It’s a question that grips me to the core. I don’t have an answer for it, but I desperately want to know when Trish decided Greg was more interesting than me. Worth risking our marriage and family over. My body aches when I think of how this will affect the kids. The topic has me recalling Parker’s reaction to the news that I was leaving for the night.
“How’d Jack respond to you leaving?” I ask.
“Good. He loves my sister Maggie. They’ll be at the Coffee Loft until closing, binge whatever series they’re both into now, then he’ll camp out on her couch and sleep in while she wakes up to run the shop.”
“It’s nice that you have her,” I say. “She’s not married?”
Kirsten shakes her head. “My parents got divorced when I was young. It was ugly. They both married other people and divorced them before hooking up several years later.”
“No way. Did they get married again? To each other?”
“Nope. Just stayed together long enough for my mom to get pregnant in her early forties, if you can imagine. I had Jack when she was thirteen, and she became like an older sister to him, as involved as she was.”
“That’s cool.”
“What about Parker and Paige? Where are they for the night?”
“With my parents. They’ve been married forty-six years, if you can believe it.”
Kirsten twists in her seat. “You’re kidding. That’s amazing!”
“Yeah, it is. And they’re not the sort that just puts up with each other, you know? Theyloveeach other. I mean, my mom makes him crazy with her figurine collecting and her obsession to have scented candles burning from dusk ‘til dawn, and my dad makes her crazy with his collection of old cars and parts. He loves working on cars. But I think they secretly love that about the other too. I mean, what do you think my dad gets my mom on holidays?”
“Candles and figurines?” she guesses.
“Yep. And Mom gets him stuff for his workshop. A new tool chest. Lockers to store his grease-stained coveralls. Dang, I admire them.” What I don’t add but think inwardly is how much I wanted that myself. I really wanted that with Trish.
“So let’s go over the plan,” Kirsten says, pulling me from my musings. “We’re going to scout out the area surrounding the springs and see if we can set up someplace where we have enough of a view to record.”
“Right. My guess is they’ll head out to dinner first, then hit the springs at night. Trish prefers night swimming. I’m sure we’ll catch them curling up to each other in one of the pools.”
“Or making out while wrapping each other in towels when they’re through,” Kirsten adds. “I really hope we can catch them doingsomethingbesides entering the Resort. Greg will just say he was giving her an accounting consult or something.”
Anger flares hot in my chest. “Trust me,” I say. “By the time we’re through, we’ll have cold, hard proof. Lots of it.”
“Heck yeah,” Kirsten says.
My chest puffs. My confidence lifts. I empty the bottle of Gatorade, and, before I can ask for the sunflower seeds, Kirsten tears them open and hands them over.
“Enjoy,” she says.
I imagine finally having the proof I need to show that I’m not crazy. To show that this is not all in my head. To finally be able to move on with my life once and for all.
“Thanks.” I toss in the first sunflower seed, relishing the familiar flavor as I crunch into it. “I will.”
CHAPTER13
Kirsten
Beau and I scout the parameters of the resort before deciding the best view of the hot springs is from a campsite bordering the property. We snag a pup tent, along with an array of bug spray, from a local supermarket and rent the perfect spot. Not that we’ll sleep here. Once we have what we need, we’ll head back to Virginia Beach.
Since Trish is where she told Beau she’d be—the Hot Springs Resort—Beau has rare access to her often-blocked location. Currently, she’s at the Waterwheel Restaurant, which, according to one online article, is among the county’s most romantic—not to mention expensive—restaurants.Isn’t that special?
We don’t risk being seen at the restaurant; our efforts are best focused on setting up for the perfect footage of the springs from the campsite. This is where the action will be.
The action: those two words trigger a visceral response that spreads like a virus. It’s like walking through a wall of webs naked, taunting images of Greg and Trish cling to every nerve and fiber no matter how hard I try to shake them. After today, they won’t be imagined anymore. They’ll be real, undeniable, and impossible to erase.
That knowledge sinks like boulders into my gut. I fear I’ll never feel pretty again. I’ll never feel cute enough, cool enough, stylish enough,shallow, and worldly enough.I hate Greg. I love him. I want him out of my life, but I never want to let him go. He once made me feel cherished and loved and important. He used to love the way I cared for Jack. The way I ate all the right things during pregnancy. The way I nursed him until he was a year old. He was proud of me once. And now all he can think about is a woman who happens to be my opposite in every way. It’s a slap in the face. A kick in the gut. An incinerator to my increasingly fragile ego.
