“Some bullshit with my little brother came up,” he said, one palm covering the phone’s speaker. “Go on back inside, baby. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Does he need a loan again?”

“Baby, don’t worry about it. I said I’ll handle it.”

She withdrew from the balcony, fastened the doors shut. Before she stepped away, she saw Troy wander farther away from the house, to the edge of the expansive backyard.

Out of the eavesdropping zone, she thought.

It was entirely feasible that Troy had gotten sucked into some drama of his brother’s creation. Perhaps twice a year, his brother called with a story that ended in a request for money for some purpose or other—he was behind on child support payments, his car needed major repairs, he’d gotten behind on rent, yada yada yada. As the eldest of his mother’s three children, Troy was generous to a fault, the one that everyone called when they were in a bind.

So why did she think he was lying to her?

In the large walk-in closet, she kicked off her shoes, pulled off her black dress, peeled out of her support garments and panty hose. A full length mirror hung on the wall in the dressing area. Monica stood in front of the mirror wearing only her bra and panties, assessing herself with a critical eye.

She was thirty-nine years old, would hit forty in three months. In spite of giving birth to two kids, she had a more sculpted physique than she had enjoyed in her early twenties. It wasn’t easy. She had to work harder to maintain her figure than she ever had as a younger woman, following a demanding routine of Pilates and Zumba, and adhering to a sensible diet. She thought she looked good, and not just “good for her age.” When she went out in public, men half as old as her still flirted, a fact of which she was, perhaps, inordinately proud, and would smile to herself after such encounters thinking, I’ve still got it.

Nevertheless, her body was changing. Her skin wasn’t as smooth. Her hair wasn’t as thick. Laugh lines were settling in. Gravity was tugging at her breasts. Father Time was, slowly but surely, pulling her into middle age.

Had Troy noticed, too? Decided his wife was no longer the hot young thing he’d married and moved on to someone younger? Was he talking to that woman on the phone right then?

It was foolish to entertain such thoughts. Her mother’s remarks were getting to her, kindling self-doubts. She hadn’t realized her confidence in her marriage could be so easily punctured, but when you met your mother for the first time in your entire life and she gave you a biting criticism of your husband’s fidelity, the words cut deep.