If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(5)

Well, other than Sugar Momma’s.

My mother brought the tea to the table and sat beside me. “Now drink this and tell me what’s happened.”

I recognized the look on her face. The one she’d worn to convince us that there were no monsters under the bed. Nothing dark and scary had ever reached up to grab us, but that didn’t mean there weren’t monsters out there.

I couldn’t help but wish I had another cookie. “I haven’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon—”

She waved that off, wearing a relieved smile. “He’s busy working, honey.”

Mom had always respected the boundaries of work. As our town’s high school librarian, she’d made it clear we couldn’t run to her with personal problems during school hours. My father had been in sales, having worked his way up to a regional manager position within a small medical supply company. When we were kids he’d traveled on business one or two days each week. He hadn’t been in constant touch with her, and she’d been fine with that. He was always where he said he’d be, and he’d often come home with big hugs and little trinkets for us all.

“I know. But I called Tom, and a woman answered—Tom’s girlfriend. When I asked for Lyle, she told me he’d left yesterday—with Ebba.”

My mother frowned. “Who’s Ebba?”

“I’m not sure, but he used to work with a woman named Ebba at Chesapeake Properties. I called right before you showed up and learned that she no longer works there.” I held the teacup in both hands to warm them. It didn’t help.

“Well, there you go. Lyle told us he planned to bring partners into this deal so he could quickly repay my loan, right? Of course he’d choose partners he already knew he could work well with. He’s smart that way.”

“Maybe . . .” I mulled it over, recalling all his excitement about our future. But if he’d invited Ebba into the deal, why hadn’t that come up in conversation?

“Yes, honey. Trust me. Please don’t let your hormones play tricks on you.” My mother’s certainty reassured me. I had been a hormonal mess lately. “Lyle isn’t having an affair. He’s a good man and devoted husband. Be patient. He’ll call any minute now.”

The phone buzzed on the table, and I grabbed it.

Erin.

I set it down, unable to deal with her at the moment. It was hard enough to stay optimistic now without her wordless “told you sos” sowing doubts. Not that she’d say it. In fact, she’d brush her hands together, mutter “good riddance,” then suggest we get pizza or take a road trip.

“Come on.” My mom stood. “Go put on something pretty and let’s have our shopping day picking out a crib and bedding and all the sweet things. You’ll feel better, and after Lyle calls tonight, we’ll laugh about this. You’ll see.”

I went up to my room to change into a spring dress and flats. My mother’s faith had given me hope, and browsing baby clothes would certainly lift my mood. I brushed my hair, thinking about the way Lyle had kissed me goodbye. “Wish me luck!” he’d said.

My mother was right. He’d never shown any interest in other women, including Ebba. He could be moody, but he’d never lied.

And then Hannah’s laughing face resurfaced from when she’d innocently revealed, “That’s exactly what he always says.”

I stared into the mirror, expecting it to crack as the reckoning that I may not know my husband as well as I’d thought returned.

What if cookies weren’t the only secret Lyle was keeping?





CHAPTER TWO

ERIN

Until my dad died, I’d given less than zero thought to my future. Those of us hovering around an average IQ were less burdened by big aspirations and expectations—and that freedom had kept my life spontaneous and interesting. My siblings, Kevin and Amanda, proved my theory that the smarter a person is, the more trapped they get in the whole “big thing,” like finding the right school, the right job, the right partner, the right house.

The family gene pool did funnel my dad’s zest for adventure and winning smile my way. As long as there was a roof over my head, most days I had all I needed to be happy. Lately, though, that roof thing was looking a bit precarious.

If I’d been smarter, maybe I could’ve become a veterinarian—the perfect job for someone who loves animals more than I do most people. That income would’ve exceeded what I cleared from the combo of teaching yoga and my budding Etsy business. Still, odd jobs gave me flexibility and autonomy, as well as immediate satisfaction.

But if I’m being completely honest, the specter of my thirtieth birthday had me thinking it might be time to do some adulting and take a few steps away from the poverty line. Lately I’d felt stuck somewhere between where I was headed and where I wanted to be. Without my dad to talk to, I was putting my faith in tomorrow’s meditation and yoga retreat as my best hope for answers.

“Let’s leave for the institute at six tomorrow.” Lexi, my BFF and fellow instructor, rolled up her mat and strapped it onto her yoga bag. She had the face and body of a young Angela Bassett, and rocked short hair just as well.

All around us, women in various states of undress banged around their lockers, blow-dried their hair, and chattered like chickens in a henhouse. The recent influx of young families to town had brought to the studio more women who all looked alike, with their shoulder-length, straight hair, Alala yoga wear, and Céline handbags. Even their freshly plucked eyebrows and real gold jewelry set them apart from me.