At 7:15, Greg came downstairs whistling.
He kissed the top of my head on his way to the coffee maker. He didn’t notice I was still in my bathrobe from the night before. He didn’t notice I hadn’t slept.
“Big day,” he said. “First day of the rest of our lives. Mortgage-free, baby.”
“Mm-hm.”
The yellow paper was folded in my bathrobe pocket. I could feel the edge of it against my hip.
He poured cereal for Lily. He found Owen’s other sneaker under the couch. He signed a field-trip form on the counter with the same pen he must have used on Valentine’s Day.
I watched his hand move across the form.
Gregory A. Mercer.
“You okay?” he asked. “You look wiped.”
“Didn’t sleep much.”
“Too much champagne.” He grinned. “Mom sure was happy, huh?”
I didn’t answer.
He didn’t wait for me to. He herded the kids out the door with their backpacks, and I stood at the window and watched his car back out of the driveway, and I didn’t say a single word.
