Out With The Old, In With The New. Nancy Thompson Robards

taking a midnight flower-arranging class, Washington will let you know. Can I call him?”

      The moment of truth. My stomach clenches. Do I really want to know? I’m not sure, but one thing I do know is I can’t go on not knowing. “Sure.”

      Rainey lets go of the headrest and settles into the backseat. She punches in the phone number. “Here, it’s ringing.” She hands the phone to Alex.

      I think Rainey and I are holding our breath in the silent seconds before Alex starts talking. I’m looking out the window again so I can’t see her. We roll past a series of lighted billboards advertising the virtues of Yeehaw Junction, the turnpike exit before Kissimmee. We’re twenty minutes or so outside of Orlando. My stomach accelerates from clenching to pitching as I realize the moment of truth is nearly staring me in the face.

      What next? If I go home and he’s not there, I’ll have to explain to the babysitter why I’m back.

      Oh God, she’ll know.

      I can’t go to the hospital. It would be humiliating to walk in and ask if they know the whereabouts of my husband in the wee hours of a Saturday morning.

      Alex holds the cell phone away from her. “Kate, can you meet with Hal at ten in the morning?”

      “Okay.”

      “Good. Ten it is. My office. See you then.”

      I glance at my watch and realize that’s only a few hours from now.

      Alex hangs up and tosses the phone onto the passenger seat. “What do you want to do when we get into Orlando?”

      Go to Disney World? Shop the designer outlet malls? Catch my husband in bed with another woman? Oh, the endless possibilities. “I don’t know what I want to do. I just know what I can’t do. I can’t go home, and I can’t go to the hospital.”

      Rainey pats my hand.

      “But we need to see if Corbin’s at home,” says Alex. “Chances are—now bear with me, this is worst-case scenario, chances are if he’s gone off with someone, he’s not going to be back yet.”

      “I don’t know,” says Rainey. “Don’t you think he’d try to sneak back in and get rid of the sitter before Caitlin wakes up? Because Caitlin will tell Mommy.”

      “That’s a good point,” says Alex. “It should be interesting to see if he tells you he brought in the sitter. Would be a good way to see if he’s forthcoming with information. If he tells you up front, then maybe he’ll have a logical explanation to go along with it.”

      I nod. A crazy mixture of hope and fear meld inside me.

      “It’ll be a good gauge to see what you’re dealing with,” Rainey says.

      Alex steers the car off the turnpike, pays the toll and merges onto Interstate Four. “Okay, let’s make a plan.”

      The house sleeps dark and quiet. Just as it should in the five o’clock Saturday morning dusk. The only thing out of place is the red Honda Civic parked in the driveway behind my garaged Lexus.

      Jenny’s car.

      I love this house—its old-world Mediterranean charm, the overgrown live oak between us and the neighbor’s that shelters us like protective arms, the rolling lawn that stretches to the street like green carpet.

      Before we bought it, Corbin made such a production of showing me the place. “Close your eyes,” he’d said before we turned onto Via Lugano. “Don’t peek…. Okay, now open them. I found your dream house, Mrs. Hennessey.”

      “Stop and let me out,” I say.

      Rainey grabs my arm as if she fears I might jump out before Alex comes to a complete stop. “You’re not going in there.”

      I shake my head. “I want to see if his car’s in the garage.”

      “What?”

      “Why?” They say in unison.

      “That’s the sitter’s car, right?” Alex says. “Honey, he’s not home.”

      I nod. I don’t know why I want to check. I just have to see for myself that his car’s not there. “Maybe he’s home—”

      “Is he sleeping with the babysitter?” Rainey narrows her eyes.

      “Jenny?” The possibility jolts me. I hadn’t even considered it. “No. No way. I thought that maybe…” Both of them are staring at me, patently horrified, as if they’re afraid I’m going to do something to harm myself. “I don’t know. Maybe he just got home?”

      “If that’s the case,” says Alex, “then we’d better get out of here fast, because Jenny, or whatever her name is, will walk out any minute and blow our cover.”

      I fish in my purse for my keys. “Then pull down the street a little. I’m going to let myself in the side garage door and have a peek.”

      I hop out of the car, take three steps and my foot lands on a small pebble in the street. I lose my balance and turn my ankle.

      It dawns on me that I’m still wearing the little black dress and strappy sandals I wore to dinner last night. God, that seems like aeons ago. Why didn’t I change clothes before we left? Come to think of it, I hope Alex and Rainey got my suitcase, because I have no recollection of packing it or putting it in the car.

      My ankle throbs, but I ignore it and glance up and down the street looking for any neighbors who might be lurking in the predawn darkness. The air smells of winter and has that cold, dewy quality that rains on Florida in the middle of the night instead of blanketing the ground with frost. I shiver.

      All I can see is the glowing red taillights of Alex’s car parked in the street two houses down. If the neighbors see me getting out of a strange car dressed like this at this hour, it will look bad. When they hear that Corbin and I are divorcing, they’re going to think I’m the one who cheated.

      Anger merges with despair, and tears brim at the thought of—divorce. It’s like a well-landed punch to the gut. I want to throw myself down on the carpet of grass and bawl, but instead, I limp as fast as I can—ouch, my ankle really hurts—up the driveway to the garage door on the side of the house.

      I must be in more of a stupor than I realize, because it’s only after the burglar alarm blares that I remember the only door you can enter without setting off the system is the front door.

      “Oh shit!”

      My dog, Jack, is barking and throwing himself against the door so hard, I’m afraid he’ll break through. In a matter of seconds, the neighbors are going to look out to see what the racket’s about, and the police are going to arrive to find me breaking into my own house.

      I do what any person in this situation with half a brain would do—I run.

      Excruciating pain be damned, I run as fast as I can to Alex’s car, turning the same ankle twice more before I jump in, and we speed away like criminals.