Chapter 8: The Help

Glenn stopped in the middle of the trailer.

For one second his face was completely empty.

Then he laughed.

"Well," he said. "Jo. What are you doing here?"

"Working."

"Working." He said it to Walt, like it was a joke they both got. "Since when?"

"Since you took my key."

The partners at the table looked at each other.

Walt's eyebrows went up.

"You two know each other?"

"She's my wife," Glenn said. "Technically."

He set the hard hat on the table.

He put a hand on Walt's shoulder like they'd been fishing together for years.

Maybe they had.

"Walt, I'm going to be straight with you, because you're a friend."

I knew that tone.

I'd heard him use it on a banker in 2009 to save the company.

"Jo's going through a hard time. A real hard time. The kids are worried sick."

He lowered his voice, but not enough.

"Some kind of breakdown. I'd hate to see her put in a position she can't handle."

Paige looked down at her tablet.

The man in the red tie sat back.

Claudette stood up.

"Mr. Chastain, she's our employee."

"And I'm her husband. I think I know her better than you do."

Brandi stepped up beside him.

She looked me up and down.

My blazer that was tight in the shoulders.

My hair clipped up because I hadn't had money for a trim.

"It's actually really sweet," she said.

"Glenn, she's like, the help now. Carrying boards."

She turned to Walt.

"She used to do that for our parties."

Our parties.

In my house.

I felt it all come up at once.

The old Joanna would have laughed it off.

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