I had been married to Owen for eight years, and Valerie was the kind of mother-in-law who called her son almost every day without making it seem unusual.
Usually.
She asked about work, complained about whichever relative was irritating her, and sent pictures of things she thought Owen should repair around her house.
After Owen’s father died two years earlier, those calls became more important.
Valerie had been married to him for thirty-five years. His death seemed to drain something out of her.
She stopped traveling.
She declined invitations.
When friends suggested she meet someone new, she always shook her head.
“I already had the love of my life.”
So when Owen and I planned a week at the beach, inviting Valerie seemed obvious.
For the first couple of days, she mostly sat b
It happened at the hotel bar on our second evening.
I noticed him because Valerie was laughing.
Not politely.
Actually laughing.
Russell was sixty-five, divorced, and had two adult children.
By the time Owen and I went upstairs, they were still talking.
The next morning, Valerie appeared at breakfast wearing lipstick.
Owen stared at her.
“Why are you dressed up?”
She looked offended.
“I’m not that dressed up.”
“You’re wearing lipstick.”
“I’ve worn lipstick before.”
“Not at eight in the morning.”
