The conference.
The suitcase he’d insisted on carrying.
The scarf.
The way his phone had buzzed, and he’d flipped it face-down as though he didn’t want me to see it.
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“Oh my God,” I whispered.
I don’t remember choosing to move.
“Oh my God.”
I was already halfway down the stairs, grabbing my robe off the banister and shoving my feet into the closest shoes I could find, which turned out to be Carter’s giant garden clogs.
I looked ridiculous. I didn’t care.
I hit the back door at full speed and threw it open so hard that it bounced against the siding.
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“Carter, what the hell are you doing?!”
Both of them froze.
I looked ridiculous.
The woman lurched back. Her shoulder caught the shovel against the tree, and it fell.
Carter dropped his end of the suitcase into the hole with a heavy, muffled thud.
My husband slowly turned toward me, and even from 20 feet away, in that gray predawn light, I could see his face lose every drop of color.
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“Nala,” he said.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t you dare ‘Nala’ me. Who is she?!”
The woman lurched back.
The hooded woman had her back to me. Her shoulders were shaking.
“Baby, please, let’s go inside,” Carter said. He held one hand out toward me. “Let’s talk calmly.”
“Talk calmly about what?! That you’ve been having an affair with some woman, and now she’s helping you bury the evidence in our yard at five in the morning?!”
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“It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, that’s original!”
Her shoulders were shaking.
“Nala, I swear…”
“Turn around,” I said to the woman. My voice came out lower and harder than I expected.
She didn’t move.
“Turn around. Right now!”
Carter stepped between us, palms up, as though he were calming a spooked animal.
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“Please,” my husband said. “Before you see her face, just please sit down. Let me talk. It’s not what you think. I promise on Noah.”
“Turn around.”
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