At a Charity Auction, My Husband Sold My Best Friend the Seven Days novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Duffel Bag

In the garage Lorena finds a bag packed yesterday, blueprints of Shelby's house and a key with her name; he promises to take her to the clinic.

Brett said three things on the drive home.

"There were too many people tonight."

"You shouldn't have grabbed me."

"We'll talk when we get inside."

He never said who the anonymous donor was.

In the garage he went straight to the trunk and lifted out a black duffel bag.

We had bought that bag for our eighth anniversary trip.

Last summer he'd said it was too big for a weekend.

I stayed in the passenger seat and looked at it.

"Are you going to sit in the car all night?" he said from the door.

"When did you pack that?"

"Yesterday."

"Before the auction."

"A job like this takes planning."

I got out and shut my door hard enough to rattle the shelves.

Two toolboxes sat by his workbench, with a portable saw and a roll of blueprints held by a rubber band.

Those were the tools he had promised for my new display wall.

I pulled the top sheet out of the roll.

Shelby's address was printed in the lower corner.

Someone had measured her living room, her kitchen and her bedroom.

The notes in the margin were in Brett's handwriting, and the corners were soft from being handled.

"When did you measure her house?"

"I looked at a few things for her."

"A few times?"

"She just moved in. The place needs work."

He reached for the plans, and I held on.

A brass key slid out of the roll and hit the concrete.

The tag on the ring said Shelby.

"Why do you have a key to her house?"

"For the furniture delivery tomorrow."

"She only won the auction three hours ago."

"She helped run the gala. She knew what the package included."

"She knew, and you knew, and I was the only one in that room who didn't."

Brett bent and set the key on his workbench.

"I showed you the description."

"You showed me the part that ended at household support."

"A brochure can't hold every line of a contract."

"It could have held the line where my husband sleeps in another woman's house."

He closed his eyes and loosened his tie.

"This isn't what you're making it."

"I haven't said what I think it is."

"You've been acting like I'm having an affair since the paddles went up."

He lifted the duffel and carried it inside.

I followed him.

The bag was packed in neat layers.

Work shirts, pajamas, his shaving kit, a pair of house slippers in the side pocket.

He had forgotten nothing a man needs for a week away.

He set it by the stairs.

"I'll call you every day," he said. "If something at the store can't wait, I'll stop by."

"My store gets whatever time is left over?"

"This is a charity commitment."

"You made a commitment to me first."

He rubbed his forehead.

"Lorena, you've run Bolt & Thread for seven years. You have staff. You have movers booked. You know how to handle a problem."

"So because I'm capable, you can break your word."

"Shelby just lost her marriage. She's alone in a house that needs repairs."

"She's a real estate agent. She knows more contractors than you do."

"That isn't the point."

"Then what is?"

He didn't answer.

His phone lit up on the dining table.

The preview read: Does eight tomorrow still work? The furniture people come before nine. I'll have coffee ready.

The screen went dark again.

"You already picked the hour you'd get there."

"She has a delivery."

"You promised to take me to the doctor tomorrow."

He looked at me.

"The doctor?"

I put my hand on my clutch.

The slip was inside.

If I showed it to him now, he'd stay.

And I'd never know whether he stayed for me or for the paper.

"The fertility clinic," I said. "I reminded you yesterday."

His shoulders relaxed.

"A routine appointment?"

"It matters to me."

"What time?"

"Ten thirty."

He checked his phone.

"Fine. I'll sign for the furniture, leave at ten and pick you up on the way."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

He stepped toward me and raised a hand to my shoulder.

I moved back.

His hand stayed in the air, and then it dropped.

"I know tonight embarrassed you," he said. "In seven days it'll be over."

He took the duffel up the stairs.

I stayed where I was.

Through the open door to the garage I could see Shelby's key on his workbench.

On the coffee table in the living room lay the white baby socks I'd bought that afternoon.

I picked them up and put them in the drawer of the end table, under the takeout menus.

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