting that they were pushed. At this point, I really don’t care who pushed who. I’m sure even if Owen pushed Bobby, he didn’t mean anything by it.
“You both need to say you’re sorry,” Maria says firmly. “Now.”
After a bit more coaxing, both the boys mutter apologies. I don’t know what’s so hard about saying sorry. It’s like apologizing is physically painful for them. I say sorry about a hundred times a day. Even if it’s not my fault.
“I better take Owen home now.” Maria flashes an apologetic smile. “I think the boys have had enough of each other today.”
“Would you like some raspberry tartlets to go?”
She looks longingly at the plate. “I would, but I shouldn’t. Honestly, April, I’m going to gain twenty pounds living next to you.”
We hug goodbye and Maria drops her iPhone into her purse. I’m dying to ask her why she has a burner phone, but I suspect anything she tells me will be a lie. I still can’t believe she’s having an affair. Especially when she’s married to Sean, who is crazy sexy.
But the other explanation is too disturbing to consider.
After Maria and Owen leave, I decide I better get Bobby in the bathtub. I turn to look at my son, and that’s when I noticed the darkening red patch on the right knee of his jeans.
“Bobby!” I cry. “What happened to your knee?”
“I told you, Owen pushed me off the swing!”
I roll up the pants leg while Bobby squirms. When I get it up over his knee, I gasp. He skinned his knee really badly. His entire kneecap is covered in blood and it’s streaming down his leg. Bobby takes one look at it and bursts into tears.
“I told you!” He howls. “It huuuuuuurts!”
That’s how little kids are. They don’t even realize they have any pain until they see that they’re injured. But I have to admit, this is an impressive wound. It’s going to call for the first aid kit I’ve got in the hall closet. And Bobby is going to complain the whole time I’m cleaning it up.
But more significantly, it means Bobby was the one telling the truth. Owen pushed Bobby off the swing and then lied about it.
For a moment, I consider giving Maria a call. If Owen pushed another kid and then lied about it, she would want to know, right? But then again, boys love to roughhouse. And it’s not like Bobby got a broken arm. It’s just a scrape.
So I don’t call Maria. But next time I see her, maybe I’ll mention it.
Chapter 16
It’s eight-thirty at night, which is Bobby’s bedtime, and Elliot still isn’t back from work.
This has been happening more and more lately. It used to be just an occasional thing, but now it’s more like twice a week. But this is the first time Elliot hasn’t responded to my text messages asking when he’ll be home. It’s like I’m just supposed to accept that he’ll be home at some unknown time in the future, and not worry about it.
I’d be a lot less worried about it if Brianna wasn’t with him. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but…
I still don’t know who he was talking to on the phone the other night. But I haven’t gotten any other text messages. Maybe whoever was harassing me decided to leave me alone.
I read Bobby his usual bedtime story. He loves the Goosebumps books, even though I’m worried they give him nightmares. I sit on the edge of his bed, recounting the story of the ventriloquist dummy that came to life.
“Are you sure this isn’t scaring you?” I ask him.
Bobby rolls his eyes. “No! It’s not scary. It’s funny.”
Whatever. “Okay, well, it’s time for sleep.”
“But Dad isn’t home yet!”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and see if there are any text messages from Elliot. Nothing.
“Can you call him?” Bobby asks.
I had been trying not to be an annoying wife, but now that Bobby is asking me to call him, I feel like it gives me a license to do it. I select Elliot’s number from the list of favorites and it rings on the other line.
And rings.
He’s not picking up.
“Sorry, Bobby.” I disconnect the call before it goes to voicemail. “He’s really busy at work.”
Bobby’s lower lip trembles. “But he always says good night.”
I let out a sigh. My only other option is to call the number for his office. At least then I’ll know if he’s on the road or not. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t do it because it means speaking to Brianna. But it’s late enough that I’m willing to make an exception.
I dial the number and it rings three times before Brianna’s peppy voice comes on the line. “Elliot Masterson’s office. This is Brianna.”
Great. Not only is he still at work at eight-thirty at night, but he’s with his gorgeous secretary. All alone.
“Um, hi.” I clear my throat. “This is April.”
“Who?”
“April Masterson. Elliot’s wife.” I grit my teeth. “Is Elliot still at the office?”
“Yes, he’s still here,” Brianna reports.
There’s an interminable pause. “Well, can I talk to him?”