Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,105

go of John’s hand. “Grab a wineglass. The bottle’s out here.” I heard the cupboard open, and a second later, there she was, looking so stylish and pretty.

“You two look cozy,” she said, pouring herself some wine and taking a seat across from us.

“I’ve just been telling John about our meeting with Karen.”

“Oh, that slut.” She looked at John. “You do not deserve Barb, John. You hear me? You don’t deserve to clean her toilet.”

“Hush now,” I said. “He’s my husband. Not a great one, mind you, John, but my husband just the same.”

“You’re too good, Barb.”

“You betcha,” I said, and we laughed, Caro and I, and maybe, just maybe, John smiled a little bit, too. I closed my eyes, listening to the birds.

If this was my life now, I guess I’d have to take it. Aside from a cheating husband, I’d been real blessed. My girls, my friend, my home, this town . . .

“Go to bed, Barb,” Caro said. “You must be exhausted.”

“I’m pretty tired, I’ll give you that.”

“I’ll get this old bastard settled, and I’ll hardly kick him at all. How’s that, John?”

“Oh, Caro. You’re all talk. Don’t listen to her, John. She’ll take real good care of you.”

And I did go to bed, not even brushing my teeth first. My clothes felt as heavy as lead.

Would John live a long time? Would I be able to keep this up?

Thank God for Caro. I lay down, comforted by the sound of my best friend’s voice as she talked to my husband. I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Sadie

For the first time in years and years, Noah and I were in a car together.

It brought back a lot. Sure, we were driving down I-95 to Brooklyn, but memories of steamy windows, hands under shirts, lush kissing, panting breath, the way he knew exactly how I—

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes! Why? Jeesh.”

“You just squeaked.”

“Did I? I don’t think so. Must’ve been the truck.”

This was going to be a long ride.

Why were we going to New York together, you ask?

I was delivering a painting to Janice, the interior decorator. This one was a “huge painting with those big flowers that look like vaginas. It’s a lesbian couple, so don’t hold back.”

When I called her to ask about the delivery, Janice had been more frantic than her usual self. “Can you come down and hang it yourself? This whole job is going to shit. It’s a brownstone, and it needs custom work, and the guy who was supposed to make the window seat on the staircase landing just bailed, and I’m telling you, no one is available unless you book a year in advance these days, and they discontinued the wallpaper the owners loved and I’m pulling my hair out.”

“Sure, I’ll come,” I said. Janice had probably forgotten that I was here in Connecticut with my dad, but I could use a day in the city. I hadn’t spent any time there except to dump Alexander a few weeks ago, and I’d been in a state, obviously. It would be good for the soul, as it always was. There was nothing like a spring day in Brooklyn.

An idea popped into my head. “Hey, Janice, I might know someone who can make a window seat.”

“Really? Oh, Sadie. That would be miraculous.”

“I’ll call you back.” I hung up, then looked at my dog. “Don’t judge,” I said. “It’s only business.” She wagged kindly, her eyes suggesting I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Noah had put in the beam so my house was no longer in danger of falling in on itself. He’d also put in the picture windows, and it was amazing how it changed the look of the house, both from the outside and the inside. Sure, it was still a bit crooked, but Noah said if I put on a new roof, it could be fixed. The thing about house renovation, I was learning, was that the more you did, the more you wanted to do. The huge vagina flower painting (sorry, Georgia O’Keeffe) would put some money in the bank.

A big butcher block island with stools would let you eat while staring out at the salt marsh. Maybe Noah could put in a spiral staircase, like Juliet’s. Maybe he could make the entire northern wall a bookcase.

Maybe I just wanted to spend more time with Noah.

I was still recovering from Alexander’s cheating and lying, granted. I had loved him, or the him I thought he was. Then there were the