« Mark? » I called. « Why is the guest room locked? »
« Is it? » he called back from downstairs. « Must’ve stuck. I’ll take a look in a minute. »
« Do you have the key? »
« Somewhere, » he said. « Don’t worry about it. »
I stood there with my hand on the knob for a long moment. Then I walked away, because that was what a reasonable wife did. That was what a woman who trusted her husband did.
By the next afternoon, I had almost convinced myself.
« Milk, apples, bread, and something for dinner, » I told Leo as I buckled him into the cart at the grocery store. « Help Mommy remember. »
« Milk, apples, bread, » he sang, swinging his legs.
« Good boy. »
The store hummed with its ordinary afternoon sounds. Squeaking wheels, a baby fussing two aisles over, the tinny pop song leaking from the speakers overhead.
