<\/p>\n
Excerpted from chapter 22 of THE HUNTING WIVES<\/strong><\/a> by May Cobb<\/strong><\/a>, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright \u00a9 2021 by May Cobb.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n 22<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n T<\/span><\/span><\/span>H<\/span><\/span><\/span>E<\/span><\/span><\/span> CHURCH IS <\/span><\/span><\/span>f<\/span><\/span>r<\/span><\/span>ee<\/span><\/span>z<\/span><\/span>i<\/span><\/span>n<\/span><\/span>g<\/span><\/span> a<\/span><\/span>f<\/span><\/span>t<\/span><\/span>e<\/span><\/span>r<\/span><\/span> t<\/span><\/span>h<\/span><\/span>e<\/span><\/span> b<\/span><\/span>l<\/span><\/span>a<\/span><\/span>s<\/span><\/span>t<\/span><\/span> o<\/span><\/span>f<\/span><\/span> s<\/span><\/span>u<\/span><\/span>n<\/span><\/span> a<\/span><\/span>t<\/span><\/span> t<\/span><\/span>h<\/span><\/span>e<\/span><\/span> l<\/span><\/span>a<\/span><\/span>k<\/span><\/span>e<\/span><\/span>.<\/span><\/span> I<\/span><\/span> w<\/span><\/span>r<\/span><\/span>e<\/span><\/span>n<\/span><\/span>c<\/span><\/span>h<\/span><\/span> m<\/span><\/span>y <\/span><\/span>cover-up<\/span><\/span> around me and pad down the hallway, my flip-flops slapping the li<\/span><\/span>noleum floors as I make my way to Jack\u2019s classroom.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n It\u2019s<\/span><\/span> not a second past two thirty but he\u2019s the last one here, and Ms. Marcie, his sweet but overly zealous Christian teacher, is antsy. She\u2019s coating the surface of a little round table with a mist of Lysol and wiping it clean in agitated circles with a wad of paper towels.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Ugh. I\u2019m becoming my mother. Something I promised myself I\u2019d never do to Jack. Nikki arriving perpetually late to collect me from school, her waist-length hair shaggy and wild, excuses to the teacher spewing from her coral-lipsticked mouth. I can remember my face reddening when Nikki would interact with the other adults in my childhood sphere, and that peculiar, twisty feeling of being embarrassed for her.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n I keep my distance. I don\u2019t want Ms. Marcie to smell the booze or sin on me.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Jack clocks me, drops a gnawed-on book to the floor, and toddles over,<\/span><\/span> leaping<\/span> into<\/span> my<\/span> arms. Hugging him tightly, I ask Ms. Marcie over his shoulder, \u201cHow was his day?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cFine! He got really into painting today. With a brush, not just finger painting. And he ate all of his lunch! No nap, though, just so you\u2019re warned.\u201d She smiles and returns to the can of Lysol.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n I sling his backpack over my shoulder and we head for the car. After I\u2019ve buckled him in his seat, my phone dings.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Graham: <\/span><\/span><\/span>I\u2019m picking up Pizza King tonight! And also, a surprise!<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n My <\/span><\/span>face slouches into a frown; my shoulders sag with guilt. I am a truly terrible person. I feel sunstroked and icky. How could I have done that to him? And, also, I completely abandoned making the chicken potpie, which makes me feel even worse about myself. If that\u2019s possible.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n I text him back:<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sounds delicious!<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n I look in the rearview and Jack\u2019s eyes are sealed shut, his cherub mouth slung open with the tip of his tongue hanging out.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n I drive around the wooded neighborhood near the church for a few minutes, cruising slowly through the wide streets, so Jack can have a full nap before heading home.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n AS I\u2019M WAITING <\/span><\/span><\/span>for our garage door to trundle open, I check my cell. There is a text from Margot.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Margot: <\/span><\/span><\/span>I swear I didn\u2019t know they were coming out! Please don\u2019t be mad!<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n I\u2019m not sure I believe her. My hand is still slimed with sunblock and I <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span>clutch the phone, trying to figure out how to respond. I begin typing but see that she\u2019s working on a fresh text.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Margot: <\/span><\/span><\/span>But it looks like you were having fun anyway. <\/span><\/span><\/span>\ud83d\ude09<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n My neck burns with shame. She continues typing.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Margot: <\/span><\/span><\/span>See you Friday? <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Me: <\/span><\/span><\/span>