Seven Days to Lose Your Husband novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Chair at the Far End

At the Prescott family dinner Preston sits in Elias's chair and Beatrice says he has lived off the family for seven years; Elias lays the signet ring in front of Preston and leaves, and Ingrid waits outside with news that the anniversary film has cut him out.

On the third night of the game, Adeline's mother invited me to dinner.

Beatrice's message was short.

Bring the Prescott signet. It belongs at the table this week.

Seven years ago she had pressed that ring into my palm at our wedding, because the family gave it to whoever married in.

She had also told the whole family, over my shoulder, that a man with my background and my salary was a poor trade for her daughter.

Adeline had held my hand and answered in front of all of them.

"Elias is the man I love. Nobody else gets to decide who I marry."

I believed she would always say that.

I drove to Brookline with the ring in my coat pocket, meaning to hand it back and be done.

The housekeeper let me in.

Everyone was already at the table, under the chandelier, with the good plates out.

Preston sat in my chair.

He was wearing my navy jacket, which I had left in the closet, and Adeline sat beside him with her hand on his sleeve.

Nobody had set a place for me.

The housekeeper looked at the floor and carried in a folding chair, and Beatrice pointed it to the far end of the table, next to the sideboard.

"Preston is living Adeline's life this week," she said. "The family should see how it fits him."

A cousin snorted into her wine.

I sat at the far end.

"Did you bring the signet?" Beatrice asked.

I took it from my pocket and set it on the tablecloth.

"Pass it down to Preston, please," she said. "It's his this week."

Nobody passed it.

Preston stood, walked the length of the table, picked up the ring and slid it onto his right hand.

"I'll take care of it," he said, and he sounded sorry about it.

He sat back down, and Adeline squeezed his arm.

Her eyes kept coming down the table to me.

She was checking my face.

I picked up my fork and ate the soup.

Beatrice put down her spoon.

"I have to say it, Elias. Preston has shown this family more respect in three days than you have in seven years."

"Mother," Adeline said, but she was smiling.

"You've lived off this family since the day you married into it," Beatrice went on, "and you have never once said thank you."

I looked at her.

For seven years I had listened to that sentence and let it stand, because correcting it would have meant telling Adeline something I'd chosen not to tell her.

I said nothing now either.

Somebody's phone lit up, and I realized the cousin was filming.

"Say something, Elias," a man called from the middle of the table. "Defend your honor."

"Yes," Beatrice said. "Do."

Adeline set down her glass and looked straight at me.

Her face was lit and eager.

I knew what she wanted.

A scene, a chair knocked back, her name shouted across the dining room, so she could take my arm in the hall afterward and say she was sorry it hurt, and that it proved everything.

I stood up and folded my napkin.

"Thank you for dinner," I said.

I carried my folding chair back to the wall and set it against it.

Then I took out my phone, opened the Prescott family group chat, and tapped Leave.

A small gray line appeared on every screen at the table.

Elias Conant left the group.

The room was quiet for the first time all night.

Adeline's smile slipped.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," I said.

"You don't have a home to go to," Beatrice said. "You gave your key away."

"I have one," I said.

I walked out through the front hall, past the portraits.

Nobody followed me.

I made it to the end of the long drive before I realized my hands were shaking, and I stopped under a streetlight.

A small silver car was idling at the curb.

Ingrid rolled down her window.

She was the one person at Larkspur Design who had never once laughed at the game.

"Get in," she said. "I've got something to show you."

"I'm tired, Ingrid."

"You'll want to see this."

She held up her phone.

It was a still from the film our team had cut for Larkspur's seventh anniversary, due to play in the lobby on Friday.

The warehouse where we had started, the first signed contract, the cot I used to sleep on.

Every one of them was there.

None of them had me in them.

"They took you out of every frame," Ingrid said. "Be in the lobby on Friday and watch it with everyone else."

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