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“So, the two of you were spying on me?” she bit out.
I shrugged, staring at her blankly. Will followed suit. Her venomous eyes narrowed on Will.
“So, you little perv…did you enjoy watching me undress? Parade around in my knickers? Play with myself under the covers?”
Poor little Will blanched. He’d done nothing of the sort.
“Leave my brother out of this!” I hissed as I heard the jingle of keys.
I snapped my head in the direction of the side door. The knob turned and the door swung open. My parents were back home. They shuffled into the kitchen. My mom was still wan, her cut finger bandaged like an Egyptian mummy.
“How’s your finger?” I asked her.
Her eyes were glassy, her face drawn, like she was drunk with weariness. “I’ll live.” A pause. “Ten stitches and they splinted it.”
Poor Mom! “Are you hungry? I made dinner.”
“Thank you, my darling, but I’m not. I just want to go upstairs and lie down.”
“Does your finger hurt?”
“It does. They gave me some pain meds.”
“Your mother needs to rest,” said my dad, his voice tone cool.
I noticed the distance between my parents. The man who had gallantly carried her to his car was now standing a foot apart from her. No physical contact. No eye contact.
He loosened his tie.
“Natalie, I’m going to sleep downstairs in the family room.”
“Fine.” The word barely made it past her lips.
They parted. No kisses. No hugs.
What was going on with my parents?
THIRTY-EIGHT
NATALIE
I lay awake in our king-size bed. Alone.
Tossing and turning.
I couldn’t fall asleep.
My finger throbbed. But it was nothing compared to my throbbing heart.
On the way to the emergency room, I’d smelled sex. The scent of infidelity on my husband, but I hadn’t had the strength to confront him. Instead, the ride was drenched in silence. The same on the way back. He hadn’t even asked how my finger felt. Silence is often louder than words. He knew I knew. Especially when I’d asked him to sleep in another room and he’d agreed without a fight. The idea of sharing the bed with him repulsed me, plus I needed space to figure things out.
Questions pounded my brain.
How was I going to work with the women on my committees without thinking they’d slept with my husband? Take Pilates with them? Spin with them at Soul Cycle?
Maybe Matt had slept with some of my instructors. Several were blonde and leggy.
When should I confront him? Make him confess to all his transgressions? And the biggest question of all: What was I going to do? Stay with my adulterous husband? Or leave him?
