Paul didn’t come in. Not answering cell. Called sub. He OK?

Oh, Christ. He’s home after all.

Annie threw off the afghan and walked through the kitchen to go upstairs. On the table were the remains of the kids’ breakfast—cereal boxes and dirty bowls—and beside them her empty bottle. That last bit was a classic passive-aggressive message from Paul: I’m not going to hide it for you.

Going up the stairs, she felt through her cotton scrubs that her panties were missing. Her fogged brain drew a blank. Then she remembered the night before, leaving them on the back seat of the car. Shit. Had Paul seen them?

At the top of the stairs, Annie noticed the open door to the master bedroom and braced for a confrontation with Paul. But the room was empty. The bed on his side was mussed, pajamas thrown on the bedspread.

Annie headed back downstairs and opened the door to the garage. Paul’s silver Elantra was gone. On the rear seat of her own Camry, she found her panties and stuffed them in her pocket.

Back in the kitchen, Annie rooted through a cabinet for a bottle of Advil. She washed down two tablets with a full glass of Sauvignon Blanc, poured another half glass, and sat at the table.

The empty Zinfandel bottle stared back at her across the table. The label was an artsy painting of a vineyard. $9.95, screw cap. Annie remembered the clerk in the supermarket wine department. Thirtyish, kind of cute, with that unshaved, not-quite-a-beard thing guys were doing these days. She smiled, found herself flirting, asking about the tannin-to-alcohol balance, or some shit she’d read online. He looked into her eyes and wasn’t fooled. He reached to the lower shelves for one of the “value bottles.”

Annie dialed Paul’s cell. It rang three times before his voicemail clicked in. There was her husband’s deep, earnest voice. “Hi. This is Paul. Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and—” She clicked off.

She found the number for Jennifer Steeley on her phone and tapped it. The time was 8:45. Busiest time of day for a principal.

Steeley picked up on the second ring, talking over the noise of a crowded hallway. “Hey, Annie. Thanks for calling back.”

“Yeah. Got your message. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. We found a sub. Remember Penny Freese? Taught seventh-grade history before her first kid?”

“Good. Good. Glad it worked out.”

“Part of the job. Is Paul okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Annie took a deep breath and tried to think how to start. “He’s—The thing is, I’m working second shift these days and get home late. Sometimes we don’t see each other for days. I didn’t talk to him before he left this morning.” What business was it of this woman that she and Paul weren’t sleeping together?