Chapter 2 - THE ANNOUNCEMENT
The silence in the bookstore was so heavy it felt like water filling my lungs.
Brooke’s hand remained flat against her stomach. Her manicured nails pressed into the fabric of the dress my husband had bought her for this occasion. I recognized the silk. I had seen the charge on our joint credit card and believed him when he said it was a client gift.
“Tell me what, Grant?” I asked again. My voice didn’t shake.
He dropped my wrist. He looked around at the faces of our neighbors, the church members, and the bookstore owner, all staring back at him.
“Anne, we’re going to have a baby,” Brooke said. Her voice carried the soft, practiced cadence of someone who had rehearsed this moment in front of a mirror. “We were going to tell you tonight. After the signing. The special announcement was for our friends. To celebrate.”
Our friends.
I looked at Grant. He didn’t deny it. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tight.
“You brought me here to cater your mistress’s pregnancy announcement,” I said.
“It’s not just that,” Grant muttered, stepping between me and the crowd. “Brooke and I are building a family brand. The cookbook is the foundation. We needed the rights to the recipes to secure the publishing advance. It’s business, Anne. You wouldn’t understand the financials.”
He was doing it again. Making me the small, simple wife who only knew how to stir soup.
Mara Ellis stepped forward, her notebook in hand. “I understand financials just fine, Grant. And I understand intellectual property.” She turned to the crowd. “There is no book signing tonight. Not for this stolen work.”
The guests began to murmur. A few set their advance copies down on the folding chairs.
Grant’s face flushed dark red. He lunged toward Mara, pointing a finger. “You have no right to interfere with my company—”
I didn’t wait to see the rest of his tantrum. I adjusted the heavy blue mixing bowl against my hip, walked past the display table, and headed for the door.
“Anne, wait!” Brooke called out.
I kept walking into the cold evening air. I drove straight home, my mother’s bowl sitting in the passenger seat like a silent passenger. I needed to pack Grant’s bags. I needed him out of my house tonight.
When I walked into our bedroom, I went straight to his closet. I pulled down his favorite leather duffel bag. As I yanked it from the top shelf, something heavy fell out of the side pocket and hit the hardwood floor with a metallic clink.
It was a set of keys on a silver ring.
I picked them up. I recognized my front door key. I recognized the mail key. But the third key was a long, brass safety deposit box key.
We didn’t have a safety deposit box.
Attached to the ring was a small, laminated plastic tag from a 24-hour storage facility across town. The unit number was written in sharpie: Unit 402.
May you like
I looked at the blue bowl on my dresser. Then I looked at the keys. Grant wasn’t just building a family brand with Brooke. He was hiding something.
And I was going to find out what it was before he came home.
