Tom had bought three years before he met her. She didn’t need what I had anymore. She had it all herself.
At the reception, Rachel danced with Tom. Then she danced with my father. Then she danced with
Michael.
It was a slow song. I was sitting at our table with Ben asleep on my lap. I watched them dance. Rachel had her head on Michael’s chest. Her eyes were closed. Michael’s hand was on her lower
back.
When the song ended, she didn’t let go right away.
I looked across the dance floor. Tom was standing by the cake table with a glass of champagne.
He was watching them too.
For just a second, our eyes met.
Then Rachel laughed and ran back to Tom and kissed him, and everybody clapped, and I told
myself I was imagining things.
It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive from our house to Rachel and Tom’s.
The kids fell asleep in the back seat about thirty minutes in. Michael drove. I sat in the passenger
seat and looked out the window at the fields going by. It was early October. The trees were just starting to turn. Orange and yellow and red.
