After thirty minutes of preparations, Anne paraded downstairs, expecting everyone’s heads to turn. Unfortunately, she had overestimated her family’s observation skills.
When she reached the landing, she found Gretchen sitting on the couch with a bowl of ice cream in her lap and a can of whipped cream next to her. Samuel was perched like a cat on the high back of an armchair where, like the cat, he wasn’t allowed to climb.
The twins were fussing with one another on the floor in front of the TV, alternating between staring at the screen and whacking one another with a toothbrush in the shape of a banana. Mark had put on a ball game and kicked his feet up on the ottoman.
As Anne watched, Mark leaned over and swiped the whipped cream from his daughter. He encased the entire tip in his mouth and depressed the nozzle until it hissed with the blissful sound of ejaculating whipped cream. Then he shot a cheesy smile at Gretchen before swallowing.
She burst into giggles at the sight of her father’s antics until she toppled over sideways, tucking her head on his lap and curling her legs up next to him on the couch. Mark laid a tender hand on her forehead and playfully tugged his fingers through her hair. Gretchen pointed at the TV and asked a question about the game, and Samuel hurried to give his input, looking quite pleased when Mark praised his answer.
Anne inhaled sharply at the sight of her neat little family enjoying life without her. They hadn’t noticed her absence nor her presence. Gretchen took pride in sassing back to her mother, but the second Mark came home, she perked right up into a sweet little girl. Samuel selectively couldn’t hear when Anne spoke directly into his ear, but when Mark whispered a question from ten miles away, Samuel rushed to answer. Anne had never felt more invisible.
A spurt of jealousy streaked through her. Why did Mark commandeer such love and attention when he didn’t deserve it? The children were oblivious to Mark’s lies. All they saw was the wonderful man, the caring, devoted father Anne thought she’d married.
With a whisper of shame, Anne reminded herself that they didn’t need to know any of it. Mark could be a bad husband and a good father all at once. That was what made the inner workings of her heart so sticky to maneuver. She didn’t love the husband he was becoming, but she still admired the father he was to their children. What did that mean for their marriage? For their family?
“Mark,” Anne said sharply, the jealousy eating away at her tone. “We don’t stick the can directly into our mouths in this house. That is how we pass around sicknesses in one continual cycle.”
Before Mark could respond, Gretchen reached for the can and tipped it upside down. She made a tower of whipped cream straight on her tongue before lazily handing the can back to her dad. Anne wasn’t sure whether Gretchen had simply perfected the art of tuning Anne out or if she’d heard her mother and staunchly ignored her.
“Gretchen!” Anne snapped. “What did I just say?”
“What?” Gretchen said, turning to face her mother with a defiant look. “Dad did it. If Dad does it, why can’t I?”
“Gretchen,” Mark began uncertainly. His eyes flicked toward Anne with a look that said he knew he should be punishing Gretchen but that he really didn’t want to follow through. “Listen to your mother.”
“Actually, listen to your father,” Anne corrected. “I’m going out tonight.”
Mark’s eyes landed more solidly on Anne, and he gave a low whistle. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you,” Anne said stiffly. “I don’t know exactly when I’ll be back, so don’t wait up.”
The words took a while to sink in. Between the ball game in the background and Anne’s red dress, Mark was clearly struggling to line up the puzzle pieces. He tilted an ear toward the TV as if listening to the game while his eyes fixed on Anne’s cleavage. In his defense, her cleavage hadn’t been visible to the public eye since sometime circa 2013.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
Anne felt weak with frustration. Her daughter didn’t listen, and neither did her husband. Samuel might as well be the cat for how much attention he paid anyone else. The twins were excused from Anne’s wrath, but they had spent the last hour entertained by a single banana toothbrush, so that wasn’t saying much.
“I said I’m going out,” Anne said calmly. “I figure since you’re home, you can put the kids to bed.”
“All of them?”
Anne merely blinked. “Unless you’d like to pick and choose your favorites.”
Mark shot to his feet. “I’m just surprised. Er, I was hoping to watch the game, and…” His eyebrows knitted together. “You didn’t say where you’re going, did you?”
“Eliza’s new company is throwing a book launch party. I think it would be good for me to get out for the night.”
Anne could see Mark racking his brain for the mention of any such party. A tiny part of Anne would normally have felt bad for misleading her husband, but she didn’t have room for an extra dollop of guilt this evening.
“Be careful with the twins. If they chew on that toothbrush too much, the bristles come off. Samuel is not allowed on the back of the chair like that. I suggest you get him down before he hits his head trying to leap off the back like Tarzan again. And Gretchen will try to tell you her new bedtime is eleven thirty. It’s not. Lights out by nine. That means books, teeth, bath, everything else.” Anne glanced at her watch. “That doesn’t leave you much time, and the twins both need a bath. Samuel will need a snack.”
“A snack?” Mark echoed, as if that were the deal breaker. “What sort of snack?”
“Not ice cream,” Anne said, “since it looks like that’s what you let them eat for dinner.”
Mark ran a sheepish hand through his hair. “I just… We kept waiting for you to come down and say dinner was ready, and then they got hungry, so I let them have a little snack.”
“It sounds like you have everything taken care of.” Anne checked her watch again. “I really should be going.”
A panicked look appeared in Mark’s eyes. “You’re really going? I thought—wasn’t I invited? Maybe we could get the babysitter to come by…”
Anne let Mark flounder for a few moments. When he petered out, she smiled.
“I’m sure you have everything under control,” she reiterated. “Don’t worry about waiting up for me. I don’t know when I’ll be home.”
“Anne—”
“I already told you,” she said calmly, leveling her gaze on Mark’s and daring him to bring up the unmentionable incident. “I am leaving, and I don’t know when I’ll be home.”
TRANSCRIPT
Prosecution: How often did you see Roman Tate while in a relationship with him?
Penny Sands: I didn’t keep track. There’s no journal with a tally or something. Why does it matter?
Prosecution: Weekly, biweekly, daily?
Penny Sands: I don’t know. I suppose a couple of times a week.
Prosecution: Where would you meet?
Penny Sands: Mostly where it all started. The Pelican Hotel.
Prosecution: Why there?
Penny Sands: Well, my apartment is a dump, and Roman was still living with his wife. I’m sure you can understand why that would’ve been awkward.