Chapter 2
The liquor burned hard enough to bring water to my eyes.
I held it back.
I wasn't going to look weak in front of that woman.
"Claire, slow down," Jonathan said, finally noticing me.
"I'm fine. I'm celebrating." I poured another.
"Celebrating what?"
"That you found yourself such an outstanding CFO."
The sarcasm was obvious, and Jonathan's face darkened.
Emily only smiled wider. "You flatter me, Claire. Jonathan and I are work colleagues, nothing more."
So they were colleagues.
I looked at her hand, still around my husband's arm, and laughed without warmth.
That was what colleagues looked like.
"Of course. I'm sure the two of you are colleagues." I stood up. "I'm going to clean up in the kitchen."
On my way out, I heard Emily lower her voice. "Jonathan, I don't think Claire likes me much."
"That's how she is. Don't take it personally," Jonathan said, and the answer put ice in me.
So that was how he explained me away.
And that was how I was, apparently.
In the kitchen, I gripped the edge of the sink until my knuckles went white.
Three years married, and I had never felt humiliation like that.
In my own home, I was being openly challenged by my husband's first love, and he acted like I was invisible.
And I still had to look gracious about it.
What was I holding on for?
My phone buzzed with a text.
Unknown number: [Ms. Sutton, this is Michael Lane, your father's old assistant. You may not remember me. I need to talk with you about something important. Could we meet?]
I froze for a few seconds.
My father had been dead five years. Why would his assistant come looking for me?
And nobody had called me Ms. Sutton in a long time.
Ever since I married Jonathan, I had been Mrs. Reed to everyone.
I had almost forgotten that my name was Sutton.
Back in the dining room, Emily and Jonathan were deep in conversation.
"Jonathan, do you remember the year we watched them blow up the parade balloons?" Emily asked, her voice soft.
"Emily, that was a long time ago," Jonathan said, shifting.
"But I remember all of it. You said you wanted every Thanksgiving with me." Emily kept her voice soft, and every word went into me like a needle.
She was walking through their past right in front of me.
And she was doing it on Thanksgiving.
If that wasn't a provocation, nothing was.
I sat back down and acted as though I hadn't heard any of it.
"Claire, you don't look well. Are you all right?" Jonathan finally noticed me.
"I'm tired, that's all," I said flatly.
"Then go get some rest. Emily and I have work to go over."
I looked up at him and couldn't believe what I was hearing.
He wanted me to go to bed.
He was going to keep talking business with another woman in my own house.
And he was going to do it on Thanksgiving night.
"Fine. Take your time." I got up. "I'm going upstairs."
On my way to the stairs, I heard Emily say to him, "Jonathan, Claire is so easy about this. She really doesn't mind us being alone."
"That's just who she is. Very understanding," Jonathan said, as though it went without saying.
So I was understanding.
Was I an understanding piece of furniture to him?
Upstairs, I didn't go to the bedroom. I stopped on the landing and watched them from there.
Emily had moved next to Jonathan, and their heads were nearly touching over some file.
Her hand "accidentally" brushed his, and he didn't move away.
She leaned until she was almost against him, and he didn't push her off.
Three hours earlier, I had been running myself into the ground over that dinner.
My phone buzzed again. It was Michael.
Michael: [Ms. Sutton, this is urgent. Could we meet tomorrow morning? It concerns something your father left you.]
Something my father left me.
My father, Richard Sutton, died of a sudden heart attack five years ago, while I was still in college.
My mother remarried when I was small, so he raised me on his own.
After he died, I inherited a house and some savings, and that was all of it.
What else could there be?
But I needed a door out of that house, so I answered: [All right. Ten tomorrow morning, the café below Reed Holdings.]
I put the phone away and went back to watching.
By then Emily had her head on Jonathan's shoulder.
"Jonathan, I'm a little tired," she said, sweet and low.
"Then take the guest room for a while." Jonathan was going to let her stay the night.
He was going to keep her in our house.
He was going to put her in our guest room.
I couldn't take another second of it, and I went straight downstairs.
"Sorry, the air conditioning in the guest room is out. It won't be comfortable," I said with my friendliest smile.
Emily looked up, annoyance flashing through. "That's fine. Heat doesn't bother me."
I kept building. "The toilet is broken too, and the plumber can't come until tomorrow."
Jonathan frowned. "When did that happen? Why didn't you tell me?"
"It happened tonight. I only found it," I lied without a flicker.
Emily's face slipped for a second, but the graceful smile came back. "Never mind, then. I'll go back to my hotel."
"I'll drive you." Jonathan was on his feet instantly.
"Don't bother. I'll get a car." Emily turned it down in the most gracious way possible.
"I can't let you go by yourself. I'll drive you," Jonathan insisted.
I watched all of it, and everything in me went cold.
He would rather drive another woman to a hotel at midnight than spend Thanksgiving night with me.
"All right. Drive safe, Jonathan," I said evenly.
Jonathan stalled a beat, as if he hadn't expected me to be that calm.
"I'll be back soon."
"No rush. Take your time." I even made it sound like concern.
Emily glanced at me with satisfaction all over her face.
She thought I had folded.
The truth was that I had finally seen the whole thing.