Page 5

They All Do

Used to be when Pam Montgomery thought of her life, it was cleaved into two sections—before and after.

Before her parents passed away and after.

These days, she tried not to think about the big picture of her life much, but when those thoughts did creep in, her before and after signposts had shifted.

Now her life was compartmentalized as: before Hank lost their savings and after.

Before, when she didn’t clip coupons and could afford Netflix.

And after, when she moved to the shitty, rented townhouse a few blocks east of her friends and left the beautiful home where she’d raised her daughter.

Most people in the neighborhood had been to Pam and Hank’s house on Glendale Avenue at one time or another.

Families, for pool parties; girlfriends, to nestle into Pam’s comfy sectional before her wood-burning fireplace and watch a Christmas movie, voting between Love Actually, White Christmas, or The Holiday; or couples, for her and Hank’s annual New Year’s bash.

When the for-sale sign had gone up on her front lawn, so had Pam’s wall of lies—we’re downsizing, the yard’s too big, we want to simplify our lives.

They’d sold the sectional and her grandmother’s table—there was no dining room in the townhouse—and gone were the king-size bed and pool table.

They’d shoehorned the den furniture into the living room and the guest queen bed into the primary.

Pam attempted to squeeze her kitchen table into the breakfast nook, but finally sold it on Facebook Marketplace and found a replacement for twenty-five dollars.

She tried to look on the bright side—she no longer had to worry about pool toys or Christmas decor for the mantel she no longer had.

The new place was near their old neighborhood, so she shopped at the same grocery store, filled up at the same gas station, and was still minutes from her best friends.

These days Marlene, Shalisa, Nancy, and their husbands were the only guests who regularly traipsed over Pam’s worn linoleum kitchen floor.

Pam didn’t have to keep up appearances with them.

She expected the girls for coffee that morning—a chance to regroup after Dave’s funeral and find out what the fuck was going on with Marlene.

Pam was straightening up.

She still had her pride, after all, and there was no extra cost attached to keeping a tidy home.

In her before life, she stashed all the crap associated with household comings and goings in her mudroom, but in her after, in the rented townhouse, everyone came and went through the front door.

Pam stood at the base of the stairs with her hands on her hips and grunted in disgust as she scanned Hank’s shoes.

When Pam first met Hank, he was living with two other guys in a musty, run-down semi-detached in the downtown core, not far from the college.

The house was so bad that when they had donated their sofa to their local Goodwill, it was declined.

The guys had left it at the curb thinking someone would want it—no one had.

In that god-awful, gross house, the roommates had lined their shoes up along their front entry wall as though they were trophies on a shelf.

When Pam and Hank had moved in together, she’d been quick to kibosh that habit.

“Use the closet.

That’s what it’s there for,”

she’d said.

Pam found her peace in a clutter-free home, and to keep her happy, Hank had played by her rules.

But that morning, seven pairs of Hank’s shoes lay where he’d kicked them off—runners, flip-flops, golf shoes, two pairs of loafers, deck shoes, dress shoes.

And even worse, five pairs of dirty socks were strewn about.

Her stomach roiled at the sight of them.

Who does that? Just strips off sweaty socks at the door and leaves them there to dry and curl.

Why? Why, Hank? But Pam knew.

The pile of shoes and socks was another “fuck you, Pam.”

Pam opened the closet door and tossed in a flip-flop.

The next one went in a little harder.

By the time the last shoe bounced off the back of the closet wall, Pam was sweating.

“Fuck you back, Hank.”

* * *

“It was a beautiful service.”

Shalisa threw her arms around Marlene a while later as they gathered on Pam’s back patio. “Dave would have been happy to know he had such a great turnout. He did love a party.”

“He’d have liked it better if there was dancing. Nothing could keep that man off the dance floor. But it was good for the girls to see how people loved their dad.”

Marlene pulled out a chair on the shady side of the table while they waited for Nancy.

But Pam had no patience. “So, what the fuck, Marlene? You’re moving to Boca Raton?”

After Shalisa and Nancy had dropped that bombshell at the funeral, Pam had been dying to get the deets, but Marlene had been in a constant swirl of people; everyone wanted a moment with the widow. When they were finally alone, Marlene had said she’d be over the next morning to fill them in, and Pam had been further puzzled, because when Marlene had squeezed her goodbye, she’d seemed almost giddy with excitement. Not deflated with grief.

