Page 55 of The Housekeeper

Chapter Twenty-three

I called Harrisonas soon as the kids were settled in bed. I got his voicemail, so I left a message. “Just checking in,” I said, as pleasantly as my voice would allow. “Call me when you get the chance.”

He didn’t return my call until the next morning. “Sorry,” he offered by way of apology. “It was pretty late by the time I checked in. Then I had to meet with the organizers and grab a bite to eat. By the time I got back to the motel, it was after eleven. I figured you’d probably be asleep.”

“How was the drive?” I asked, deciding not to tell him that I hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours all night, that images of him and Wren had kept me tossing and turning until morning.

“Long,” he said. “Uneventful.”

That was it.

I waited, but there was no mention of Wren.

“What about Wren?” I asked finally.

I felt him tense even before the constriction in his voice confirmed it. “What about her?”

“Have you seen her?”

“Of course I’ve seen her. Are we really doing this again?” he asked.

He was right. Now was definitely not the time to have this discussion, especially since it was exactly the kind of confrontation I grew up listening to, the kind I’d spent most of my life desperate to avoid. Because it never ended well. I knew that. “Tracy saw the two of you drive off together,” I said anyway.

There was a second of silence. “So?” he said.

“So?”

“I don’t understand the problem, Jodi,” Harrison said. “I told you that Wren’s parents have a cottage here, and that I’d be giving her a ride up.”

“You said that her parents have a cottage there,” I corrected. “You didn’t say anything about giving her a ride.”

“I most certainly did. I can’t help it if you only hear what you want to hear.”

“That’s not true. What does it even mean?”

“It means that you don’t listen. Youthinkyou do, but you don’t. And you’re not the most rational person on earth when you’re upset.”

Was it possible he was right? That I didn’t listen? That I was being irrational?I wondered, replaying our earlier argument in my head. Had he really told me that he and Wren would be driving to Prince Edward County together?

“Look. I really don’t have time for this nonsense. I have to go.”

“Harrison,” I began. But even before I heard the click on the other end of the line, I knew he was gone.

Less than an hour later, Roger McAdams called. “Are we still on for this afternoon?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I said.

—

What can I say?

Roger was attractive, funny, sophisticated, and interesting. He was alsointerested. In me. In what I thought. In what I hadto say. He listened; he laughed at my jokes; he told me I was beautiful. He made mefeelbeautiful.

We toured half a dozen waterfront condos, and when he asked me out for dinner afterward, I didn’t hesitate. This time, the restaurant was dimly lit and romantic. We shared a bottle of expensive Shiraz. We talked until midnight.

Then we checked into the King Edward Hotel.

Like I said earlier, I have no excuse for what happened. Yes, I was more than a little drunk. Yes, I was upset about Harrison. Yes, I was feeling vulnerable and insecure. And yes, the kids were at my parents’ and I had the night all to myself. I convinced myself that the stars had all aligned and the universe was giving me its permission, that fate itself was urging me on.