Don't Ask My Neighbor Read Online Free Page A

her back toward me. I could only stare. Anything I wanted to say seemed trapped in the middle of my throat. The thought of my husband and my best friend sent a piercing pain through my body. It grabbed at my heart with an unyielding force. It wrapped tightly around my waist and refused to give into my silent cries. Samantha turned on the balls of her feet as if she had just reached the end of a runway.
    “If I were you, I wouldn’t wait up. It’ll be late before he returns…if he returns.”
    I felt the burn of a single tear rolling down my face. I ignored it, allowing it to fall where it damn well pleased.  Samantha turned and opened the door.
    “Oh, where are my manners?” she asked, smiling.
    She turned only her head, looking at me over her right shoulder.
    “The wine was excellent. Too bad…Gage would have loved it.”
    She slammed the door to punctuate her compliment.
    I fell back in one of the cherry antique dining room chairs. I sat in a daze, with thoughts swirling around in my head like the wind gusts from a category two hurricane. Three hours later, I was still sitting in the same place where Samantha left me. Tears fell at their will as vignettes of her exposé repeated in my mind. I tried as best I could to maintain composure, but after the shock wore off, hurt slowly crept in. I was alone with my thoughts and my fears until I heard Gage turning the key in the lock. I sat in a darkness that mirrored the feelings that overwhelmed my insides. He closed the door behind him and stood, looking in the direction of my silhouette. I was sure Samantha had already apprised him of our conversation. I remained seated, hesitant to even glance in the direction of the perpetrator who had initiated the sudden, unplanned despondency that covered my entire body.
    “I’m sorry, Kenna,” he said in a dispassionate tone.
    He might as well had told me to “keep icing it, the swelling will go down,” since he sounded as if he were apologizing for a bruised finger, and not the break he caused in my heart. After he spoke, he stood, soundless again, as if waiting for me to acknowledge his hard-hearted apology. I was surprised that he had so willingly admitted his wrongdoing. Usually he would dance around a confession as if even the thought of having to say “I’m sorry” sent unparalleled chills up and down his spine. I’ve seen Gage in action before, but I never thought that scene would ever play out between my husband and me. He waited for a breach in silence, and as if I had taken too long to receive his version of an apology, he turned and moved toward the stairs.
    “I guess you want me to think that’s the best imitation of an apology you can come up with? Come on, Gage. You’re a smart man. Try to sound as if you really mean it.”
    I kept my stare frontward.
    He paused in his ascent. He stood in a hush with both hands in his pockets. He hesitated before turning and walking back down the three steps he had taken. He walked in calm, as if he had already prepared himself for this moment, and Samantha had been my stand-in.
    “I’m curious. Did you, at least, enjoy our anniversary?”
    “I wanted to tell you,” he said, walking toward me. “But I was waiting for the right moment.”
    “If you could imagine the things that are going through my head, I would play it safe and stop where you are.”
    I was surprised when he heeded my warning. I wasn’t too familiar with crazy, but I was ready to put on an Oscar-worthy performance of insanity if I needed to. He obviously didn’t know what was best for him. If he had, he would have done just what Samantha suggested and not show his fa ce in my house. But I knew Gage. He’d already plotted out my reaction in his head. He already wrote my script, and expected me to follow it to a tee.
    “You were waiting for the right moment to tell me you were sleeping with my best friend.” I continued. “And exactly how long has this been going on?”
    I slid the empty wine