Pam hadn’t known what to expect when Marlene let herself in the front door and breezed into her kitchen, but she had to admit she was a touch surprised to see the new widow arrive in full makeup with her hair lightly teased into a flattering bun, wearing heels and a crisp sundress. Not her typical ponytail, shorts, and flip-flops. She had brandished a box of French macarons—from Sabrina Cuomo’s gift basket, she’d gushed—and a bottle of chilled champagne she’d picked up on her way over—her treat. Hardly what Pam had expected of a grieving widow, even one who’d spent the past five years being pissed off at her husband. Although Pam had read enough about grief to know not to judge, she was pretty sure she could judge this.

Nancy, perpetually running late, finally called a greeting from the front door, and Marlene bounced in her seat and pointed to the champagne. “Open it, open it, Pam. Shalisa, get some glasses.”

Nancy came outside through the patio door and carefully stepped around Pam’s lounging, middle-aged rescue dog, Elmer, who lifted his head a couple of inches and thumped his tail twice in greeting.

Once they were all seated around the same table where they’d last been together with Dave, with the inappropriate bubbly before them, Marlene started. “Oh, it’s such a relief to be away from all that family.”

She slumped with a mopey face, then straightened and smiled. “Finally! I can be myself.” Marlene picked up her glass and wiggled in her chair. “Cheers!”

Pam, Nancy, and Shalisa exchanged brief glances and offered their champagne in a half-hearted toast, a bit uncomfortable to seemingly be celebrating Dave’s death. Marlene was already topping up her glass when Elmer launched himself from the patio and tore across the small patch of grass toward the scraggly line of bushes along the rear fence. Startled, Marlene jarred the bottle, spilling some bubbly on the table. She laughed. “I didn’t know Elmer could move that fast.”

“Fast?”

Shalisa said. “I didn’t know he could move.”

“Must have seen a rabbit,”

Pam explained. “I think that’s why he’s called Elmer. You know, Elmer Fudd.”

“He chases rabbits?”

Nancy was surprised. “What’s he do when he catches them?”

“Oh, he never catches them. Look at him.”

They turned to watch Elmer waddle back across the lawn and collapse on his side, chest heaving, on a shady spot of the cement. A few months earlier, Pam’s coworker had appealed for an emergency foster home for this scruffy dog they guessed was around eight years old. He’d been spotted scavenging in the streets for weeks before he was caught and brought in to the shelter. No one was adopting him. None of his parts matched. He had a long body and short legs. Most of his fur was a wiry, tawny color but his ears were a silky silver and black.

“Why does his tongue hang out like that?”

Shalisa asked.

“He’s missing teeth on that side so there’s nothing to hold it in.”

He’d arrived with several broken teeth and after the shelter had them extracted, he’d needed a home where he could convalesce. Pam had reluctantly agreed to foster him. After all, it was only for six weeks, and she could use the companionship at home, because she sure wasn’t getting any from Hank. By the time Elmer was well enough to return to the shelter, Pam had grown used to waking and finding him quietly waiting for her beside her bed. Or by the door to be let out. Or on the other side, to be let in. He never made a noise, and he didn’t need attention. You could tell someone had loved him once, and now it was Pam’s turn. And it was nice to love again.

Pam turned back to Marlene. “Okay. Spill.”

Marlene took another swig, set her glass down on the table, and leaned back. “Well. Did you see that man I was talking to at the funeral? Tall, gray haired, and in a suit?”

There tend to be a lot of tall, gray-haired men in suits at funerals, so Pam wasn’t sure who Marlene was talking about, but she nodded anyway, and Marlene continued. “He’s Dave’s insurance agent. Who knew he had one of those? I didn’t, that’s for sure. Anyway, he came to see me a few days ago. He sat at my kitchen table, opened his briefcase, pulled out a folder, and told me—get this—little ol’ Dave, the slot machine tech, was insured to the teeth. Do you believe it?”

No. Pam didn’t believe it at all. Dave never seemed to think about anything beyond where his next beer would come from. Although Hank claimed Dave was a mechanical whiz, often tuning up something on Hank’s boat, Pam personally had never seen evidence of an aptitude in anything besides having charm and good rhythm. Pam took a moment to relish the memory of being led around a dance floor by Dave. Hank wouldn’t dance anymore, and Pam missed it. Even if she could somehow cajole him to the floor, they never dipped or spun at the same time. But dancing with Dave was like being Uma Thurman to his John Travolta.

“What do you mean, ‘insured to the teeth’?”

Pam asked.

“Dave had the maximum employee insurance at the casino—four times his salary.”

