Page 19 of Jury Woman, Part 2 of 6

"I've got somewhere to be. Need to shower." He kept unbuttoning, unbothered, working down toward the last few with the easy confidence of a man who'd genuinely never once considered that his ex-wife, on a monitored federal call, might not care to watch. "Relax, Isabel. It's not like this is new information for you."

I felt my face go hot and shot the briefest possible glance toward Deputy Wells, stationed at his usual post by the door, and found him staring with sudden, fixed interest at a point somewhere on the ceiling tiles, jaw set in the particular stillness of a man exercising considerable professional restraint.

"Warren, I need you to put a shirt back on."

"It's my bedroom." He shrugged the shirt the rest of the way off and draped it over his arm with a small flourish, as if he were modeling it rather than removing it, and I had approximately one full second to register, with the traitorous clarity of a woman who'd once shared a bed with this man for seventeen years, that whatever he was doing at that new gym near the dealership was, objectively, working. The man had definition he hadn't possessed in his thirties. It was infuriating, honestly, in the specific way that only a genuinely undeserved improvement can be.

Dammit.

"I have to be somewhere by seven," he continued, oblivious or indifferent to the temperature of the room he'd just created. "So unless there's something urgent—"

"There isn't. Just go take your shower."

"You're the one who called."

"You called me, Warren."

He paused, seemed to actually consider this, then waved it away as immaterial. "Whatever. I'll tell the kids you said hi."

The screen went dark before I could correct him—I hadn't said hi, I hadn't gotten to say much of anything at all—and I sat there for a moment in the wake of it, cheeks still warm, deeply unwilling to examine too closely which particular emotion was responsible for the warmth.

Deputy Wells lowered his gaze from the ceiling as I stood, his expression arranged into careful neutrality, though something at the corner of his mouth suggested the neutrality was costing him effort.

"Don't," I said, before he could offer anything at all.

"Wasn't going to say a word," he said, and held the door for me, and mercifully, admirably, didn't.

August 23, Sunday

LILY AND Josh appeared, crowded onto the couch with Elaine wedged between them. Her presence apparently improved everyone's disposition, at least marginally.

"We can't talk long," Lily announced almost immediately. "Aunt Elaine's taking us to get food."

"Say hi and bye to Mom," Elaine said, nudging them both. "So we can talk."

"About us?" Lily asked.

"Maybe," Elaine said.

"Hi bye," Josh said, already halfway off the couch, and within seconds the two of them had cleared the frame entirely, leaving Elaine alone in front of the camera, one eyebrow already climbing toward her hairline.

"So," I said. "How are things, actually? Be honest with me."

"The house looks like a small zone. But nothing's on fire, nobody's bleeding, so I'd say relax. It's manageable chaos." She leaned closer to the screen, studying me with an intensity she usually reserved for spreadsheets. "How are you, though?"

"Fine."

"You look more than fine." She tilted her head. "You look rested."

I hadn't considered it until she said it, but she wasn't wrong. "I haven't slept like this in years."

Elaine's eyebrows climbed further. "Tell me about these accommodations, because I'm suddenly reconsidering my life choices."

"I can't tell you where I'm staying, but there's housekeeping every day. Someone makes the meals. My laundry gets done and folded and it just appears like magic."

"Isabel." She pressed a hand to her chest. "Now you know how Warren's felt his whole married life."

I laughed before I could stop myself, a real laugh, surprising in how easily it came. "That's not fair."