Page 155 of The Bad Husband

He searches my eyes while I take in what he just said.

“No one will touch you.”

I honestly don’t know what that means.

Am I in real danger? Have I become a target because of my connection to him?

Whatever it is, it fuels my hope that I haven’t seen the last of him.

“Thank you,” I say with a faint smile. “Enjoy your cupcake.”

“I will, ma’am. I will.”

I smile again, turn around, and walk up the stairs.

Moments later, I place the cupcakes on a purple plate in the kitchen and turn on the floor lamps.

The place looks lovely with colorful blankets on the couches and plump pillows on the floor, both windows draped in Halloween decorations.

This will be one of the best Halloween nights ever, I decide before I head straight to the bathroom, take a shower, and put on one of my most comfortable bathrobes and my favorite plush slippers.

LILA

A cheerful group of people, small kids and their parents, walks past my windows as they go trick-or-treat around the block.

The streetlights have come on, and the wind blows harder through the piles of rusty leaves.

My eyes linger on a small girl with a jack-o-lantern plastic bucket full of goodies, her hand locked with her mother’s.

She wears a pumpkin colored velvet dress and a black witch hat. Her brown hair tumbles down her back.

Smiling, I watch them walk to the building glowing with lights and dripping with Halloween decorations at the corner before I shift my eyes to the other end of the street.

The man who’s usually guarding the street is no longer there, but someone is watching me for sure, as I have this feeling that someone’s eyes move over me.

No matter how hard I look for people staring in my direction, no one catches my eye.

Eventually, I pull back, move to the sofa, snatch up a cupcake off the tray, and sip pink lemonade when my doorbell rings.

I set my drink down, a little startled.

I’m not expecting anyone. I have no treats to give away. Swallowing hard, I push up and tighten the belt around my waist.

My first impulse is to go to the window.

From a certain angle, I can get a glimpse of whoever stands in front of the door.

My doorbell rings again, and I set myself in motion, dash to the window, and peer outside.

The broad shoulders of a man wearing a nice suit catch my eye.

I can’t see the man’s head.

He could be anyone.

It could be someone with official business.

My family lawyers are usually more tactful than this. They call and send emails.