Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher 3)

“Well, one liar should be able to ferret out another.” I slap my hand on the counter again. “I wish nothing but the best for both of you.” I glance toward her stomach. “The three of you, actually.” That part makes my gut churn, but I ignore it.

Then I turn and march out of there for good, holding my spine as straight as if I had an iron rod stuck up it. When the elevator doors close, John and Michael finally let out the laughter they were holding in during that encounter. John laughs so hard that he has to wipe his eyes.

“Dude, I thought she was going to shit herself when you said you did the side booty action.” He chuckles again, unable to contain it.

“Well, she deserved to know the truth.” I brush a lock of hair from my face and stare at the closed doors.

He freezes. “Wait,” he says. “You were serious?”

What did it matter if I was serious? “Yes. Completely.”

“So she did wreck your marriage?” All the laughter was gone from his tone. “I’m sorry I laughed. It’s not funny.”

“She kind of spread the word that your marriage was over months ago,” Michael explains.

“It wasn’t.” Not really. “But now it is.” I force myself to smile at them.

“I’m sorry, Abigail,” John says. “I really am.”

They walk with me in silence all the way to my car, and John kindly puts my box into the trunk. I shake hands with both of them, and they both stare at me until I’m out of the lot.

I’m determined that I will not shed a single tear, not where anyone can see me at least.

But then I get home and I walk into my house to find my clothes and belongings in boxes in the living room. They have been labeled and sorted. I walk into my bedroom and find a strange woman packing my things.

“Excuse me? Who are you?” I ask her.

“I’m with the moving company,” she tells me. She hands me a requisition form, which has been signed by Charles. It says they are to remove all personal clothing and accessories of mine from the home, package them neatly, and deliver them to my grandmother’s address.

I pick up my phone to call Charles, but it rolls to voicemail.

Suddenly, the front door opens and Charles rushes in. “How could you!” he shouts.

“How could I what?” I ask.

“How could you tell her that?” He runs a hand through his hair, which makes it stand on end.

Was he referring to what I said to Sandra? “I don’t know what you mean. Can you be more specific?”

“She’s not like you, Abs,” he says, and I cringe when he shortens my name. “She’s…delicate.”

“Delicate?” I cross my arms in front of me, mainly so I can avoid grabbing his goddamn neck and choking the life out of him.

“She’s not strong like you are. She’s fragile.” He runs a hand through his hair again. “I’d hoped to save you the trouble of packing,” he explains, as he motions toward the woman who is still boxing up my belongings, pretending like I’m not here.

“Why am I packing, exactly?” I ask him.

“I’m not leaving, Abs,” he explains. “I don’t have anywhere to go.” He looks around our house. “And Sandra lives with a roommate. She doesn’t have enough space. We’ll need this place for the baby.”

My eyebrows are probably up in my hairline by now. “You think you’re moving her into my house?” I point toward the floor beneath my feet like he might be confused about which house we’re talking about.

“I assumed you could move in with your gran,” he counters.

“I can move in with Gran,” I reply with no emotion in my voice whatsoever. I feel like the weight of the world is suddenly on my shoulders.

“Oh, good,” he says with a tenuous smile. “Glad we got that settled.”

“Settled,” I repeat with a nod.