LITMIR.BIZ

      “I was thinking,” Kathy said suddenly.

      “Always dangerous . . .” Robert quipped.

      Kathy could see him through the bathroom door, standing in those ridiculous L.L. Bean pajama bottoms designed with pictures of little duck boots that she absolutely hated. She was sitting up in bed, supported by a trio of pillows, holding a People magazine in front of her face. Although her head was tilted down, as if she were reading, she was watching him over the top of the page.

      “You’ve been working so hard lately. . . .”

      The electric toothbrush began to buzz and whine. Robert was paranoid about his teeth. Two years ago, when they’d least been able to afford it, he’d spent nearly three thousand dollars having them straightened and bleached. Now he went to the dentist every three months to get them whitened. They were shockingly bright against his tanned face, and she thought they looked artificial and false. Lately, he’d been talking about having LASIK on his eyes, even though he only needed glasses for reading and close work on the computer screen. “I can still hear you,” he said.

      But Kathy waited until the whine of the toothbrush faded away, then she tried again. “I’ve been thinking, you’ve been working so hard lately, I’ve barely seen you. We should try to have a date night.”

      “Good idea. Great idea,” he said around a mouthful of toothpaste.

      Kathy heard the faucet turn on and she raised her voice. “What about tomorrow?” And how will you answer, she wondered. Will you say yes to me, and make me feel ridiculous because I’ve doubted you or will you . . .

      “I can’t.” He shut off the water and came out of the bathroom, patting white toothpaste off his chin with a towel. “Not tomorrow night. I’m entertaining a client. Christmas drinks and some dinner.” He stared directly into her eyes, with those huge brown innocent eyes of his, as he smiled at her.

      “You never said.”

      “I’m sure I did.” He pulled on the pajama top.

      “I’d have remembered.”

      He shrugged and turned to toss the towel back into the bathroom. It missed the rail and slid to the floor, where she would pick it up in the morning. She caught him looking at himself in the mirrored closet doors, just a quick glance. She saw him straighten, suck in his belly, then nod.

      Still keeping her head down, turning the magazine pages slowly, pretending to read, she raised her eyes and looked at her husband. Really looked at him, trying to see him anew. She’d once read in a magazine that you really only looked at someone when you first met them, and after that you never really looked at them again. The picture the brain establishes in that first glance is the one that remains. How long ago was it since she’d looked at her husband, seen him as a person, an individual, she wondered.

      Was it her imagination, or was he was looking a lot more tanned and toned? He’d always been careful about his weight and was positively obsessive about his hair. Squinting slightly, she stared at his hair and noticed that some of the gray was gone. A few years ago he’d started to develop gray wings—distinguished and handsome, she’d thought—just above his ears. Now she saw that they had faded and almost vanished. Indeed, his hair was lustrous and shining, making her wonder if he had started to color it. It looked like he’d lost a little weight too; his stomach seemed flatter, and there was the hint—just a hint—of muscle. Even though it was the depths of winter, and they hadn’t been on a tropical vacation, his skin was an even tan. She couldn’t see a tan mark on his wrist where he habitually wore his watch, but the tan looked too perfect to have come from a bottle—there were no streaks, no darker patches. Good God—was he going to a tanning salon?

      Kathy turned the page of the magazine. The words were dipping and crawling across the page and she was unable to make sense of them, but she concentrated on moving her head as if she were reading. Who was he tanning for? Not for her, certainly. Suddenly that single thought—not for her—deeply saddened her. When had he stopped trying to impress her? When had she stopped being impressed by him?

      “Who are you meeting tomorrow?” she asked casually.

      “Jimmy Moran,” Robert said without missing a beat. “We’re having dinner and drinks at Top of the Hub.” He threw back the covers and slipped into the bed, sending a wave of chill air radiating through the sheets. “You didn’t turn on the blanket,” he said, almost accusingly.

      “I didn’t think it was that cold.” Ever since she’d started to put together the pieces, she’d been running hot and cold. She felt almost schizophrenic. She was forty-three; maybe menopause was coming early? Both her mother and older sister had gone through the change in their early forties. Perhaps her paranoia was simply a matter of out-of-control hormones. She tossed the magazine onto the floor and slid down in the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

      “Aren’t you going to read?”

      “No.” She reached up and turned off the light over her side of the bed.

      “Well, I’ll read for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

      She knew even if she did mind, he’d still keep the light on. He reached down to the side of the bed and lifted up the book he was reading, The Road Less Traveled.

      She waited in silence for a moment, then she heard a page turn. He was an infuriatingly slow reader. She could read two books a week; he’d been reading his current book for at least a month, maybe longer. Not looking at him, she asked, “When do you think we’ll have a chance to get a night out?”

      There was a pause. She heard another page turn. “I think we should wait until after Christmas. It’s a nightmare trying to find a place to eat, and parking is impossible.” He attempted a laugh. “All the restaurants in the city are full of people like me, treating clients like Jimmy to too much wine.” She heard the book hit the floor, and then his light clicked off. “After Christmas, we’ll find a little time. Maybe even head out to the Cape for the weekend. Or Martha’s Vineyard. What do you think?”

      “That would be nice,” Kathy said. He had said the same thing last year. They hadn’t gone away; there wasn’t time.

      There was never enough time.

      CHAPTER 5

      Friday, 20th December

      “So how sure are you?” Rose King rested her elbows on the kitchen table and reached out to take her friend’s hands.

      Kathy Walker shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

      “But you’re suspicious.”

      “I’m suspicious.”

      “And you’ve been suspicious before?”

      Kathy nodded. “I have.”

      “Hell, I’ll bet there’s not a woman in the Greater Boston Metropolitan Area who hasn’t been suspicious about her husband at least once.”

      “Have you? Been suspicious, I mean?”

      Rose’s

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