“Can’t stop thinking about that dance. You shouldn’t have held me like that. —R.“
He flipped to the next page.
“I know. I couldn’t help it. —M.“
The backyard was dead silent.
I stood on the deck holding the bowl of fruit salad. I don’t know why I was still holding it. I
couldn’t seem to put it down.
The dance. At the wedding. Her head on his chest. His hand on her back. Tom by the cake table, watching. And me, with Ben asleep on my lap, telling myself I was imagining things.
“Tom,” Rachel said. Her voice came out high and shaky. “Tom, please. Please don’t do this. Not here. Not in front of everyone.”
“Why not here?” Tom said. He looked at her, and for the first time his voice wavered a little. “You
kissed him here. In front of everyone. You wanted an audience. So here’s your audience.”
He flipped through the stack. Near the end. He found a page. He held it up.
“This one’s from last night,” he said. “Eleven-fourteen p.m. After dinner. While Jenna was in the
bathroom and I was washing the dishes.”
