Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,80
is different,” Karen said.
“How so, dear?” I asked.
She glanced around. That hair was not only unnatural in color, it didn’t move a bit when she turned her head. Helmet hair, my girls would call it. “Look. I’m sorry he doesn’t love you anymore. But we didn’t plan this. It just happened.”
“So . . . you fell into a deep sleep and when you woke up, you were screwing another woman’s husband?” Caro asked.
“No! We . . . we ran into each other at a treadmill class last spring.”
I rolled my eyes. Just when you thought it couldn’t get worse. “You had to take a class to learn how to walk on a treadmill?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“And then what happened, angel kitten?”
“We remembered each other. We got a carrot juice at the juice bar. We just . . . clicked. We ended up talking for hours. It was amazing.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “It was inappropriate and dishonest. He’s married. Which you well knew. What God has put together, let no one put asunder, good Christian woman.”
“I’m telling you, it wasn’t like we planned to have an affair. It was just juice at first. But I started to look forward to it. He’s so . . . wonderful. A brilliant man.” Caro snorted. “The chemistry was undeniable. And you didn’t even notice.” She straightened her shoulders a bit, and her sternum bones showed even more.
She did have a point. I hadn’t noticed. Last spring, Sloane had appendicitis, and I stayed with Juliet for four nights and played board games with Brianna and cooked for the family. I’d also been doing the job Stoningham’s residents had elected me to do.
“How long did it take for these juice dates to lead to adultery?” I asked.
“About a week.” She smirked, obviously proud of herself.
The words hit me in the heart like a hammer shattering glass.
A week. That’s how much time and consideration he gave our marriage. Our vows. Our five decades together.
One goddamn week.
“The attraction was just so strong,” she said, raising her penciled eyebrows at me. “I’m not that type of girl—”
“You haven’t been a girl in sixty years,” Caro said.
“—and I’ve never done anything like that before. But I believe God put us in each other’s path, and life is too short. The past isn’t a compass for the future. You have to give yourself permission to chart a new course.”
“Been reading Snapple caps?” Caro asked.
“I won’t apologize for loving someone with all my heart.” Her little rhino eyes teared up. “I take it you gave him an ultimatum. What are you holding over his head, Barb? Is this why he hasn’t been in touch? He said you were controlling and had anger issues, but this is beyond the pale.”
“Oh, hush,” I said. “I’m not holding anything over his head. He had a stroke.” She sucked in a breath, her sharp nostrils flaring. “I found out about you when I was at the hospital. While my husband was having brain surgery to save his life, I got to read his idiotic, juvenile sexting with you.”
“He had an operation? How is he now?”
For some reason, it was hard to say the words. “You tell her, Caro.”
“Well, funny you should ask, kitten,” Caro said. “He has the IQ of a celery stalk.”
Karen jerked back. “What do you mean?”
“He’s nonverbal and needs a full-time caregiver,” I said. “Good thing you love him so very, very much. This must be why God put him in your path.”
“Barb,” Caro said, putting her hand on my shoulder, “I’m so glad you won’t be shackled to him anymore, now that Sex Kitten will take over. You know, since their love is more special and so different from any love the world has ever seen.”
“The house is in my name,” I said. “And I have power of attorney over our finances. But I’m sure you’re not materialistic. Good thing, too, since you won’t be getting a fucking cent.”
Her eyelids fluttered.
“I love that you said fucking,” Caro said.
“It felt good.”
Karen started to stand, then sat back down. “So he won’t get better?”
“You’d have to ask God about that, Karen, since you and He are on such close terms. John can’t talk, and he can’t write, but he did learn to toilet himself, so he only wets the bed once in a while.”
“What would Jesus do?” Caro asked. “I bet Jesus would comfort the sick, don’t you, kitten? Small price to pay for ruining a marriage.”