Fidelity by Thomas Perry

temperament for suicide. There was just too damned much to do.
    She put the Windex away and went into the living room to sit on the couch. She began the thought, “How could he-” but then stopped. She knew how he could. Phil was a middleaged man who was tall and trim and attractive, and he was the boss. April was pretty and sweet-natured, but brainless, and there she was, right in front of him all day long. How could he not? April must have been amazed by a man like Phil, may even have been naive enough to think that there was a nice future in a relationship with a man old enough to be her father who was cheating on his wife.
    Emily corrected herself. She was a fine one to be calling April stupid. April was twentyfive years old. Whether she wanted it to be or not, her unfortunate mistake with Phil Kramer was over. She had all those years ahead of her. She was sad right now, but she had lost nothing of any importance. Emily was forty-two. She had invested twentytwo years of her life-her attractive childbearing years-in loving Phil Kramer. As of today, there was no way to pretend that she had done the right thing, made the right choice. She had devoted her life to a man who hadn’t really loved her but hadn’t bothered to tell her, to bearing and raising the beautiful, strong son they named Pete after her father, and then having the child crash a car into the front of a tractor-trailer truck. It was a hard time to find out that Phil had been with other women.
    Women. Plural. She had suspected it for years. April had certainly not been the first. The suspicions Emily had pushed to the back of her mind so many times were true. There had been a hundred moments over the years when the only reason she had to believe he was faithful was that she wanted to.
    She realized she was crying, and hearing herself cry this way was the loneliest sound she had ever heard. Phil was dead, Pete was dead. It didn’t matter if she cried loudly or softly. She was as alone as a person floating in the middle of the ocean.
    She had been working frantically to learn the reason for Phil’s murder and to find out who did it, because being engaged in the investigation let her stay close to Phil. The connection was thin and waning, constructed of memory and intellect and intention, but it was something. Now that the truth about April had been driven into her skull, the connection was painful and sour. She couldn’t make herself think that Phil deserved her loyalty and devotion. She couldn’t even say he would have done the same for her.
    Emily couldn’t sit still. She stood up and began to pace up and down the living room. She had to stop herself from formulating the idea that it was better for her to have learned about Phil’s infidelity now because knowing would help her break the bond with him. It was a cowardly impulse to make excuses for circumstance. Things didn’t happen for a reason, and people who thought they did were idiots. Knowing wasn’t better, and it didn’t make anything easier. She felt as bad about his cheating right now as she would have a year ago. She couldn’t even talk to him now and ask him why, or tell him she was hurt and angry, or do anything else. It was simply a fact that could never be changed.
    She heard the sound of a car engine, but no sound of the car passing. Then she heard the slam of a car door. She stepped to the front window just as the bell rang. The sound seemed incredibly loud and intrusive. She stood still for a few seconds, then moved the curtain aside a half inch.
    Ray Hall stood on the porch, looking straight into her eye. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t at home, or that she thought the person at the door was a salesman or a solicitor. She closed her eyes and sighed, then stepped to the door and opened it.
    “I’m sorry, Ray. I’m just not feeling up to visitors right now. Can I call you tomorrow?”
    “April told me.”
    “All right. Come in.”
    Ray stepped inside and Emily closed the