Pam did a quick calculation and thought that was probably between two and three hundred grand. Respectable, but not life-changing.

Marlene was counting off her fingers. “And, he had our mortgage and our second mortgage insured, so they’re gone. Poof! Bye-bye. I own my house. Outright. Do you believe it?”

Pam’s eyes were wide. “And he had insurance on our credit cards, so those debts are gone too. And on top of those, you’ll never guess what else this guy had to say.”

Marlene often did that: say “you’ll never guess”

and wait until someone answered.

There was a pause, and finally, Shalisa said, “What else did he have to say, Marlene?”

Marlene squirmed with excitement. “Well, the guy in my kitchen said, Dave had another policy. Another one. For a flat one million dollars! They’re depositing that—a million bucks—in my bank account—tomorrow!”

She threw her arms in the air as though she had just landed a standing backflip at the Olympics.

Her friends looked at her, their mouths slightly open, but no words came out.

Marlene picked up her glass and continued, “It’s no wonder we never had enough money, with him paying all those insurance premiums. It’s almost as though he knew something bad was gonna happen to him. And it gets better. The casino’s HR department called me, and it turns out Dave also gets a pension from the casino. He’d been paying as much as he could into the plan and I get that too. So, look at me. Do you recognize me? I’m your friend . . . the rich bitch.”

Marlene threw her head back, laughed, then took a swig of her champagne, and choked a bit as she swallowed.

Shalisa and Nancy sat still. Pam toyed with the stem of her champagne flute and watched the bubbles scramble upward for air and release. And just like them, Marlene’s money problems were gone.

Marlene said, “So this morning I quit my job. I went in, and everyone was all nice and so sympathetic. They said, ‘Oh, Marlene, take as much time as you need. Don’t feel you have to rush back.’ And I said, ‘Rush back? I’m never coming back. Love you all, but this chick is outta here.’ My sister, in Boca Raton, told me there’s a nice condo on her golf course that just came up for sale. She sent me pictures. You should see the garage! It’s spotless. All kinds of organization units on the walls. A hook for every tool. And an automatic door opener! I told her, tell the agent it’s sold. I paid the asking price. It closes in two weeks. I’m flying down tomorrow to see it and start things rolling.”

Marlene looked around at the stunned faces. “Oh! You guys will visit. I’ll pay for your flights. It’ll be my treat for all your birthdays. It’s four bedrooms, you each have your own room. You can come live with me. We’ll be like the Golden Girls!”

Pam knew they all saw themselves as Blanche, the sexy one.

Pam just didn’t want to be relegated to being Sophia and have to carry her purse everywhere.

And she wanted to be happy for Marlene.

She knew she should be.

She’d held a sobbing Marlene in her arms when the guys had confessed their investment had crashed and they’d lost everything.

The couples’ dreams of sunny, side-by-side retirement condos had been dashed.

But the only comfort Pam had was knowing she wasn’t alone.

Misery loves company, and with Marlene’s windfall, Pam now had one less companion.

Come winter Marlene would be sweeping sand off her lanai and Pam would be sprinkling salt on her icy, northeastern front step.

Heck, just weeks from now Marlene would be tracking the sun over the pool in Boca Raton and Pam would still be tracking the Dutton Realty photocopier light left, then right, then snapping back.

Pam looked at Nancy, who would still be shelving books at the library, and Shalisa, who’d still be wiping people’s chins as a nurse’s aide.

Marlene continued talking, and something she said perked up Pam’s ears.

“. . . they all do. Hank, Larry, and Andre.”

“What?”

Pam asked. “What do ‘they all do’?”

Marlene drained her champagne glass. She pulled her chair closer and leaned her face near to Pam’s, and said, “They all have one-million-dollar life insurance policies.”

She straightened.

“How would you know that?”

Pam never paid attention to finances; she left it all to Hank, which was probably one reason they were in such a mess. But surely, if Hank had that kind of life insurance coverage, he would have said something.

Marlene refilled her champagne glass. “When Steve, that’s Dave’s life insurance guy, when he went to the washroom I peeked inside his briefcase.”

No one feigned surprise; they would have done the same thing. “And he had a letter with all their names. Like, they called him for a joint consultation. So you guys have the same deal. We could all move to Boca Raton!”

That thought hung in the air for a moment, and then Shalisa said, “Except for one minor detail.”

Marlene tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.

Nancy finished the thought. “Our husbands aren’t dead.”

Shalisa picked up her glass and took a sip before adding, “Yet.”

