Part Two
At first, everything looked exactly as it should. He headed toward downtown. Toward the office.
I almost laughed at myself. Maybe the message had been meant for somebody else entirely. Maybe I was about to let four words unravel nine years of trust over nothing.
I was already composing the apology I'd never have to actually give him when his right turn signal came on.
I was already composing the apology I'd never have to give him.
His office wasn't that direction. I followed anyway.
Hollis Road cut through one of the older parts of Ashgrove, where family-owned shops had somehow survived long after the strip malls moved in. Elliot slowed outside a florist. I parked across the street and watched him disappear inside.
The seconds stretched out longer than they had any right to.
There had to be a reasonable explanation.
Anniversary flowers. A client. Someone in the hospital.
When he came back out, he was carrying a single white rose.
Not a bouquet. Just one.
He laid it gently across the passenger seat and pulled away.
He laid it gently across the passenger seat.
One flower felt personal in a way a dozen wouldn't have. I hated how quickly my mind filled in the blanks anyway.
The next stop only made it worse. A small tailor shop sat two blocks further down. Elliot went in empty-handed and came out carrying a navy garment bag, which he hung carefully across the back seat.
Flowers. Freshly pressed clothes. Another late night already promised for that evening. The message.
I gripped the steering wheel until my fingers actually ached.
"Stop doing this," I whispered to myself. "You don't know anything yet."
But doubt is persuasive. Once it gets into your head, it starts quietly rewriting yesterday. Every late meeting suddenly looks suspicious. Every distracted smile takes on a different meaning.
Once it gets into your head, it starts rewriting yesterday.
I found myself remembering little things I'd never once questioned before. A Saturday he'd left early. A text that had made him smile at his phone a beat too long. A Friday he'd come home humming a song I didn't recognize.
None of it had bothered me at the time.
Now it all lined up, uninvited, into a picture I very much did not want to see.
read more in next page
