She thought about the picket fence they had built along the front of their house on Water Street shortly after they moved in, their first expenditure from the house maintenance trust. George said he wanted a proper entrance to their home, a statement that you were entering the Blakeman domain. George spent hours talking to woodworkers and driving all over the state taking photos in pursuit of designing a historically accurate fence with the correct finials to adorn the posts. Abigail was mostly concerned that the fence would be sturdy and stay true to form so she could grow roses along the top rail. When the work was done, they both got what they wanted, a handsome historically accurate fence that supported the blooms and created a grand entrance. Abigail ensured the posts were indestructible by sourcing galvanized steel that mimicked wood. George found a master craftsman to create the finials of his dreams.

And that was them, really. Abigail was the solid foundation and George was the decorative finish. She needed to talk to him about their future. But first, she’d light that candle in the bedroom and see what happened.

Chapter 26
Cards on the Table

The Mother of the Groom

“I’m not volunteering at the senior center. I’m working at the senior center. And I like it. A lot.”

George studied his wife of thirty-one years as if she’d been overtaken by aliens. This was the big confession she had warned him about? The one she’d promised over breakfast would be happening after golf? He’d barely made a putt all round, worried about this moment. And this was it. “Oh, thank God. I thought you were having an affair with that Silver Sneakers Pilates instructor you’re always going on and on about. Rodolpho. I thought that’s why you were spending so much time there. What a relief! It’s just a job!”

“Rodolpho is a former Broadway dancer who teaches chair Pilates. He’s gay, George,” Abigail replied, her emotions going from anxiety to annoyance. “I thought you might be more concerned I’d been stashing the money in my own slush find so I can maintain the lifestyle I’m accustomed to. A secret bank account for highlights, facials, decent clothes, laser hair removal. And not just for my benefit. Where do you think that Brooks Brothers blazer you wore at the engagement party came from? Or Sarah’s new sheath? The Goodwill on Post Road, thanks to my money. But I’ve been deceptive, George.” She put down her iced tea dramatically and stared out at the harbor view, hoping for a Brontë heroine moment.