* * *

After Marlene had bombarded them with her tornado of a to-do list and they’d arranged to drive her to the airport the following morning, she’d rushed off to meet with the real estate agent about selling her house, leaving Pam, Shalisa, and Nancy to finish the champagne. Since they’d all taken a personal day, thinking Marlene would need their support after her family left—ha, so much for that thought—once the bubbly was drained, Pam opened a bottle of wine. She speculated their taste buds had been dulled enough by the expensive champagne that a screw-top pinot grigio could ride its coattails, and she topped up their glasses.

“She’s right.”

Shalisa played with the stem of her glass.

“About what?”

Pam tightened the lid and set the bottle in the shade.

Nancy answered, “Yep. Marlene’s right. The only thing standing between us and a Boca Raton retirement condo is our husbands.”

“Marlene never said that.”

Pam lifted her hair from her neck to catch a breeze.

“She might as well have,”

Nancy said.

“I saw a Dateline episode where a wife arranged for her husband to be killed so she’d get his insurance money,”

Shalisa said.

“Yeah, and she got caught. That’s how she ended up on Dateline.”

Pam used her T-shirt’s collar to mop up the sweat trickling down her cleavage.

“Too bad we have automatic garage doors,”

Nancy said.

The women chuckled and sipped their wine.

Pam remembered the question that had been circling her mind since Dave’s funeral. “Shalisa? Do you seriously think Andre could be having an affair?”

Shalisa waved the thought away. “No. He doesn’t have that kind of energy. But I did think about it a while ago, and I realized the better question is—would I care? And the answer is no. I would not.”

She shrugged and took another sip.

“You wouldn’t?”

Nancy prompted.

“Nope. I’ve decided he can do whatever the fuck he wants. I am done.”

Pam thought back to the Saturday night sitting at this same table and the way Shalisa had stared her husband down while she had eaten her chocolate mousse cheesecake, and how Andre, oblivious, hadn’t even glanced her way.

Pam had watched enough Oprah and Dr.

Phil in her day to know sometimes it’s not one big thing, but rather a buildup of little things that brings a marriage crashing down.

She should know.

And Lord knows they all had their share of little things.

“I couldn’t handle ever thinking if, on top of everything else, Hank was fooling around on me too.

I’m sorry, Shalisa.

I didn’t know things were that bad.”

Shalisa sighed.

“Well, that’s it, isn’t it, Pam? No.

They’re not that bad.

But is that where I am in life? I’m sixty-three years old and am I supposed to be satisfied my life is not that bad? I can’t remember the last time Andre and I had any fun together, let alone a good conversation.

About anything beyond whose turn is it to take the trash out? Or did I get to yoga today and why do I never ride the Peloton bike he insisted on buying that we can’t even afford? If I hear him tell me one more time, if you don’t move it, Shalisa, you’ll lose it . . .”

She shook her head.

“You know we haven’t had sex in ages.

Could be a year.

I don’t care enough to keep track.”

Pam remembered that the last time she and Hank had fooled around, her overriding thought was: Couldn’t he have started something before she’d made the bed? Other than that, it had been a long dry spell.

He’d put his arm around her when she was talking to Padma at Dave’s funeral, and she’d felt a jolt.

And not totally unpleasant.

But, other than that, she didn’t know when they had last touched intentionally.

She thought back to how she used to reach over in bed and just lay her hand on him.

His shoulder, his chest, his hip.

Wherever it landed.

Just to feel him there.

How he’d put his big paw over her small hand and squeeze.

Then guide it to his crotch.

How they’d laugh at his joke, if it was a joke, and he’d pull her close and wrap her in his arms, and they would make love. Good, warm, familiar, satisfying love. When was the last time that happened? At least a year ago. Maybe two. A wave of loss washed over her. She pushed it away and drained her glass. “Have you thought about leaving Andre?”

“For what? A basement apartment and a bus pass? We can barely survive on our two incomes.

We would have been okay if he hadn’t cashed in our savings, but now with the mortgages . . .”

Pam nodded in understanding.

But at least Shalisa didn’t have kids to consider.

Even though Pam’s daughter was grown and married, leaving Hank would mean officially destroying their family unit, and she wouldn’t do that to Claire.

Shalisa grabbed three of her braids and wrapped them around her fingers and then unwrapped them.

She sighed.

“Yes.

I do think about leaving Andre.

All the time.

I just don’t know how.

But if he had an accident like Dave, that would be my way out.

And if I was left with a million dollars in my bank account at least I’d know I got something out of my marriage.”

