many.
She found reasons to touch his arm.
And every time, Irvin stepped away.
Then she announced a neighborhood barbecue.
Irvin received an invitation.
I didn’t.
He showed it to me.
“I’m not going.”
I looked through the kitchen window toward Vanessa’s house.
Then I thought about the pickle jar.
The shelf.
The batteries.
Every fake little emergency she had used to borrow my husband.
And suddenly, I had an idea.
“Actually,” I said, “I think you should go.”
Irvin stared at me.
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
He studied my expression.
“Should I be worried?”
I smiled.
“Not about me.”
NEXT PAGE
The following afternoon, Irvin went to Vanessa’s barbecue alone.
I waited thirty minutes.
Then I walked next door carrying a large gift box.
The backyard was packed with neighbors holding drinks and paper plates.
Conversations slowed when I entered through the gate.
Irvin saw me first and immediately had
