Chapter Sixteen
Mindy couldn’t get into her husband’s Gmail, so she was upstairs in his home office going through their credit-card receipts, since they had a joint Amex and Visa. Last night, he’d come home at eleven o’clock, and when she’d asked why he was late, he’d said only that he’d gotten held up at the hospital. But he wouldn’t meet her eye and bit his cuticle, which he never did. As a surgeon, he was meticulous about his hands and nails, even getting manicures to keep them neat.
A wife always knows, her mother had told her.
But that was completely untrue. Mindy had scrutinized Paul for clues about whether he was having another affair, but she had no idea what to look for. The last time, she’d had no idea that he was having an affair. She’d thought they were both happy, communicating well, and having sex as often as most married couples. She’d been fooled by an excellent liar, her own husband.
Mindy’s cell phone rang, and she checked the screen. She only had until one thirty, when she had to leave for the game, bringing party trays, bottled water, and soda. Alcohol wasn’t allowed at the games, but nobody would know her reusable water bottle held a G & T.
Her phone screen showed that one of the Boosters was calling, so Mindy answered the call. “Ellen, what’s up? I’m in the middle of something.”
“Did you hear about Ryan Sematov?”
“Is that Raz’s older brother?” Mindy asked, regretting having taken the call. She had more important things to do than gossip. Like play Nancy Drew.
“Yes, he was arrested for burglary last night.”
“Oh no.” Mindy felt a pang. She had adored Neil Sematov, who was one of the saner parents. She tuned Ellen out and eyed the credit-card receipt.
“… and he broke into a ValleyCo outlet. You know the mother works for ValleyCo…”
Mindy scanned the list of their credit-card charges, noting the name of the restaurants. They were all places she or Evan had been, so far. The only thing that had surprised her was that Evan was eating out so much at lunchtime. She didn’t know why he couldn’t buy in the cafeteria like everybody else. Or God forbid, bring a lunch from home. Maybe he really was becoming entitled, getting affluenza.
“… I mean, I feel bad for her, truly I do, but let’s be real…”
Mindy kept scanning, then froze. There was a charge from Central Valley Jewelers for $327.82, processed two weeks ago. She felt her gut twist. Paul had bought that nurse a bracelet from the same store, the last time around. And he had charged it on their joint credit card, which made no sense unless he were trying to get caught, a theory they’d discussed in approximately 172 therapy sessions.
“… if your kids are having psychological problems, you can’t pretend it’s not happening, especially not these days…”
Mindy felt her heart start to pound. She wanted to know if he was having an affair—and she didn’t, both at once. Was it really true? The charge was undeniable, its machine-printed numbers staring her right in the face. Did Paul buy this for another woman? Would he really do this to her again? At the same store? Did he really want her to divorce him? Or did he just want to hurt her?
“… you can’t stick your head in the sand these days, as a mother…”
Mindy flashed-forward to Ellen on the phone, calling everybody to gossip about her. Did you hear? Paul is running around on Mindy again. You can’t stick your head in the sand, as a wife today.
“… but you know what they say, everything happens for a reason. So maybe now she’ll…”
Mindy felt stricken. The dark obverse of everything-happens-for-a-reason was that the reason should have been identified, and prevented. If Paul cheated on her again, there had to be a reason, and it was her fault. Her weight, for starters. Mindy had let herself go. She could almost hear her mother saying it, right now. You blew up, dumplin.’ What did you expect?
Mindy had thought she was over it, but she wasn’t, not if it was happening again. She had forgiven Paul, or at least she hadn’t asked for a divorce, because she loved their family. And she loved Evan, who loved them both. But she couldn’t go through it again. Everybody deserves a second chance, but nobody deserves a third.
Mindy felt her thoughts racing, rolling into a giant bolus of anxiety, anguish, and confusion. And still, part of her reflexively wondered if she was jumping to conclusions. Maybe Evan had bought a gift for one of the girls he was dating. He was supposed to ask first, but he had done that before. Or maybe the charge was fraud or a clerical error. That had happened before, too; once somebody charged $150 worth of athletic equipment at a Footlocker in Minneapolis, using their credit card.
“Mindy? Did I lose you? Mindy!”
“Oh sorry, I think it cut out.” Mindy came out of her reverie. “The reception is bad upstairs.”
“You have cold spots in your house? I have a wireless guy. I’ll text you his contact info.”
“Great,” Mindy said, wondering about the cold spots in her house. Lately her entire house was a cold spot. She set the statement aside. “I should really go, okay?”
Chapter Seventeen
Heather heard her text alert coming from her uniform pocket, but it was probably nothing. The only texts she got were from creditors, written in a deceptively friendly way; Oops, life happens! Reminder, your bill is ready. Blue Cross texted her, too; You have a private message waiting. Tap link to view. It sounded tantalizing, but it was the same message. You’re late with your payment.
Heather hustled to the kitchen. She was working yet another luncheon, this time for the Women’s Service League of Central Valley. She entered the warm kitchen and grabbed three plated entrees, avoiding the new chef, a drama queen. She pushed through the swinging door for outgoing, expertly balancing the plates on her forearms. She crossed the hallway, entered the Lafayette Room, and beelined for the table. Coincidentally, it was the one in the corner, where she had served Mindy Kostis yesterday.
You look familiar to me.
Heather dismissed the thought, sidestepping fancy handbags and managing not to elbow anyone in the head, though she might have wanted to, since the Women’s Service League had decided at the last minute to hold its speeches and raffles before the meal, backing up the entire schedule, so that Heather had no hope of getting out on time again. She reached the table with a professional smile, served as unobtrusively as possible, and headed back to the kitchen, hearing another text alert sound, which gave her pause. It could be Jordan. Something could’ve gone wrong at school.
Heather stopped by the wall near the restrooms, sliding her phone from her uniform pocket. The banner on the screen showed the text was from Jordan, and it had the first three words, whoa mom u, which she didn’t understand, so she swiped to read the whole text.