8 Sandpiper Way (9 page)

“Oh, Pastor Flemming’s lost his watch.” Olivia might not have recognized it if the same thing hadn’t happened earlier.

“Pastor Flemming?” Grace frowned, studying the back of the watch. “That’s not the name inscribed here. It says, ‘Micah Evans. June 23, 1977 for Thirty Years of Loyal Service.’”

“Micah Evans must be some relative,” Olivia speculated. He’d been concerned about losing the watch when it fell off his wrist the first time. It obviously held some emotional significance for him.

Grace continued to frown. “Evans…Evans,” she repeated slowly. “For some reason, that name sticks in my mind.”

“It doesn’t in mine,” Olivia said. “I’d better call to tell
him I have his watch, otherwise he’ll wonder.” He’d behaved oddly and seemed almost sorry that she’d seen it. “There appears to be something wrong with the clasp.”

Olivia pulled the telephone directory from the kitchen drawer and set it on the counter, opening it to the
Fs.

“Are you calling the church office?” Grace asked as Olivia scanned the listings.

“I thought I’d try his house first,” Olivia said. “He said he’d be out all day. If I contact the church office, he won’t get the message until tomorrow morning, if then. I’ll get in touch with his wife. Let me see.
Flemming, D. 8 Sandpiper Way.
”

Olivia punched in the number, and Emily Flemming answered on the second ring.

“Dave’s gold watch?” she said when Olivia had identified herself and explained why she was calling.

“Yes, it fell off his wrist while he was here visiting.”

“Oh.” The pastor’s wife sounded tearful.

“I just found it,” Olivia said, “or I would’ve called before.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” Emily Flemming whispered. “Goodbye.”

Olivia hung up the phone with the oddest sensation. “Something isn’t right between Dave and Emily Flemming,” she announced.

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m not sure. Intuition, I guess.” She clapped the phone book shut. “But mark my words, that relationship is in trouble.”

E
mily Flemming hung up the phone after her conversation with Judge Griffin and for a long moment didn’t move. She bit her lower lip hard enough to taste her own blood. The news about the lost watch bothered her, but that wasn’t the most upsetting detail.

Fifteen minutes later, she still hadn’t moved.

“Mom!” The front door opened and Matthew slammed into the house. “I’m home,” he yelled. His backpack slid from his shoulders and fell unceremoniously to the kitchen floor.

The door opened again as Mark came rushing in. “What’s for snack?” he demanded, following Matthew into the kitchen.

Generally Emily had something ready for her sons as soon as they got home. Heartsick, she’d forgotten.

She reached for two napkins and the large plastic barrel of pretzels she’d bought earlier in the month at Costco.

“Pretzels,” Mark whined. “Why can’t we have cookies?”

“Because cookies aren’t good for you, stupid,” Matthew muttered.

When Emily didn’t instantly protest, Mark did. “Mom! Matthew called me
stupid.
”

“Don’t do it again,” she said halfheartedly. She set the napkins on the table and poured a pile of pretzels onto each. The juice she gave them was a special treat; it came in small boxes complete with their own straws.

“What time will Dad be home?” Mark asked, then stuffed his mouth full of pretzels.

“I…I’m not sure.”

“What’s for dinner?” Matthew wanted to know.

Emily glanced over at the stove. When the phone rang she’d been assembling a large pan of lasagna. After speaking to Judge Griffin, she’d gotten sidetracked. The sauce had cooled on the stove as she’d stood by the phone, trying to understand what she’d learned. This
shouldn’t
be happening, and yet it made a weird kind of sense. It wasn’t as if Emily hadn’t suspected Dave had been lying to her. She’d known all along.

“Mom?” Matthew asked her again. “What’s for dinner?”

“Food, stupid,” Mark said.

“Don’t call your brother
stupid,
” she returned automatically.

“He called me
stupid
first.”

Emily would go slowly insane if she had to listen to this constant bickering. “Both of you, to your rooms.” She pointed in the direction of the hallway. They had their own bedrooms since the move to Sandpiper Way, which had been one of the many attractions offered by this house.

“Mom!” Matthew shouted. “We just got home from school.”

“Do your homework!”

“What about study hour?”

“You can do homework then, too.”

“This sucks!” Mark dragged his feet and his backpack down the hallway. She didn’t bother to reproach him for using a word she hated.

Emily waited until her sons were well out of earshot. With her mind in turmoil, she walked over to the telephone and called the church office.

Angel, the secretary, answered right away. “Cedar Cove Methodist,” came her well-modulated voice. “Can I help you?”

“It’s Emily,” she said, trying to sound calm, despite the staccato beating of her heart. “Is Dave there?”

“Oh, hi, Em,” Angel said. “Sorry, he’s been out and about all afternoon. You might want to try his cell. He had it with him when he left the office.”