She took a sip of wine.

“What about you two? You can’t tell me you’re happy with Hank and Larry.”

Nancy pulled her dark-rimmed glasses from her nose and seemed to be gathering her thoughts while she polished the lenses with her T-shirt’s hem.

She took a deep breath, then said, “I haven’t been happy with Larry since Paul told us he’s met someone, and Larry walked out of the room.”

Pam gasped, and she heard Shalisa’s exclamation.

Nancy carried on, “Paul’s fallen in love, and I haven’t even met his partner.

My son is planning the next part of his life, and Larry has cut us out of it.

Estuardo’s a lawyer.

He comes from a nice family.

Paul says he has the same sense of humor as Larry, but Larry won’t meet him.

Larry says it’s one thing to accept Paul’s gay, but another to actually see him with another man.

Do you believe it? It’s like we’re living in the dark ages.”

She returned her glasses to her nose and looked directly at Pam, and then Shalisa.

“So, if I had any way out of my marriage, I’d take it.

You don’t know what it’s like to sneak around to keep in touch with your son.

I hoped Larry would come to his senses, but he hasn’t.

Not one bit.

Paul was at the funeral.

Did you see him? He came to support Dave’s daughters, but he respected Larry and didn’t bring Estuardo.

But it didn’t matter.

Larry walked right by him.

I hate to say it, but in that moment, I wished it was Larry’s head under that garage door.

And that was before I knew about the insurance money.”

Pam thought of Larry and his beer farts, warm eyes, and long lashes and wanted to smack him.

And how was this happening to one of her closest friends, and she hadn’t seen it? “I’m so sorry, Nancy.

You never said . . .”

Nancy wiped away a tear.

“I was so ashamed of Larry I couldn’t even talk about it.

Honestly, deep down I thought he’d come around and just want Paul to be happy.

Isn’t that what parents want? But now I’ve given up, and I’ve decided I am not walking away from my son.

If I walk away from anyone, it’s Larry.”

She looked directly into Pam’s eyes.

“With a million bucks in my pocket, I wouldn’t even look back.”

Shalisa leaned forward and covered Nancy’s hand.

“We’re so sorry you’ve had to go through this.

You could have shared it with us.”

“I know.”

Nancy put her own hand over Shalisa’s for a moment, pushed her chair back, stooped to give Elmer a quick belly rub, then slid the screen door open and stepped into Pam’s kitchen.

They heard her blow her nose and open the fridge.

Shalisa refilled their glasses, emptying the bottle.

“Now that we’re being totally honest—what about you, Pam? You barely said a word to Hank the other night.

You used to have so much fun together, and now you hardly talk to him.

Wouldn’t your life be better without him?”

Pam studied her hydrangeas and saw she’d missed a beer cap when she was cleaning up after their dinner.

It had only been what, just over a week, yet it seemed like forever ago they’d sat out here that steamy night.

Now Dave was gone.

Marlene was excited about moving on, and here Pam was, discovering her best friends had been living with secrets, right in front of her.

Marlene and Shalisa had known each other the longest, having gone to high school together with Dave and Andre.

When kids’ soccer had brought them all together, even though Andre and Shalisa had no kids of their own they’d tagged along to the games and barbecues.

Andre, having played soccer in college, had even started coaching.

Soon the four couples were a core group.

Pam had spent more time with these women than anyone else in her life.

What had they been talking about all those hours? Oh sure, they’d chatted about recipes and the royal family.

They’d spent hours rehashing whether karma was even a thing if awful Sabrina Cuomo and her slimy husband could come into tons of money and yet they’d lost all theirs.

They’d talked about skin care and face shaving, finally believing Nancy when she assured Pam she wouldn’t grow a beard if she razored away her fuzzy cheek hair.

They’d liberally exchanged grievances about their husbands such as how when Hank dropped his clothes on the bathroom floor, it looked like he’d been vaporized out of them, how Andre thought every dish needed to soak in the sink even if it only had toast crumbs, and how the airflow on Larry’s new CPAP machine was so strong, one night Nancy woke up thinking there was a mouse in her hair.

And more personally, canvassed for preferred sexual positions when arthritic knees began to hinder their action—even sharing how that action had subsequently dried up.

But now it seemed like they hadn’t really talked at all.

Nancy returned to the table with another chilled bottle of wine.

Pam watched as her glass was filled and said, “I look at him and I don’t see my Hank there anymore. He changed when they lost the money. He quit. He quit on our retirement plans, and he quit on me.”

