The only Kayla I knew was my best, and only, friend and the thought that she would cheat with my husband was so far beyond possibility that I couldn’t process it. “Kayla who?”

“Kayla,” he said again but with more emphasis.

“My Kayla?”

“Yeah.”

My pain doubled. When I could speak I asked, “How long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long?”

“A while.”

I broke down crying again. He stepped forward and put his hand on my arm. “Elise.”

I pulled away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Elise,” he said in the condescending register he used when he thought I was being overly dramatic.

“Go away,” I said. “Go to your . . . amore.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said.

“Get out of here!” I shouted.

Just then Keti walked back into the room. She must have heard our conversation because she looked angry. “You need to leave,” she said, pointing a sausage finger at Dan.

“She’s my wife,” Dan said. “I don’t need to go anywhere.”

Her voice rose. “She’s my patient and this is my house, and if she wants you to leave, you leave.” She walked to a button on the wall. “Or should I call security?”

He glared at her, then looked back at me. “It’s your fault, Elise. You’re the one who ruined our lives. You have no one to blame but yourself.” He turned and walked away. Two days later I was still in the hospital when Dan filed for divorce.

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER

Nine

Today I overheard Zoey and Cathy talking about Nicholas. It’s not what they said about him that hurts. It’s what they were implying about me.

Elise Dutton’s Diary

Mondays were always the hardest days at ICE. Invariably there would be some crisis that had occurred over the weekend: lost luggage, a canceled flight, a broken-down bus, or any of the thousand things that can go wrong when traveling with groups. That doesn’t even include the things our students did. Like the time three of the boys were arrested in New York for dumping soda on people on the sidewalk below the hotel.

This Monday was no different. It began with our usual staff meeting and Mark ranting about a phone call he’d received over the weekend from a parent whose daughter claimed she had gotten pregnant on one of our trips. The mother had concluded that it was all our fault. I had to contact the teacher who had chaperoned the excursion and tell her what had happened. She already knew. The mother had already gone after her as well, threatening her with a lawsuit and assorted calumny.

I had just hung up the phone with the teacher when Zoey brought in a package and set it on my desk. All she said was “Here.”