Page 86 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“Glory—” he started.

“I trusted her.Howcould I trust her?”

“Sweetheart, you were set up.”

“Don’t you think I know that? And they make you sound like a pathetic cuckold.”

He sighed hard into the line and I just knew—justknew—he was shaking his head. “Listen, I’m packing up and coming home. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“But what about the new company?”

“I like this company. I love my wife. There’ll be other companies. I don’t want another wife, sweetheart. Love you.”

I sniffled the loud and totally un-sexy kind of sniffle into the phone. “Love you, too.”

Over the next couple of hours, my phone flashed with Pen’s, Sierra’s and my mom’s names several times each, but my humiliation felt too raw. My mother had a signed contract with the Parkers which gave her some level of protection but if this touched Brock’s campaign in any way, would they go after Maisie or Dee?

At this point, I wanted to disappear from the world. Maisie tried to be sympathetic, but I wouldn’t let her. I humiliated myself and my husband. Some days required a do-over, but Inever wanted to see this day again. Hiding away—thatI could do. Powering my wheelchair over to the steps, I transferred myself to the stair lift, pushing the leaver to take me to the top.

It went like that all the way up until I reached the last step and I transferred to the second motorized chair we kept upstairs, motoring myself into the bedroom. This damn sprained ankle couldn’t go away fast enough. The collarbone debacle, as I’d come to call it, wouldn’t clear up for a couple of months.

After climbing in bed, I cocooned myself under the covers, tucking the sides under my body until not a speck of light showed through any cracks between the blanket and sheet, which was a feat when you only had one arm to work with.

Maybe everything would be okay if I could just keep the rest of the world out. I startedbloodshot-eyes-and-snot-dripping-down-my-noseblubbering again, using Blake’s pillow as my surrogate shoulder to cry on, pressing my face against the spot that smelled strongest of him, and held it close.

Eventually, the pillow started talking and the words sounded like Blake. “Scoot over,” the pillow said in my husband’s voice, and I scooted back over to my side of the bed.

“You don’t normally talk,” I told the pillow and it laughed.

“What?” it asked.

“You don’t normally answer me.”

“Sweetheart, I answer you all the time.” The magical blanket tugged up, flooding my cocoon with light, blinding me. But the light cut off, replaced by a body. A warm body that smelled of spice and aftershave. “Can I have my pillow?” the body asked.

“No,” I answered.

“No?Why?”

“I need it to remember you by.”

“Am I going somewhere?”

“You’re divorcing me.”

“I am? When did I decide that?”

“When I humiliated you by being extremely stupid.” I sniffed loudly.

“Shit. I’m glad you told me because this could’ve been awkward. I had no idea I was humiliated because as far as I can see, my wife did nothing wrong. Now that you’ve filled me in, I’ll get the papers started tomorrow.”

“For clarity’s sake,” I said, still sniffling, “that was sarcasm?”

He pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “Missed you,” he whispered.

“I missed you, too,” I admitted.

“Clearly, that’s why you made out with that man on the beach.” He did not! I swatted at him with my only good arm and simultaneously laughed through more tears. “What?” he asked. “Too soon?”

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