The Family Next Door(47)

“Hey,” Lucas called. He rounded the corner, winking at her. Winking had always been their thing. Over the years she’d never seen a greeting she liked as much. Some husbands planted a perfunctory kiss on their wife’s cheek, others merely grunted as they walked in. But Lucas’s wink always seemed so genuine, so full of affection. It was like a little secret they shared.

One of many secrets they shared.

“Something smells good,” he said. “What’s for dinner?”

It was such an ordinary question. It was absurd given the magnitude of their situation but also, surprisingly comforting. Ange glanced back at the kitchen, taking in the onion, ground beef, eggs, and bread crumbs that were out on the kitchen counter.

“Burgers?”

Lucas laughed. “Is that a question?”

It was. The truth was, Ange had no recollection of what she’d made, no idea at all beyond the ingredients she could see on the counter. Maybe she was in shock? The idea wasn’t unappealing. If she were in shock, someone would wrap her in a warm blanket and give her some sweet tea, and watch over her until they were sure she was “out of the woods.” She’d seen paramedics do that on TV, after people had been involved in car accidents and such. Surely there was a service like that for women who’d found out their husbands were philanderers. And if there was … where the HECK was her blanket and sweet tea?

“Ah, meatballs,” Lucas said, peering into a pot on the stove.

“Yes,” she said. “Meatballs.”

Of course, she thought. Meatballs. Most women, Ange imagined, screamed and threw things when they found out their husbands had alternate families.

Ange made her husband’s favorite dinner.

Lucas wandered over to the boys who were playing Xbox and, miraculously, they grunted a hello to their father.

They’d become a family, Ange realized. Her boys, Lucas, Erin, and their little half-sister, Charlie. One day, at their weddings, they’d thank “Dad and Erin for all they’d done over the years.” Then they’d smile over at the table, where Ange was sitting, dateless, trying to look happy so she didn’t ruin the special day.

Ange went to the fridge and got out a half-full bottle of wine and two glasses. She very nearly laughed. Two glasses! In ten years, when Lucas was married to Erin, would she still get out two glasses when she opened a bottle of wine? Would she still make minestrone without celery because Lucas hated celery? Would she still tell the boys to “just wait until their father got home”?

“I’m starving,” Ollie called out dramatically.

Ange was about to tell him dinner would be ready soon, but Lucas intervened. “You’re not starving. Children in Africa are starving. You’re simply hungry.”

Oh, fuck off, Ange thought.

Usually, when Lucas said something like that, Ange felt proud. What a good husband she had. What a lovely role model for her sons. Often she took it one step further, into self-flagellation. Why didn’t she think to say something like that? Thank goodness they had Lucas, she’d think, to give them a moral compass.

Now it felt laughable. Lucas’s moral compass!

Ange filled one glass and walked over to the lounge. Lucas was perched on one arm of Ollie’s chair. Ange slid onto the other. He glanced at her wineglass, perhaps wondering why she hadn’t offered him one, but not mentioning it. Guilt, maybe? Well, I do have a girlfriend and an illegitimate child, so I’d better not give my wife a hard time about not offering me a glass of wine.

Maybe he did have a moral compass after all?

“You’re not in your gym clothes,” Ange said casually.

He hesitated only for the slightest second. “No,” he said. “I went into the studio for a few hours.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yeah,” Lucas said. “It came up at the last minute.”

“Oh yeah?” She took a large gulp of wine. “Who did you shoot?”

The thought had occurred to her that she had no proof of anything. Not a shred. She imagined standing up in front of a judge and saying: Yeah, well, the little girl moved her arm in exactly the same way my older son does. Uh huh. And also, my intuition. A woman’s intuition is never wrong. Sentence him to death, Judge! Or at least, some hard labor.

The judge would laugh in her face. Maybe that was why she was pushing him now. She wanted her theory disproven.

“Is there any more of that wine?” he said.

“In the kitchen,” she told him, then she stood and followed him. “Who was the client?” she asked him again.

“A repeat client with her three-year-old,” he said, filling his glass to the top.

Ange took another large swig of her drink. “A three-year-old,” she said, after forcing herself to swallow. “That must have been fun.”

“I’m starving!” Ollie cried again, from the other room.

“Tough,” Ange yelled at the same time Lucas said: “You’re not starving!”

Lucas looked at her. “Honey, you seem stressed. How about I run you a bath?”

“But dinner is—”

“I’ll finish it. Go on. I’ll bring you another glass of wine. And I’ll keep a plate warm for you to eat when you get out.”

She wanted to slap him around the head. She wanted to know how he could do this to her and, more important, how he could do it to their sons. She wanted to know how he could stand there and pretend to be the perfect husband after spending the afternoon with Erin and Charlie. She wanted to hear him tell her the truth. Instead, she heard herself say: “A bath would be lovely,” and she headed out of the room.