Page 51 of The Housekeeper

“And now, you think…what exactly?”

“I’m not sure what to think. Suppose you tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What’s going on,” I said, praying for a logical explanation, one I could accept without having to twist my common sense into too many knots.

“There’s nothing going on.”

“ ‘Can’t wait for the weekend’?”I challenged. “Sounds like plenty going on to me.”

“Would you like me to explain?”

“Can you?”

“Yes. But you’re not going to like it.”

“I’m pretty sure of that,” I agreed.

“Not for the reasons you think,” Harrison said. “But because you’re going to feel like an idiot.”

I waited, said nothing.Won’t be the first time,I thought.

He shook his head. “Okay. Here’s the story.” Deep breath, another shake of his head. “Wren approached me at the beginning of the summer, said her parents have a cottage in Prince Edward County, and every year, they hold a literary event where they have an author come speak, hold seminars, et cetera. Apparently, they’d had a local author lined up but he’d had to cancel. Normally they wouldn’t think of asking someone of my stature, especially on such short notice, yada, yada, yada, but would I consider doing it? The pay was a thousand dollars. I said to let me think about it. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought it was a good idea, so I said okay.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that it was Wren who’d arranged it?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“Not important,” I repeated.

“Okay. I knew how you’d react.”

“Which was?”

“Exactly how you’re reacting.”

I nodded. “I take it that Wren will be there?”

“Of course she will. Her parents have a cottage there. What are you implying, Jodi? You think I’m having an affair?”

“Are you?”

“Of course not! For one thing, it’s unethical, and could get me fired. She’s my student, for God’s sake. And for another thing, I’m a married man who happens to love his wife. And I thought that she loved me!”

“Idolove you.”

“You just don’t trust me.”

“Idotrust you.”

“Really? Because it sure doesn’t feel like it.”

“What am I supposed to think when I see a message like that?” I asked him, feeling every bit the idiot he’d warned me about.

“I don’t know. I guess that’s the problem with snooping.”

“I wasn’t snooping.”

“Weren’t you?” He ran an impatient hand through his damp hair. “Look. Think whatever the hell you want. Believe me; don’t believe me. It’s up to you. All I know is that if the situation were reversed, I wouldn’t be jumping to conclusions before I knew all the facts. I would trust you.” One last shake of his head. “Way to ruin a nice night,” he said, turning on his heel and disappearing up the stairs.