“Actually,” Linda replied, “it became my business when I spent three nights helping your wife put herself back together.”
Gary turned toward me.
“Debbie, let’s talk privately.”
“There’s nothing private left to discuss.”
He looked around the house again, searching
for something familiar.
His eyes landed on the hallway.
“Where’s my bedroom?”
I smiled.
“Your old bedroom?”
“Yes.”
I pointed toward the back of the house.
“It’s now my art studio.”
His jaw dropped.
“You turned my bedroom into an art studio?”
“Our bedroom,” I corrected. “And yes.”
He looked genuinely offended.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?”
I gestured toward his luggage.
“Your girlfriend packed everything for you, remember? I’m sure she included a pillow.”
“Debbie!”
“Gary, I have one more surprise.”
I walked to the front door and
opened it wider.
A man in a navy suit stood on the porch holding a folder.
