Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
“He is always happy to help,” I said.
“He is a good man, Laura,” she said, looking down at her soup. “You are lucky to have someone so dependable.”
I did not answer, but the silence did not seem to trouble her.
By half past two, the rain had stopped, leaving the asphalt on Westlake Avenue slick and reflective. We walked toward the parking lot, our coats buttoned against the October wind that swept off the water.
Monica stopped in front of a boutique window displaying hand-painted floral wallpaper. “That is the exact pattern I wanted for the accent wall. It is eighty dollars a roll, which is just a bit out of reach right now.”
She turned to me, her fingers touching her collarbone again. “Laura, would you mind terribly if we ran this through your account? Just as a loan until the estate settles.”
I looked at the delicate paper in the window, then back at her face. “How much do you need?”
“Four hundred dollars would cover the paper and the adhesive,” she said, her eyes wide and hopeful.
“I will have to check the joint ledger tonight,” I said.
