Chapter 8: March

I read the email three times at his kitchen table, and then I asked for his phone.

"Why?" Gabe said.

"Mine's at eleven percent. I want the badge log saved somewhere else before my phone dies, or something deletes it."

He slid it across the table, unlocked.

I sent the photo from my phone to his address, opened it in his mail, and forwarded it to my own.

When I set the phone down, my thumb caught the edge of the screen and it switched to the picture gallery.

The top photograph was a restaurant window.

Behind the glass, at a small round table, a man and a woman leaned toward each other over a candle.

The man was my husband.

The woman had dark hair and her hand on his sleeve.

He was kissing her cheek, and then the next photo showed him kissing her mouth.

The date stamp said March 9.

I did not move.

"Claire," Gabe said, standing.

"This is March."

"Let me explain."

"March," I said. "It's October."

I heard my own voice go very quiet.

"Seven months. You've known for seven months."

"I knew he was seeing someone. I didn't know who she was."

"You took a photograph."

"I was driving past the Italian place on High Street. I pulled over, and I took it, and I sat in the truck for an hour."

"And then?"

"And then I drove to your house."

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