Page 75 of Our Little Secret

The rest of the night he remained by her side. Though she was wound tight, forcing a smile, sipping champagne, half listening to conversation. She heard as if from a great distance the piano renditions of “White Christmas” and “Jingle Bell Rock.” She was aware of Jennifer Adkins’s every move as she worked the room. Jennifer talked easily to the senior partners, engaged their wives, smiled, and fit in easily.

It was Brooke who felt like an outsider.

Still, she might have relaxed a little, but she noticed that whatever room she and Neal entered, Jennifer soon followed. Casually. At a distance.

A coincidence?

Brooke didn’t believe that.

The hour went by excruciatingly slowly. As people laughed and glasses clinked and some, lubricated by liquor, sang the lyrics of the Christmas carols being played, Brooke counted the seconds.

Neal was at ease, and when she pointed out it was time to leave, he held up a hand until he’d finished his conversation with a junior partner and finally said his goodbyes.

Jennifer watched them go and—God, did she blow a kiss at Neal as she waved goodbye? Surely not. Brooke must’ve imagined it, but in the car on the way home, she barely spoke a word to Neal and then, two months later, she saw the text message and realized her husband had been unfaithful.

Tonight? At Harvey’s? Can you get away?

Her stomach had dropped and she’d followed Neal to the bar seven blocks away from their house. After parking around the corner and crossing the street to the small tavern, she peered through the window. Quickly scanning the large room, she saw the two of them huddled in a booth near the back. They were close together, Neal’s arm over Jennifer’s shoulders. She leaned into him and tilted up her head for a kiss that he delivered so tenderly Brooke felt her heart crack. She backed up, stomach churning, and ran into a parking meter.

No!Her mind had screamed.No, no, no!

She’d suspected of course. All those late nights when he was “at work.” But to be confronted with the bald truth was jarring. The door to the establishment opened, and for a split second she thought about striding inside and confronting her husband and the shrew who was with him, but as the door swung closed behind two men in similar Seahawks jackets and caps, she changed her mind.

What was the old saying? Something about revenge being best when served cold?

Well, she was hot at the moment. White hot with a fury only tempered by a sudden, icy onslaught of fear. What if Neal left her? What if he was emotionally entwined with this woman? What if the affair—if indeed their relationship had become sexual—was more than physical? What if, God forbid, her marriage, which had seemed to be foundering recently, was over? What about Marilee? Young, impressionable, on the brink of womanhood? Oh. No.

Brooke’s stomach twisted as she stumbled backward, lurching onto the street, and slipping into a puddle. A passing car honked, nearly hitting her. It splashed up a sheet of icy water, drenching her clothes.

She didn’t care and stared dully as the car flew down the street, taillights winking bright red. Tears blurring her vision, pain cutting to her soul, she stumbled back to her own vehicle, unlocked it, and before slipping into the interior, threw up on the asphalt.

“Shit.” She fell back onto the seat and tried to pull herself together.

So Neal lied about work and met a woman at a bar.

So she saw him kissing that woman.

That didn’t necessarily mean her life as she knew it was over. It just meant her husband was on the cusp of cheating on her—well, maybe beyond the cusp. But it wasn’t the end of the world. Lots of marriages survived setbacks, including infidelity.

Big deal.

She turned on the ignition but let the car, lights on, idle as she pounded her head against the steering wheel. How had this happened? What hadshedone wrong? Had she been so disinterested in Neal that he’d felt compelled to—

No, no, no!

This is not your fault!

Brooke Fletcher Harmon, do not take the blame for Neal’s weakness.

And don’t accept the role of victim.

You’re strong.

You can handle this.

Haven’t you always done what you were called upon to do?

When Mama was sick and dying? Didn’t you handle it, accept it, tamp down your own fear and heartache for the sake of Nana and Leah?

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