Page 12

Before

H ow could I have been so stupid? I’ve wanted so desperately to trust Noel that I’ve missed every blatantly obvious sign that he’s been cheating on me.

The perfume, for one. After I smelled it that one time, I became attuned to it, and every time he came home, I sniffed him and realized he always smelled like that perfume. It’s been a week, and every single time he goes to “work,” he comes back stinking of eau de slut.

There’s also, of course, his constant absences. And the lack of interest in sex. The first couple of years we were married, we were hot and heavy. And even after that, Noel was always up for it if I was. Always. It’s only in the last six months or so, right when his “work schedule” has ramped up, that he has complained about being too tired.

I have spent most of the last week driving myself crazy. I even took a day off from work and parked outside the building where Noel works, determined to follow him, the same way I did with Franklin when I suspected he was cheating on me all those years ago. I had been so furious with Franklin—I was planning to go postal on his beloved car with a Louisville Slugger. But the cute boy with the infectious grin who taught me how to hawk phlegm into a Diet Coke kept me from doing anything rash.

There’s nobody like Noel to stop me now, so I spent the day sitting outside his building in my car. He never left once, which made me realize that if he is cheating, it must be with someone he knows from work. Do they do it in an empty lab? A supply closet?

It’s five o’clock now, and I’m sitting on our living room sofa. I’ve got a paperback copy of The Nantucket Restaurant by Pamela Kelley in my hand, and even though I was devouring it last week, I haven’t managed to read even a sentence since smelling that perfume. Noel has promised he will be home for dinner, and he seemed to really mean it.

As I shift on the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position, something crinkles beneath me—it sounds like a piece of paper. I reach under the cushions, searching for the source, and come up with a small scrap of paper. It’s a receipt.

I peer at the fading print on the receipt, from a local jewelry store. The last four digits of our credit card number were used to purchase a fairly expensive necklace. Since the receipt was dated well over a week ago and there are no anniversaries or holidays coming up that he might be holding on to it for, it seems that if it were meant for me, he would have given it to me already. No, I strongly suspect the recipient of this intended gift has already received it.

Maybe she’s wearing it right now.

How dare he? Noel never buys me jewelry, and certainly never anything this expensive. Apparently, I’m not worth it. But she is.

This isn’t really happening. It can’t be. Noel wouldn’t cheat on you—this must all be a terrible dream.

A text message pings on my phone. My blood boils—it must be Noel , telling me he’s going to be late again. Except, as it turns out, the message is from Kinsey:

Feel like grabbing dinner out tonight? I’m so sick of home cooking.

I don’t feel like having a fun night out. I am so furious, it feels like I might explode. Noel swore he would never cheat on me. He promised on his life. He knows it’s something I’m sensitive about, and the fact that he would betray me this way feels unforgivable.

Whoever this other woman is, he is clearly infatuated with her. He loves her more than he’s ever loved me—after all, he’s never bought me a necklace that costs four figures. He’s probably figuring out a way to try to leave me.

I ignore Kinsey’s text message and wander into the kitchen. Even though I have zero appetite, I may as well throw something together for dinner. It won’t do me any good to starve to death.

I fill a pot with water and put it on the stove. I turn the dial on, but the flame doesn’t catch right away. Our stove is a piece of shit and really needs to be replaced, but that’s the last thing I want to think about. After all, if Noel and I get divorced, we will have to sell the house. No point in buying new appliances right now.

I wait for the burner to ignite. The odor of gas hits my nostrils, which twitch in response. This seems to happen too much with this stove, but Noel is never bothered by it because he can’t smell the gas.

The stench of gas in the kitchen grows stronger. Natural gas is actually odorless, and the smell is added in order to alert people that there’s a gas leak. If I came into my kitchen and smelled gas the way I do now, I would know not to use the oven and possibly to call the fire department.

Noel wouldn’t know, though.

If I left some food on the stove for him to heat up, he would do it even if the gas odor was stifling. He would have no idea that igniting the stove would result in an explosion that would seriously injure him.

It might even kill him.

Of course, if such a thing were to happen, I couldn’t be here. If there were an explosion, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere nearby. And of course, I would need an alibi.

Yes, Officer, I was with my friend Kinsey all evening. It was such a terrible tragedy. If only I had been home, I would have smelled the gas. I could have stopped it.

Noel deserves this. I loved him with my entire heart and soul, and what did he do? He betrayed me in the worst possible way.

I take out my phone and type a message to Kinsey:

Let’s go out!