Table for Seven (30 page)

Will tilted his head to one side. “You okay, Franny?” he asked.

Fran nodded. “I’m fine,” she said, hoping she sounded more brisk and in control. “Let’s eat.”

october

ANTIPASTO

SAUSAGE AND MUSHROOM RISOTTO

ROASTED BEET AND BITTER GREEN SALAD

CHERRY-APRICOT COBBLER

J
AIME FELT UTTERLY RIDICULOUS, sitting in the front seat of her silver SUV, hiding behind a pair of enormous sunglasses. Why was she trying to disguise herself? It wasn’t like Mark wouldn’t recognize her car if he spotted it.

“Mama, what are we doing?” Logan asked in his high, breathy voice.

“Why don’t you put your head back and close your eyes?” Jaime suggested. Ava was already napping, her plump cheeks sweetly slack, her well-loved stuffed frog, Hoppy, in her limp arms. But Logan was fighting sleep. He rubbed at his eyes and was starting to grow fretful.

“I want to go home,” he whined.

“We’ll go home soon,” Jaime said soothingly.

“But the car’s not moving,” Logan said. He wiggled in his seat, thrusting his chest forward, as though this action alone could get the car started.

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Jaime said, sotto voce. She didn’t know why she bothered. Once Ava was asleep, nothing woke her. A marching band could parade through her room, crashing cymbals and banging drums, and Ava would sleep right through it.

Suddenly she saw a black Lexus sedan pull out of the parking garage. Jaime slouched down in her seat, hoping Mark wouldn’t see her across the street, idling in the parking lot outside a strip mall that was home to a frozen yogurt
shop, a barber, and a psychic who advertised tarot card readings. But Mark didn’t glance in her direction. Instead, he signaled and turned right, driving smoothly away.

Her heart racing, Jaime put her car into gear and drove slowly after him.

“Yay, we’re moving,” Logan called from the backseat.

It was easy to make him happy
, Jaime thought. A cookie, a hug, a car headed home. He’d always been a sunny child. Ava was the one who was quick to tears, quick to pout. Mark had nicknamed her Drama when she was still a newborn and never seemed to stop fussing.

What would he say if he knew I was following him to find out where he goes in the afternoon?
Jaime wondered.
Drama would be the least of it. He’d probably accuse me of being paranoid, crazy even, to suspect that he might be cheating
.

It was true, Jaime still didn’t have any hard evidence that Mark was being unfaithful. If anything, things between them had improved over the past few months.

And yet … and yet. Sometimes she’d look over at Mark when he was sending a text, his fingers flying over his phone, and she’d catch something in his unguarded expression. Excitement, maybe. Or anticipation.
Who was he texting?
Jaime wondered. Was it Sarah?

Jaime finally decided to tail Mark, and see just where he was really going when he claimed to be at the tennis club. She knew she might be wrong—she
hoped
she was wrong—but she had to find out for sure.

Jaime drove after Mark, staying far enough back that he wouldn’t spot her. She was actually too far back and almost missed it when he made first a left-hand turn, and then a quick right. Luckily, she managed to hang with him.

Mark took another left just past a car wash, and Jaime
followed. The terrain out the window changed from commercial spaces to the green manicured lawns of gated communities. They were only a half-mile or so away from the tennis club now—it seemed that’s where Mark was headed, after all—but Jaime hung with him, just in case he took a sudden turn into one of the subdivisions. But no, he didn’t put on his turn signal until the drive of the tennis club came into view, and then he turned into the parking lot. Jaime turned, too, counting on a bank of palm trees to hide her from his view. She needn’t have worried. Mark got out of his car and retrieved his tennis bag from the trunk without looking in her direction once.

“Daddy?” Logan chirped from the backseat. He kicked his feet against the back of her seat. “There’s Daddy!”

“Shh,” Jaime said automatically, even though it didn’t really matter. There was no way Mark would be able to hear Logan.

“I want to see Daddy!” Logan announced.

Ava stirred behind him, her eyes blinking sleepily. “Daddy?” she said.

Worried that her children would somehow will Mark’s attention in their direction, Jaime was about to ditch the surveillance. But then a woman crossed the parking lot toward Mark, her back to Jaime’s SUV.
Was this the woman her husband was having an affair with?
Jaime wondered. But, no, almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, causing her heart to skitter nervously, Jaime saw the woman clearly. It was Libby.

Mark leaned over to hug Emily, while Libby stood back, her arms crossed. Mark’s ex-wife was wearing a chocolate brown shawl draped artistically around her shoulders and her curly hair blew a bit in the wind. Once Mark and Emily
broke apart, Libby rested a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and said something that caused Emily to skip off toward the tennis club. Mark and Libby trailed after her at a more sedate pace, chatting.

Jaime suddenly realized how very stupid she’d been. Mark wasn’t having an affair. All the times he claimed to be going to the tennis club, he had been telling the truth. He was just what he appeared to be—a man so devoted to the daughter from his first marriage and so intent on keeping her world intact that he was willing to spend time with his disliked ex-wife.

And rather than admiring him for his dedication, and loving him for being such an attentive father, Jaime had let herself sink into a fog of jealousy. She was jealous of the time he spent away from her, jealous of what she perceived as his favoritism for Em over Ava and Logan, and even jealous of Em’s pretty young tennis coach, even though Mark had never given her one reason—one real reason—to doubt him.

