time the following afternoon to go with him to the National Gallery. How could she refuse? On top of everything else, he appreciated art.
At the gallery, right in front of a Jackson Pollock painting, Jeff told her that he and his wife had separated only six weeks before. Molly didn’t want to date someone who was on the rebound. Reluctantly, she told him so, and Jeff seemed to understand. Then he showed her pictures of his kids on his cell phone, and he seemed so genuine, so proud of them. She couldn’t help falling for him, despite her resolve.
Jeff said he’d be back in D.C. for another pharmaceutical conference in three weeks. Could he take her out to dinner while he was in town again?
She said yes. Six weeks later, she flew into Seattle to meet Chris and Erin.
Two months after that, they were married. If it seemed rushed, that was probably her fault as much as Jeff’s. She was in love with him and eager to start a new life. She’d been so miserable in Washington, D.C., and the dark, gloomy paintings she’d produced during this period reflected that.
Then into her life stepped this handsome, sweet guy with two kids who was going to change everything around for her.
Yes, he’d had affairs and one-night stands while married to Angela. But Molly had to give him a second chance. She knew what it was like, not being let off the hook. Before her exile to D.C., she’d spent her last weeks in Chicago seeking forgiveness—and not finding it.
She still remembered standing at that woman’s front stoop on West Gunnison Street. She’d come there to tell her how sorry she was. “I don’t mean to bother you,” she’d told the middle-aged woman. “My name is—”
“I know who you are,” the woman had hissed, glaring at her. She’d had tears in her eyes and started trembling. She suddenly spit in Molly’s face. “Don’t come crawling around here, hoping I’ll accept any apologies from you, because I won’t! It’s not going to change a damn thing. Now, get the hell out of here—or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”
Sometimes, Molly could still feel the woman’s spittle running down her cheek and hear her harsh words. She’d moved to D.C. to forget, but it hadn’t worked. She’d thought her chances might be better in Seattle.
She and Jeff were both starting over. She told him about Chicago. And Jeff kept her secret. There was no reason his kids needed to know about it, not for a while at least.
As she headed home, the wind seemed to whip right through her. Molly felt a few drops of rain. She wished she’d worn a coat for the half-block jaunt down to Lynette Hahn’s house.
She couldn’t get that conversation with Angela out of her head. Molly told herself the Jeff she knew was different from the Jeff who had been married to Angela
Shielding her head with the Tupperware container, she trotted up the walkway, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside the warm foyer. She set the container on the hallway table and headed up to the master bedroom. In Jeff’s closet, Molly started checking the pockets of his suits and his khakis. She was looking for matchbooks or cocktail napkins with phone numbers scribbled on them. But all she found were three wrapped Halls cough drops, a stick of Juicy Fruit, several wads of Kleenex, and about $1.30 in change.
She still felt uncertain and retreated downstairs—to Jeff’s study off the front hallway. The small room had a built-in, U-shaped mahogany desk—along with matching cabinets. A large-screen computer sat in the middle of the desk—in front of a picture window. Photos of her and the kids decorated the walls and desktop.
Molly opened the desk drawers and glanced at old bills and bank statements. She opened his appointment book and browsed through it. Nothing even remotely suspicious.
With a sigh, she plopped down in his chair and switched on the computer. She glanced at his e-mails—the ones he sent and received. Almost all of them were
At the gallery, right in front of a Jackson Pollock painting, Jeff told her that he and his wife had separated only six weeks before. Molly didn’t want to date someone who was on the rebound. Reluctantly, she told him so, and Jeff seemed to understand. Then he showed her pictures of his kids on his cell phone, and he seemed so genuine, so proud of them. She couldn’t help falling for him, despite her resolve.
Jeff said he’d be back in D.C. for another pharmaceutical conference in three weeks. Could he take her out to dinner while he was in town again?
She said yes. Six weeks later, she flew into Seattle to meet Chris and Erin.
Two months after that, they were married. If it seemed rushed, that was probably her fault as much as Jeff’s. She was in love with him and eager to start a new life. She’d been so miserable in Washington, D.C., and the dark, gloomy paintings she’d produced during this period reflected that.
Then into her life stepped this handsome, sweet guy with two kids who was going to change everything around for her.
Yes, he’d had affairs and one-night stands while married to Angela. But Molly had to give him a second chance. She knew what it was like, not being let off the hook. Before her exile to D.C., she’d spent her last weeks in Chicago seeking forgiveness—and not finding it.
She still remembered standing at that woman’s front stoop on West Gunnison Street. She’d come there to tell her how sorry she was. “I don’t mean to bother you,” she’d told the middle-aged woman. “My name is—”
“I know who you are,” the woman had hissed, glaring at her. She’d had tears in her eyes and started trembling. She suddenly spit in Molly’s face. “Don’t come crawling around here, hoping I’ll accept any apologies from you, because I won’t! It’s not going to change a damn thing. Now, get the hell out of here—or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”
Sometimes, Molly could still feel the woman’s spittle running down her cheek and hear her harsh words. She’d moved to D.C. to forget, but it hadn’t worked. She’d thought her chances might be better in Seattle.
She and Jeff were both starting over. She told him about Chicago. And Jeff kept her secret. There was no reason his kids needed to know about it, not for a while at least.
As she headed home, the wind seemed to whip right through her. Molly felt a few drops of rain. She wished she’d worn a coat for the half-block jaunt down to Lynette Hahn’s house.
She couldn’t get that conversation with Angela out of her head. Molly told herself the Jeff she knew was different from the Jeff who had been married to Angela
Shielding her head with the Tupperware container, she trotted up the walkway, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside the warm foyer. She set the container on the hallway table and headed up to the master bedroom. In Jeff’s closet, Molly started checking the pockets of his suits and his khakis. She was looking for matchbooks or cocktail napkins with phone numbers scribbled on them. But all she found were three wrapped Halls cough drops, a stick of Juicy Fruit, several wads of Kleenex, and about $1.30 in change.
She still felt uncertain and retreated downstairs—to Jeff’s study off the front hallway. The small room had a built-in, U-shaped mahogany desk—along with matching cabinets. A large-screen computer sat in the middle of the desk—in front of a picture window. Photos of her and the kids decorated the walls and desktop.
Molly opened the desk drawers and glanced at old bills and bank statements. She opened his appointment book and browsed through it. Nothing even remotely suspicious.
With a sigh, she plopped down in his chair and switched on the computer. She glanced at his e-mails—the ones he sent and received. Almost all of them were
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