“He either has it turned off or the battery’s gone dead.” Emily hoped God would forgive her for that lie.

“Can’t reach him then?”

“Right.”

Emily could hear Angel flipping pages of what she assumed must be Dave’s appointment calendar. “It says here that he’s supposed to visit Judge Griffin. She’s home from the hospital now, but I guess you already know that.”

“Is there a time?” she asked.

Angel made a small humming sound. “Four, according to his calendar.”

“Four,” Emily repeated dully. “Four this afternoon?” The secretary’s words confirmed everything she suspected.

“Yup. That’s what it says,” Angel said cheerfully.

“Okay, thanks.” Emily quickly got off the phone. At first she was too numb to think. Then, marching over to the sink, she looked down at the lasagna noodles she’d cooked. Lasagna was one of Dave’s favorite meals. He’d
asked her to make it again soon, and like a gullible, simple-minded wife eager to please her husband, she’d happily complied.

Four o’clock.

He’d written down that he’d be visiting Judge Griffin at four this afternoon.

Yet that very morning, Dave had made a point of telling her he’d be home late this evening. Late because he had an appointment with Olivia Lockhart Griffin at six o’clock. Not only that, he’d apparently gone to see her well
before
the scheduled time of four.

It wasn’t difficult for Emily to surmise what he was doing during those unaccounted for hours.

He was with another woman. Someone he didn’t want her or Angel or anyone in town to know about.

Why else would her husband, the minister, the pastor of their church, lie to his wife?

“Mom?” Matthew stood in the kitchen doorway. “Is everything okay?”

She forced a smile. “Of course. Why not?”

He frowned. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.”

“I do?” She tried to relax. “How would you boys like to go out for dinner tonight?”

Mark joined his brother. “McDonald’s?”

“Sure.” She eyed the sauce cooling on the stove and the pile of grated mozzarella cheese.

“Mom?” Matthew asked when she started running water and turned on the garbage disposal. “What are you doing?”

“I…I ruined dinner,” she said as she dumped the entire pan of sauce down the disposal. It made a disgusting gurgling noise as it ground up the meat, onions, tomatoes and herbs that had been simmering for hours. She followed
that with the mozzarella, then painstakingly fed in the wide noodles.

“Mom,” Mark said loudly. “I really
like
lasagna.”

“I’ll make it again soon,” she promised, but just then it gave her a perverse kind of pleasure to discard the whole meal. Despite the waste—and she knew she’d feel guilty later—she needed the angry satisfaction of doing this. “The three of us are going out to McDonald’s, remember?”

“What about Dad?” Matthew asked.

“He can fend for himself.”

“But…”

“He’s going to be late,” she informed her sons.

“Again?” both boys chimed.

“Get your coats.” Emily made an effort to sound excited. She grabbed a tissue to dab her eyes, which had begun to brim with tears.

This would never do. She squared her shoulders and determined then and there that she wasn’t going to cry. She would hold her head up and give the performance of her life. Her husband had lied. He might well be with another woman this very moment, but Emily would see to it that anyone looking at her, including her sons, would never guess. She refused to act devastated—or worse, humiliated.

“Hey, boys,” she said, collecting her coat and purse. “What would you think of me as a blonde?”

“You mean your hair?” Matthew asked.

“Yes, my hair. I’m going to have it dyed blond.”

“How come?” Mark studied her inquisitively.

“Because blondes have more fun.”

The boys turned to each other and Matthew shrugged.

“I’m going down to the mall to see if Get Nailed can squeeze me in.” On Thursdays the shop was open until eight. With luck one of the stylists had a cancellation.

“I’ll get you each a roll of quarters and you can play at the video arcade while I’m in the beauty salon.”

“Okay.” Neither boy seemed enthusiastic, however.

“Would you rather stay with Mrs. Johnson?” she asked. The woman served as their babysitter on the rare occasions Dave and Emily left their sons for a night out. It’d been weeks since they’d last had a “date.” No wonder, she thought bitterly. Dave was apparently
dating
someone else these days, while his wife sat home, cooking lasagna for him and ironing his shirts.

“I’d rather come with you,” Mark said.

Emily looked at her oldest son. “What about you?” she asked.

Matthew shrugged again. “Me, too, I guess.”

“You guess?” she said with a flippant air.

The boys silently followed her to the garage and slid into the backseat of the SUV. Christmas music was playing on the car radio but none of them sang along the way they usually did. The boys’ mood seemed to reflect hers, and their skepticism was all too apparent. Impulsive spending wasn’t normal behavior for Emily and they knew it. She wanted to reassure them but couldn’t. She felt as if her entire marriage had been a sham.

“We’ll check to see if I can get a hair appointment first,” she told them.

“Okay,” Mark murmured.

