Just after I rang the doorbell, I suddenly knew.
I knew it before a woman in her early fifties walked down the hallway and saw me standing there. She opened the door, wiping flour-covered hands on an apron like she’d been baking a pie.
“Hello,” she said, a confused smile on her face.
“Hi, I’m looking for Mark.”
“Mark?” She turned. “Mark!” She called into the front parlor, and Mark emerged. He saw me and his expression turned ashen.
“Hey,” he said, “what are you doing here?”
“You ordered eclairs? I was asked if I could drop them off by the shop owner.” I don’t know why I instinctively covered for him.
I didn’t say, “You’ve been pretending you’re divorced to live a double-life in the city, sleeping with lots of women, when you’re clearly still married.”
“Oh, okay,” he said gruffly. “I don’t think I ordered any. Let’s talk outside.”
The woman I suspected was his wife gave him a confused look; she knew something was up from my expression, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. He stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him. It was one of those large, attractive front porches that wrapped halfway around a house, with a porch swing laden with pillows and a distant view of the water. It was all so idyllic—that was the irony of it. This was the hellish marriage that he wanted to escape?
“Why are you here?” he asked, flatly.
“That’s your wife?”
“Look, Abigail…We’re…she and I….”
“You’re having problems, but you’re still living under the same roof?” I asked.
Mark gave a long, weary sigh.
“It’s fine, Mark,” I said. “I’m leaving town tomorrow. I have no intention of blowing up your life. I just came to say good-bye.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Hey, listen,” he said. “Everything I told you was true, okay?” He glanced around to make sure no one could hear him. “Our kids have left the house. My wife and I aren’t connecting anymore. I’ve been with her since I was a teenager, and I mean, yeah, I was trying to relive my youth for a while. But you were the first person I ever thought about having something serious with. And then you went off with Paul, so you don’t need to make a big deal about this, right?”
“I’m not telling her. I am going to tell Paul and Lisette, though.”
“Why?” His outrage amused me, like he was a celebrity, and I had threatened to tip off the paparazzi, rather than a philanderer mowing through the female population of a small city.
“So they can warn people.”
“Of what? I’m not hurting anyone. I don’t go around making promises.”
His wife opened the door. “Is everything okay, Mark?” She must have seen us looking tense, looking like we were fighting.
“Yes,” he said. “Just a confusing mistake. They want to charge me for these things, and I didn’t order them.”
“Okay.” She looked between us.
“Sorry!” I said. “We almost have it sorted!”
She walked back inside. Mark looked at me. “Thank you for that.”
“Best improv I’ve ever done.”
Mark looked at me for a long moment, and then I turned to go.
