She wandered farther into the house and sat on the front window seat to think. Finally, she decided that if she had anything left that was salvageable at all, it was her marriage. At the very least, it was the one thing she had stood up before God and promised to uphold, so obviously she should do her utmost to rescue it. It was shameful of her to have entertained JJ’s proposal at all, even for a second, even at the back of her mind. She forced herself to shove the pictures of Byron with that woman out of her mind. She would just have to prove to him—and to herself—that they could start over.

She walked home to the bungalow and prepared potato salad and hamburgers—less challenging than her typical menus, but Byron’s favorite, she was almost sure. She set the dining room table beautifully.

But when Byron arrived home, he was like a cloud entering the house. Her determination faded at the sight of him, and she was angry again, thinking, So it’s fine for him to be with that woman, but not for me to spend a Friday evening with JJ when my husband deserts me! Of all the double standards in the world, this suddenly seemed the most galling.

They sat down to eat without a word to each other. Their burgers were nearly gone before he finally wiped his mouth and said, “I’m just disappointed in you, Doll. I don’t know what you have going on—”

“Disappointed! In me! I’ve done nothing but try to please you!”

He looked skeptical. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with that JJ Mickelson guy. Roy said he’s a young guy, too. My age. You haven’t ever introduced him to me—like you’ve been keeping him to yourself. And then I find out you were drinking with him on Friday night. What am I supposed to think?”

“He’s a friend. He comforted me. I was upset when you left.”

Byron’s jaw clenched. It was a moment before he spoke. “Comforted you?”

“Something you would know very little about,” she said. “With so many other things on your mind.” With that, she flounced up from the table with her plate and went into the kitchen. She sank the plate into the soapy dishwater, began furiously to wash it, as angry with herself as with him. Why did she always mess things up with him?

A minute later, he walked through the kitchen with a terse “I’m going out.”

When the door closed behind him, she was in tears again, knowing it was comfort he sought, as well, and knowing he was going to the ice-blond woman to find it.

Chapter 84