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“Ah,” Eliza said. “Is everything okay?”
Anne’s face heated as she shoved her purse to the end of the bench. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”
“Well, my ass is not stuck to this seat for the fun of it,” Eliza said sweetly. “Something’s not fine, and I need a distraction. I had the night from hell, so distract me already and spill. Something. Anything. Except beer,” she added, giving a dark glance at Joe before studying the damage to her shoes in depth.
“It’s about Mark.”
Eliza narrowed her eyes. She had dark, shiny hair wrapped in a chignon at the nape of her neck and eyelashes that extended for miles. Her skin was perfect. Anne suspected that Eliza was immune even to the inevitable layer of grease that descended on patrons of Garbanzo’s. Anne would be breaking out in acne for a week thanks to one lonely plate of cheese curds.
Eliza reached for a curd, took a sip of beer. “Well? Don’t just stare. Distract me already.”
“It’s embarrassing,” Anne admitted. “But I suppose since I took you away from your fancy dinner, I owe you an explanation. I think Mark is having an affair.”
“You think? Or you know?”
Anne breathed a sigh of relief. Eliza had barely flinched at the mention of the affair. Anne knew she’d called Eliza for a reason, and this was it. She’d know exactly what to do.
“Some combination of the two. It all started a few months ago.”
The story poured forth then, every last detail—from the first time Anne had left the children to spy on her husband to a few weeks back when she’d toted the twins with her on a stakeout after firing nosy, nosy Olivia. Anne mentioned her crumbling resolve and the way she’d failed to confront her husband when the opportunity had been within reach.
“You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself.” Eliza shook her head, and her eyes filled with sympathy despite words that were clipped and even. “You can’t go to that apartment anymore.”
“I know.”
“Your brain knows, but your heart doesn’t. You will ruin yourself if you keep doing this. You have to let it go.”
“Let it go?”
“Men.” Eliza dunked a cheese curd in ketchup. “It’s wrong, but they stray. Women do it too. I’m not saying our gender is never at fault. But for now, let’s focus on men.”
“I don’t understand. It’s not…” Anne shook her head, bewildered. “It’s not acceptable.”
“No, it’s not. So you need to decide your tolerance level. You’re going to have to confront Mark sooner or later, and you have to be ready for all the scenarios.”
“That’s so…cold.”
“It’s how I work.” Eliza’s posture gave off an easygoing, laissezfaire demeanor. Her eyes, however, glittered. “How do you think I made my money? Not by asking politely. Especially when men are involved.”
Anne felt sudden moisture in the corners of her eyes. The first tears she’d cried (aside from the torrents of them on her bed pillows) since she’d discovered Mark’s extracurricular activities.
“Sweetie…” Eliza reached across the table and rested her hand on Anne’s.
She let it sit there without speaking. It was just what Anne needed.
After a few minutes and several curious looks from Joe, Anne sniffed and wiped her eyes. No sooner had she tossed the napkin into the growing pile in the corner of the table than Uncle Joe appeared with two shots of vodka.
He plunked them down, grunted “On the house,” and left.
He’d been doing that for years, every time the girls had one of those nights at the bar. Some things never changed, and in a sea of change, the steadfastness of Uncle Joe struck Anne as an incredible relief. She dissolved into tears all over again.
Eliza tugged both shots toward herself. “I don’t think—”
“It’s fine,” Anne repeated. “I’m fine. One shot won’t kill me.”
“Anne—”
“It’s no big deal,” Anne said, reaching for the shot. “I need to relax.”
