wearing. “He remembered I liked them,” I say. “And they’re heart-shaped. You know what that means? That we’re in love again, that’s what. Not that we ever stopped, but you know, it’s gone back to the way it used to be. In a way.” I smile at her, but the words sound hollow and I wonder if I ever really believed them. “And his show is over so he has no reason to go to the gallery anymore.”
“Right,” she says, staring intently at her plate.
“What does that mean?”
She shrugs. “Nothing, what do I know? I’m an idiot.”
“Hey, that’s my line! Come on, tell me.”
“Just that…” She sighs, puts her fork down. “Listen to yourself, Anna. Why would Luis stop seeing Isabelle, just because you’re trying so hard to be perfect? He can have his cake and eat it too, as far as I can see.”
She registers the shock on my face and raises her hand. “Look, I’m only saying this because I’ve been there, and I did all the things you did. I was the perfect girlfriend and he still left me for her. Of course, it’s very possible the affair is over, but you don’t know that. You should be in control of this situation, Anna. Not try and second-guess it. If he’s going to stop seeing… what’s her name again?”
“Isabelle.”
“If he’s going to stop seeing Isabelle, it should be because you made it happen.”
I laugh. “I thought I was. Believe me, I’ve turned up the seduction dial to stratospheric. What else are you suggesting?”
“Confront him! Give him an ultimatum! Make him take responsibility for his actions!”
I’m such a loser. Of course she’s right. And yet… “What if he picks her?” I say in a small voice.
“He won’t.” Then she thinks about it and shrugs. “And if he does, well, he would have left sooner or later. But he won’t,” she says again. “Have you checked his toiletries bag for condoms?”
“What? No! Why his toiletries bag? I’m not even sure he has one.”
“That’s where Trevor kept them. Alternatively, you could always confront her. Have you considered that?”
“How do I do that? March up to her at her work and make a public spectacle of myself?”
“Of course not.” She pauses. “You know what would be helpful here, I think, is if you could see them together? You could probably gauge a lot from how they interact. Like, are they trying too hard not to interact? You know what I’m saying?”
“I don’t know how to do that, either,” I say sullenly.
“Look, Anna, it’s up to you. Don’t listen to me. I’m the one who couldn’t keep my own boyfriend, so what do I know? I’m sure you’re right, it’s over.”
The first thing I think of when I wake up the next day, my head heavy and blurry, my tongue thick, my heart beating too hard, is that I wish I hadn’t told June about Luis and Isabelle.
But as the fog clears, I decide that she’s right. Winning the Pentti-Stone prize has made me complacent, if not a little smug. I’ve been walking around my own life as if I was more than enough. When have I ever been enough?
I have to wait another two days before I am alone in the house. It’s Saturday morning and Luis has taken the children to the ice rink while I plead a headache. The moment they’re gone I go through his things. It’s almost a ritual by now: I go through his pockets, his shoes, his drawers, under his drawers, his emails, cellphone bills, especially cellphone bills. Nothing.
I check his toiletries bag for condoms—there are none—and I stand there, knowing that finding nothing doesn’t prove he’s not still seeing Isabelle. It just means I found nothing.
I don’t even know what I’m looking for, and I really do get a headache. I press my fingers on my temples as I gaze out to the back garden and the shed. I should go to his studio and search there. That’s what I should do. If there’s anything to find, that’s where it will be.
Then I focus my eyes. The shed.
The shed is completely Luis’s domain. I hardly ever go in there, and why would I? It’s where he tinkers with his bikes. There’s nothing for me there. Which makes it the perfect hiding place.
I unlock the door and catch a whiff of chain oil. His red bicycle is resting upside down in the center, tools carefully laid out on the bench, ready to perform some intricate