What kind of a person am I?
Jaime thought, thoroughly disgusted with herself.
I’ve been consumed with jealousy and pettiness. In fact, I’ve officially turned into the evil stepmother
.

“That’s it. I’m done,” Jaime said out loud.

“Done?” Logan parroted from the backseat.

“That’s right. Mommy has been very, very silly. But she’s not going to be silly anymore,” Jaime said.

Both children giggled at this.

“Silly Mommy,” Ava said.

“Come on, let’s go home,” Jaime said. She put the car into drive and made a three-point turn. “Maybe we can make cookies.”

Logan cheered enthusiastically at this. Ava swung her chubby legs and hugged Hoppy to her chest.

“Can we make sugar cookies?” Logan asked.

“Let’s make chocolate chip,” Jaime suggested. “Those are Daddy’s favorite.”

IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY
, Will thought as he made his way through the garage—too tired to do more than send a glance in the direction of Brutus, who had been languishing on the workbench, ignored for weeks—and headed into the house. He listened for a moment, wondering if he would, yet again, be walking into a gale-force family drama. Iris shouting at Fran and then storming off to her room, slamming her door behind her. Rory in tears because she’d failed another math test. Fran short-tempered with everyone and coldly distant to him. But amazingly, the house was quiet.

Will headed into the kitchen. Fran was there, sitting on one of the high stools, studying a cookbook. Will leaned in to kiss her; Fran turned her head, offering up her cheek. Will dutifully bussed her cheek, remembering back to the early days of their marriage, when he’d occasionally arrived home from work to find Fran waiting for him in their bedroom, dressed in sexy lingerie.

“How was your day?” Fran asked absently, still paging through the cookbook. Then, without waiting for his answer, she said, “We’re hosting the dinner party club this month, and I can’t decide what to make. What do you think about Indian food?”

“I love Indian, but not everyone else may,” Will said.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right. I can’t decide what to cook,” Fran said.

“How about Italian?” Will suggested. “That’s always a big hit. You could make meatballs or lasagna.”

“Yawn. I want to do something spectacular. Jaime’s tapas were a big hit. It’s going to be hard to follow,” Fran said.

“I thought the idea was for everyone to get together and share a good dinner,” Will said. Since dinner didn’t seem to be imminent, he retrieved a bag of pretzels from the pantry and tossed a handful into his mouth.

“You thought wrong. The idea is to win,” Fran said.

“Have you talked to Audrey?” Will asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

He had no idea what had transpired that night in the kitchen, but it was obvious Audrey and Fran had had a falling out. Whenever Will tried to probe into what exactly had happened between them, Fran just shook her head, pressed her lips together in a tight line, and said she didn’t want to talk about it.

“No,” Fran said. “I’m sure she won’t come, though. We’ll have to rename ourselves the Table for Six group.”

“Or invite someone else. Maybe Coop will want to bring a date,” Will suggested.

Fran looked up sharply at him. “Why? Is he seeing someone?”

“Not that I know of. But this is Coop we’re talking about,” Will said.

Fran bit her lip and inhaled deeply. She seemed to be working up to saying something.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Oh, God,” Will said, feigning horror. “That’s a statement rarely followed by good news.”

Fran didn’t smile. She just looked at him with an expression that suddenly frightened Will.

“Are the girls okay? Where are they?” he asked anxiously.

Fran blinked. “Relax, they’re fine. Rory’s at soccer practice,
and Iris is at Hannah’s house. I think they’re working on a project for school.”

Will nodded. “Good,” he said, although his stomach felt tight and sour. He had the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to hear whatever it was Fran planned to tell him.

“I think you know I haven’t been happy,” Fran said.

“You haven’t seemed like yourself lately,” Will said.

“I know. My temper always seems to be at the breaking point. I hear myself snapping at you and the girls, and I hate the way I sound,” Fran said.

“Maybe you need to take more time for yourself,” Will suggested.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, too,” Fran said.

Will nodded, the tension knot in his stomach finally starting to relax. “You should have a spa day. Or maybe you and”—he was about to say Audrey, but then remembered just in time about their falling out—“your friends could go away for a weekend. You could go to Sanibel or Miami Beach.”

“Actually, I was thinking of a more … significant change,” Fran said.

“What?” Will asked. He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

His phone began to ring, and even though he was starting to get the feeling that this was a very important conversation, and one that he very much needed to stay engaged in, he glanced down at the caller ID out of habit. “It’s Iris.”

“You’d better answer it,” Fran said.

It was the unspoken parent code. Children could be ignored when they were safely at home, badgering you to buy them something or for more TV time. But calls from children when they were away were always taken.

“Hey, Iris,” Will said. There was a slight pause, and then a ragged intake of breath. Will tensed. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Can you come get me?” Iris asked.

“Of course. I’ll come right now. Where are you?” he asked.

She was crying now, and Will could barely understand what she was saying. “I’m at the police station.”

AS SHE AND WILL drove to the police station, Fran felt numb.

“What did she say?” she asked again.

“I’ve already told you everything,” Will said.

“Tell me again.”

“She said she was at the police station and asked if we’d pick her up. I said yes. Then she hung up.”