The Best of Us Read Online Free

renovation along with a move. It all boiled down to maintenance, Savannah had learned. Forget houses with character and potential and quirky charm—people were too busy these days to act on a romantic fantasy of buying a fixer-upper. They wanted something pretty and pleasing, with no major flaws.
    “Honey, we’ve got that other place to look at,” the wife said.
    “Would you like to leave your e-mail address so I can keep you apprised of new homes that come on the market?” Savannah offered.
    “That’s okay,” the wife said, and ten seconds later, they were gone.
    Savannah closed the door behind them and leaned back against it, rolling her head in circles to get the kinks out of her neck as she kicked off her three-inch heels. She’d woken up too early this morning, again. She’d known it the instant she saw the weak gray light seeping in around the edges of the window blinds, and the anxiety that gripped her had immediately chased away the possibility of falling back asleep.
    For the first thirty-five years of her life, she’d been a world-class sleeper. Nine, ten—even eleven a.m. on the weekends was her routine. On the rare occasions when she did wake early, she’d roll over and spoon against her husband, Gary’s back, soaking in his warmth, until she dozed again.
    But for the past two months, their queen-size bed had seemed too big, and the sheets were always cold against her skin.
    At some point Savannah would come face-to-face with her husband again to sign divorce papers. Gary had indicated he wouldn’t balk at a fair division of their assets, which surprised her, given how few scruples he’d shown recently. But apparently the selective memory that had caused him to forget the fact that he wore a wedding ring had kicked back in, because he hadn’t objected when Savannah’s lawyer demanded compensation for the years Savannah had spent supporting Gary. She’d been so proud when he could officially add the initials “M.D.” after his name, feeling as though it was their shared triumph. How ironic that an anesthesiologist had caused her the most pain she’d ever felt in her entire life.
    But at least she’d be able to keep their pretty home, with its wide front porch and soaking bathtub and kitchen skylights on an eighth-acre of land in Charlotte, North Carolina. Gary would pay monthly alimony that would cover half the mortgage payment plus a thousand for expenses, just as he’d been doing ever since he’d cleared out his closet, packed up the expensive electronics, and taken the barbells he almost never used. She thought of those thousand-dollar checks as her screw-you money. She never spent them on car repairs or the electricity bill. Instead, she treated herself to massages and yoga classes, lacy push-up bras and pedicures, and an injection of Botox for the frown lines that had deepened since she stumbled across those messages on Gary’s BlackBerry.
    So she tore through his money, watching her hair become glossier, her clothes nicer, her body fitter. It didn’t help as much as she’d thought it would. Still, Savannah knew she’d never looked better. She’d always been striking, with her hourglass shape and long, wavy hair with streaks of red and gold, and thesort of full lips most women had to purchase from plastic surgeons. But she’d lost ten pounds after the separation—adultery accomplishing what the Atkins diet and regular kickboxing sessions couldn’t—and now her stomach was almost completely flat, and her already strong jawline seemed more pronounced.
    Savannah walked into the living room and flopped down on a couch—upholstered in a client-repelling old-lady floral, of course—and pulled her laptop out of her shoulder bag. She’d kill time until the doorbell rang again by buying flannel sheets online, then she needed to book an eyebrow and bikini-line waxing.
    She also had to make a decision about Dwight’s invitation. Dwight, she thought, as a smile played on her lips. He