Молли Харпер - And One Last Thing...

Mr. Borchard shook his head, all innocence. “Not from me. I meant, if you treat her right, she won’t send an e-mail to all and sundry, calling you everything but a nice Christian boy. You’ve got your hands full, I’d say.” My eyes must have looked like saucers, because Mr. Borchard winked at me again and said, “The missus just got a copy from one of the gals in her quilting group. We laughed our heads off. Always knew you had your granny’s backbone.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think.”

“Well, I better get going,” he said. “I promised the missus a corn dog. Don’t want her getting cranky with me.”

“Tell her I said hello,” I said. “See you around, Mr. Borchard.”

“I’ll call you next week. We’ll talk about those improvements.”

“I will.”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Monroe said, turning on me the minute Mr. Borchard was out of earshot.

“You’re right, I should have told you a long time ago. I hope one day to have a relationship based on foods on a stick, just like the Borchards.”

Monroe quirked his lips. “Were you going to tell me you were thinking about staying?”

“I haven’t made any definite decisions,” I told him. “I want to be prepared, just in case. It’s not a big deal.”

“For you, maybe, but what happens to me when my winter girlfriend shows up?”

“Nice,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Is this the sort of charm that drew her to you like a moth to a flame?”

“No, I think it’s my resemblance to Hugh Jackman.”

I gave him my patented confused look.

“You talk in your sleep sometimes,” he said, shrugging.

“Sonofa -”

“Oh, it’s adorable. And you say some other very interesting and dirty things. Where do you think I get half my ideas?”

“Well, this is weird,” I muttered.

“No, this is us out in the world,” he said. “Plagues and pestilence have yet to pour forth from the sky. I haven’t forgotten your name or turned into a toad. We have managed to have a real date out in public.”

“This is not a date,” I told him. When his brow furrowed,

I quickly said, “I’m wearing a baseball cap. I’m eating from a brown paper bag.”

He grinned. “You’re right. It won’t be a date until we have funnel cake.”

“No, it won’t be a date until you demonstrate your manliness by winning me something plush and inanimate through ring-toss ability.”

“Well, let’s go make it a date, then,” he said, slipping his arm around my waist and leading me to the games.

“I have news for you,” I told him. “You just became the girl in this relationship.”

Mike’s lawyer, Bill Bodine, finally ran out of legal reasons for not showing Samantha the credit card records she’d demanded. I did not want to know what sort of unholy power she’d called upon to obtain these records. I was just glad she was on my side.

“Do you really want to see this?” Samantha asked, sliding the manila envelope across the desk. “This can prove upsetting for a lot of people.”

“I can handle it,” I promised, taking a seat on her couch.

“Well, just in case…” she paused and reached into a mini-fridge and pulled out a pint of Häagen-Dazs and an airline-size bottle of vodka. “Pick your poison.”

At the sight of my raised eyebrows, she said, “This is not my first rodeo.”

I refused the liquor and the ice cream, instead ripping open the envelope to survey the neatly typed pages.

True to Sam’s estimation, there were several charges to Leo Goote’s jewelry store. No wonder Leo had seemed sorry for me. He knew exactly how much Mike had spent on his mistress. Mike had bought a tennis bracelet, a gold locket, and several crystal figurines, none of which I received.

“Sadly, one of these charges is for me,” I told her, taking a little red pen and crossing it off the list. “Mike had my engagement ring cleaned and inspected six months ago, for insurance purposes. But everything else, he bought for Beebee. In fact, I’m pretty sure I admired that locket when I stopped in at the office a few months ago. She said it was a gift and I said she was lucky to have someone who was so thoughtful”

“Ow,” Samantha said, wincing.

I sighed. “I think I’ll take that ice cream now.”

Samantha put a spoon in my outstretched hand and served the ice cream with a flourish. She took out a pint of coffee ice cream for herself, kicked off her rather stylish tan heels, and joined me on the couch. She put her feet up on the coffee table, dug her spoon into the ice cream and stayed silent as I read over the charges.

Being anesthetized by mocha chip didn’t quite dull the shock of seeing thirty pages of itemized adultery expenses. Beebee was definitely a high-maintenance girlfriend. There were, of course, several charges to Cherry’s floral shop, at least once a month for the last year. There were receipts to restaurants outside of town on nights when Mike was supposedly attending Lions Club meetings. Some of the places Mike hadn’t even taken me, but all of them were romantic, out-of-the way restaurants where people went on special occasions.

“I had no idea he was spending this much,” I said, shaking my head.

“Well, having an affair is expensive,” Samantha said. “Generally, you’re trying to impress your girlfriend. You’re insecure about your ability to hold on to a younger woman -”

“Watch it,” I warned.

Samantha grinned cheekily, dishing up more ice cream. “You wine her, you dine her. You buy her special little presents for no reason You end up treating her better than you’re treating your spouse. And you feel guilty, so you end up throwing a little money your spouse’s way, too.”

“Not really, I mean, Mike gave me flowers once a couple of months back, but - oh, crap.” For Valentine’s Day, Mike had given me a silver bracelet with a monogrammed heart charm, a rare departure from his usual “practical gift” MO. I checked the page listing February expenses and saw that Mike had purchased two of them from Leo Goote. So basically, he purchased something nice for Beebee for Valentine’s Day and threw me a bone by doubling the order. “I think I’m going to need the vodka, too, Sam.”

“I told you, this part can be upsetting,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, make with the liquor, woman.”

“I see those lovely manners diminish proportionate to the amount of sugar you consume.”

“Oh, look, he took her on a tour of the Missouri wine country,” I said, tilting my head as I held up the April page. “He told me he was going to a tax seminar in Nashville.”

“I wasn’t aware Missouri has a wine country”

“Well, it does, and it’s home to the Dew Drop Inn, which I’m guessing is some sort of bed-and-breakfast.”

Samantha wrinkled her nose. “Gag. Some people have no sense of irony.”

“Or decency.” I muttered. “Seriously, hasn’t he ever heard of using cash?”

“Well, you can’t get the frequent-flier miles that way,” she said. When my eyes went wide, she shrugged. “I’ve been at this awhile. I’ve heard every possible rationalization you could think of.”

I tried and failed to tamp down the now-familiar little flashes of anger and embarrassment. Why was I mad? I knew that he’d taken her out, bought her things, sent her flowers. Why was I so pissed off now that I knew exactly what he’d bought her?

Samantha cracked open the vodka and poured a shot into each of our cartons. When I made a face, she told me, “Think of it as a flavored White Russian.”

“Speaking of rationalizations,” I muttered.