They stopped at Kitsap Bank for quarters, then drove to the mall. Everyone at Get Nailed was busy and Emily had to wait at the counter for several minutes before the receptionist reappeared.

“I was wondering…” Suddenly she wasn’t so certain anymore. Her anger, which had kept her determination alive, had begun to dissipate and she felt deflated.

“I realize it’s last-minute and everything, but is there anyone available to color my hair this afternoon?”

The young woman checked the appointment book. “Rachel had a cancellation earlier. I can ask her.”

“She did?” Emily took this as a sign. “Please check. It would be great if she could fit me in.”

The receptionist returned a moment later. “She said that would work.”

“Wonderful!”

Emily handed each of her sons a roll of quarters, with instructions to make the money last until her hair was done. They tore off for the video arcade across from the salon as the receptionist led her to Rachel’s station. Fortunately Emily could keep an eye on them from her chair.

“I’m Rachel,” a dark-haired woman introduced herself, draping a plastic cape around Emily’s shoulders.

“Emily Flemming,” she said. “We haven’t met before. Teri did my previous cut—” she frowned “—sometime this summer.”

Rachel ran her fingers through Emily’s hair. “So you want to be a blonde?”

“Yes. I hear they live life to the fullest and that’s exactly what I intend to do.” It was a flimsy reason, at best, and a silly one at worst, but at this point Emily didn’t care.

Soon she was at the shampoo bowl and her hair was lathered and rinsed twice. While the water sprayed her hair, Emily closed her eyes, trying not to think but unable to stop the thoughts from tramping through her brain, one after the other.

It didn’t hit her until the coloring process was underway that she’d forgotten a crucial part of the conversation with Judge Griffin.

Dave didn’t own a gold watch.

At least not one that she knew about. Since it was unlikely he’d purchased it for himself, that left only one other option. Someone else had given it to him.

A woman.

Fine, she decided furiously. She’d ask him about it. She was through letting her husband ruin their lives. Through with pretending nothing was wrong. Through with turning the other cheek. The pride, the pretense of indifference, was for public consumption. But Dave—she was going to confront him with the truth. Demand answers. Then she’d figure out what to do next.

When Rachel was finished, Emily barely recognized herself. Her straight dark hair was gone, replaced with a shorter, more stylish do. She was blond, all right.
Very
blond.

“This is a good color for you,” Rachel was saying. “I was a little concerned when you wanted to go this light, but I have to admit it looks really nice.”

“Thank you.” Emily swallowed hard. The style and color were certainly…different. Eventually she’d get accustomed to this new look and so would everyone else. And when it grew out, she could always revert to her natural color. Depending on how she felt at the time…

She paid the bill, wincing at the cost. Well, one extravagance wasn’t going to ruin them. Dave would just have to live with it. She suspected
he
didn’t have any qualms about spending money, even if it wasn’t on her or the boys. In fact, she planned to check his credit card statements at the first opportunity, an idea her mother had suggested and she’d initially rejected.

Matthew and Mark stood outside Get Nailed, waiting for her as she left the salon. Neither said a word.

“Well?” she asked them, patting the side of her head. “What do you think?”

“It’s, um, different,” Matthew ventured.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Emily turned to Mark for confirmation.

“You don’t look like my mom anymore,” her younger son declared.

“But I am your mom. Now let’s go have dinner. I bet you’re hungry.”

Matthew and Mark wolfed down their hamburgers and fries and then chased each other around the play area. Emily couldn’t eat. Her stomach was in knots. She’d ordered a burger but after a single bite set it aside.

When they returned to the house, she saw Dave’s car in the garage. She wasn’t ready to see him yet, but as soon as she’d pulled in beside his car, he opened the door from the kitchen and stepped out.

The boys leaped from the backseat and ran toward their father. Dave hugged each of his sons in turn.

“Where were you? You didn’t—” He stopped abruptly and a shocked look came over him. His head reared back as he stared at her. “What on earth did you do to your hair?”

“Mom colored it,” Mark said.

“But…why?” Dave asked.

“You don’t know?” She kept her voice casual as she entered the house. “You asked me where I was and the answer should be obvious. I was at the hairdresser’s.”

“Mom took us to McDonald’s for dinner.”

“Go to your rooms now, boys,” Dave said curtly. “It’s time for your homework.”

“Aw, Dad,” Mark whined as Matthew groaned. “But we just got home!” One look from Dave quelled their protest.

Sensing that it was probably best to do as they’d been told, Matthew and Mark moved sluggishly toward their
bedrooms. Emily walked to the far side of the kitchen with Dave on her heels.

“Why did you change your hair?” he asked again.

“Why did you lie?” she fired back. Leaning against the kitchen counter, she glared at him.

“Lie? About what?” he asked with an innocence she found a little too practiced.

She whirled around. “You told me you were visiting Judge Griffin, and you implied it was this evening.”