She took a drink. The cold wine felt crisp on her tongue. “Every day for the last few years, I wake up and wonder what it would be like to have a life without Hank. Frankly, I already do. So yes. To answer your question, my life would be better without him. I wouldn’t miss him for a minute.” She ran her finger around the base of her glass.

The women sat for a moment, the only noise a neighbor’s car door slamming and Elmer’s snoring.

Nancy broke the silence and said in a quiet voice, “Then why don’t we get rid of them?”

Pam’s hand jerked and drops of wine splashed over the edge of her glass and landed on the table. She looked at Shalisa, who had cocked her head and was squinting at Nancy. Cautiously, Pam turned back to Nancy. “What did you say?”

Nancy sat straighter in her chair. “I said, ‘Then why don’t we get rid of them?’ Think about it. None of us are happy in our marriages. Marlene wasn’t either and now Dave’s dead and you saw her. She was practically glowing. That could be us.”

Pam’s mouth gaped and she stared at Nancy for a moment, then she snorted and sat back. “Funny. You had me for a minute.”

She smiled and shook her head.

Nancy leaned forward. “No, Pam. I’m serious.”

Her eyes were wild, as though she were mentally tallying an abacus. “Think about it. Why not? None of us want to be married anymore.” She turned sharply to Shalisa. “Do you want to be married to Andre?”

Shalisa shook her head rapidly.

Nancy turned to Pam. “Do you want to be married to Hank?”

Pam blinked. Then blinked again. She tried to speak but couldn’t push any words out.

Nancy set her hand on Pam’s forearm. “Don’t you see? This is our out! We kill Hank, Andre, and Larry, get their insurance money, and say goodbye to our shithole lives.”

She turned to Shalisa. “Right, Shalisa?”

Now it was Shalisa’s turn for her mouth to open soundlessly. Her head jerked in such a way that Pam couldn’t tell if she was shaking it no, nodding yes, or having a stroke. Pam had to tear her eyes away and turn her focus back to Nancy. “How much have you had to drink?”

Pam held the wine bottle up and inspected it, hoping to find a semi-dissolved remnant of any kind of hallucinogenic. That was the only explanation she could think of behind what Nancy was saying.

Nancy plucked the bottle from Pam’s hand and set it aside. “I’m totally sober. Well, maybe not totally. But I’m seeing completely clearly. The clearest I’ve seen in years.”

She looked from her one friend to the other, and then said, “I think we should do it.”

Pam put both hands up and spoke in a deliberately soothing voice. “Whoa. Just, whoa. Let’s take a beat. We’ve been talking about our marriages, and sure, they’re not ideal, but we don’t want to be doing or saying anything crazy. Right?”

She raised her eyebrows, hoping Nancy would agree with her, but Nancy seemed to be deep in thought. Pam’s eyes snapped to Shalisa, who was nodding subtly, as though she was reviewing a checklist. Pam said to her, “Can you not help here?” She motioned to Nancy with her chin.

Shalisa said, “I’m in.”

Pam fell back in her chair and threw her hands over her face. “What am I hearing? Did you two do edibles before you came over? What the fuck is going on?”

She sat forward, put her elbows on the table, her fingers to her temples, and squeezed her eyes shut.

She heard Nancy speak. “Pam. You said it yourself. You wouldn’t miss Hank for a minute. We can figure out a way to get rid of them. You said your life would be better without him. You said that.”

Pam dropped her hands and looked at Nancy. “I may have said that, but I’m not going to do anything about it. He’s still Claire’s dad.”

“When was the last time you saw Claire?”

Shalisa pushed.

Pam’s heart broke a bit. It had been three years since her daughter had married Dylan and they’d hugged goodbye at the airport when the newlyweds moved around the world to New Zealand. With Claire’s busy life and the different time zones, they were barely able to find time to talk. Every lottery ticket Pam bought, she wished she’d win enough for airfare to New Zealand. Not even the big prize—just enough money so she’d be able to hold her only child.

Shalisa tapped her nails on the table and then looked up at Pam. “With a million dollars in insurance money you could travel to New Zealand whenever you wanted. You could quit your shitty job and retire there.”

Pam looked from one of her oldest friends to the other. She squinted. “You cannot seriously be suggesting we kill our husbands for their insurance money.”

Nancy said, “It’s not as though we have another retirement plan.”

Pam watched the beads of condensation slide down her glass. She had to admit a life without her husband did sound attractive. But she couldn’t do that to Hank.

Could she?