Page 29 of The Social Affair (New Hope 1)

“What kind of files?”

She twists her fork around in her salad. It looks like she’s picking at a wound, seeing how much she can make it bleed. “You know, the usual,” she says, and she places the fork on the table. I look on as she takes her straw between her fingertips. She dips it further into her water and then slowly pulls it out. She stabs at her lemon. I want to take the glass and hurl the water at her. I see it in slow motion. She smiles. “Just a reinforcement of the rules. Excellence training. That sort of thing.”

Excellence training. This is what Beth calls hours and hours of recorded audio of her voice. “Okay,” I say finally. “Is that it?”

“Well, there is one more thing…”

“What’s that?”

I watch as she reaches into her purse and fishes something out. She places the bottle on the table like it’s nothing.

“I don’t need medication, Beth.”

“It’s just a little something to help you get back on track.”

“I’m fine.”

“Take the pills, Jos. You’ll feel better.”

I take the bottle and toss it into my bag.

“Oh,” she says. “And I can’t wait to meet this friend of yours. I’m sure she’s going to fit right in.”

I smile, but the way she says it I can tell, she’s being condescending. We both remember the last person I recruited, and that one didn’t turn out so well.

I’m surprised to find Grant’s car in the drive when I arrive home. He’s never home in the middle of the day. I wonder if Beth put him up to this. I wonder if they’ve already spoken about lunch. My breath catches for a moment. Maybe I wasn’t as convincing as I thought. I turn off the ignition and stare at the garage door. I’m being silly. I know how much my husband’s time is worth. I know how busy his schedule is. If he’s home, it’s not because of something I said over lunch.

When I enter the house, I see the spread on the table, and I realize I’m right. I know why he’s here. He knows I lied.

He has a meal for two laid out on the table when surely he’s aware I’ve already eaten. He’s in the kitchen. I can hear the water running. I get the urge to turn and tiptoe out the front door.

“Oh good,” I hear him call out before I can force myself to make a move. “You’re here.”

“What are you doing home?” I ask, careful of my tone.

He dries his hands on a dishtowel and then meets my eye. “I wanted to bring you lunch.”

I furrow my brow. I tell myself I won’t give into him that easily. “But you knew I was meeting with Beth. Doctor’s orders, remember?”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say. “So what. It’s a gift, Josie,” he tells me motioning toward the dining room. “Sit.”

“Grant, I’m not hungry.”

“You will eat with me,” he says matter of factly.

“I’ve just eaten with Beth.”

“So—all of a sudden you care about moderation? I don’t get you. Why start now?”

“Grant—I can explain.”

He shakes his head. “You heard me,” he points

at the table. “I want to see you eat both mine and yours.”

“I can’t eat all that,” I say incredulously.

I should have stopped there. I should have quit while I was ahead. Never be disagreeable. I should have picked up the sandwich and taken a bite, apologized. Diffuse the situation. Make your husband feel at ease in his home. This is your job.

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