Always the Last to Know(62)

“Jesus, Barb. I don’t know how you do it.”

“In sickness and in health.”

“Yeah, and forsaking all others. Let’s not forget why we’re here, after all.”

The door opened, and a young couple came in with their baby. “How’s your grandbaby doing, by the way?” I asked, and Carol pulled out her phone to show me the latest pictures of Garrett, her second grandson. “Beautiful. Looks like you, Caro.”

She flashed me that gorgeous smile that lit up her whole face. “I thought so, too,” she said.

Then the door opened, and a woman came in, late fifties, maybe.

“Hey,” Caro said. “We know her. It’s . . . uh . . . oh, shit, I can’t remember.”

“It’s Karen, the teacher from ballroom dancing, remember?” I had great facial recall, which helped in my job. Also, we took those lessons for a few months, in those days when I’d still been trying to work on my marriage, making sure John had enough fun, trying to feel something other than irritation toward him.

“Right!” Caro said. “Hi, Karen! How are you?”

Karen looked over, then flinched.

The penny dropped, as the saying goes.

Seems we had just met WORK.

“Come on over!” Caro called. “Remember us? We took dance classes from you. We were all terrible.”

Karen came over, her arms crossed tightly in front of her.

Caro went on blithely. “This is Barb Frost, and I’m Caro, and . . . oh. Oh, shit. It’s you, isn’t it?”

Yep. Her eyes darted between us.

“Here to meet my husband?” I asked, oddly numb.

“Um . . . uh . . .” She closed her eyes. “I think I might faint.”

“Great. A drama queen,” Caro said. “Well, faint away. We’ll throw a bucket of water on you. You’re not leaving till you’ve answered some questions.”

“It’s just that I only had a kale smoothie for breakfast, and—”

“We don’t care,” I said. “Sit down, you . . . adulteress.”

“Oh, Barb,” Caro said. “Call her what she is. Sit down, slut.”

“Where’s John?” she asked, holding her giant fabric bag in front of her.

“We’ll get to that,” I said.

Karen. Karen something boring. Sanders or Saunders.

She sat across from Caro and me, and I took a long look at her. Her face was flushing a dull red, and she looked at the table. Dyed black hair, a dull, drab color that came from a drugstore, not a salon. I was a natural blond, and over the years my hair had gradually become streaked with silver. Never colored it a day in my life. She was dressed like a twenty-year-old bohemian—long full skirt, a low-cut leotard showing off her speckled, bony chest. Hard features, small eyes, but cunning, like a . . . like a rhino. A beaky nose, thin lips.

Well, he wasn’t with her because of her looks.

“So I guess you know,” she said, swallowing.

“I sure do, Karen. Or should I call you angel kitten?”

“Barb’s been texting you for almost two months. You didn’t even know it wasn’t your tiger,” Caro said.

“How dare you?” she said, and Caro and I both laughed.

“Barb,” Caro said, “the slut is mad because you pretended to be John.”

“Caro,” I said, “I’m mad because the slut was sleeping with my husband.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Karen said.

“Oh, please,” Caro said.

She twisted one of her silver bracelets. “I . . . we love each other. And you didn’t understand him,” she said. “He said your marriage had been over for years.”

“Jeesh,” I said. “The oldest line in the book, kitten. Did you fall for that? He gave me a beautiful ruby pendant for Christmas.” Juliet had picked it out, of course, but technically, it was from him. “Did he mention how much fun we had with our children and grandchildren?”

She glanced away. “Does he know you’re meeting me?”

“I’ll ask the questions, kitten,” I said. “Let me guess. He and I had grown apart. He wasn’t happy anymore. You made him feel young. He didn’t know what love was until he found you, and if only he’d met you first, gosh golly, life would’ve been super great. He’d leave me, but the children. Or the . . . what, Caro?”

“Or the fact that a divorce would cost him every dime he ever made,” she supplied.

“That’s true, now, isn’t it? Hm.”

Karen’s little eyes darted between us, and she fiddled with her ugly bag. “He was going to leave you. He probably still is.”

Caro laughed.

“Is that what you want? Would you marry him, kitten?” I asked.

“Please stop calling me that,” she said. “And yes. I love him.”

“Oh. How touching,” Caro said. “She loves him, Barb.”

“My heart.” This was oddly fun. “Well, you can have him, Karen. In sickness and in health.” I took a bite of Caro’s cake. “Tell me, what makes a woman go after a married man? Don’t you have any morals?”

“I am a good Christian woman,” she said, huffing.