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It’s like fate or providence or maybe just good luck. Come on, Elizabeth. We girls need to stick together.”
    And so I find myself sitting in a darkened bar tucked off in the corner of the lodge as I listen to Suzette confessing about how she “literally stole” her husband from his first wife and how the exact same thing is happening to her today. “Just like karma,” she says finally.
    I shrug. “They say what goes around comes around.”
    “That’s what scares me …” She sighs and shakes her head. “But, seriously, do you have any idea how it feels to discover that the man you love with all your heart is cheating on you?” She polishes off her martini.
    I nod and take another obligatory sip of the red wine she purchased for me after she assured me it would do me good.
    “You do?” She looks incredulous now and almost happy. “Youreally do, Elizabeth? Tell me the truth, is your handsome husband having an affair too?”
    I sigh and consider her question. Is he? I wonder.
Is he?
Then I shrug again. “Maybe … Who knows?”
    “Tell me everything.”
    Everything? Like the way he got down on one knee to propose to me in college? Or the way he cried when our first son was born? Or the way he used to bring me flowers for no special reason? Or the way he promised that he would love me forever, for better or for worse? I feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
    “What do you mean by
everything?
” I finally say as she waves the waiter over to refill our drinks.
    “I mean how did you find out?” she says with what feels like far too much interest. “When did you first suspect he was having an affair? What did you say to him?”
    I hold up my hand to stop the flow of questions. “The truth is, I don’t really know anything for certain. I just have this feeling.”
    “But where there’s smoke, there’s fire, right?”
    “Maybe …”
    “Come on, Elizabeth. I told you my story. It’s your turn now.”
    So I begin. And perhaps the truth is that I’m relieved to actually say it out loud, to get these doubts I’ve hidden into the open. Is it a mistake to tell someone like Suzette? Who can be sure? Perhaps it doesn’t matter, since the truth always comes out in the end anyway.
    “There’s a young woman who moved into our neighborhoodabout a year ago. Delia Underwood. Very pretty and friendly. She bought a house down the street with the settlement she received from a bad divorce. I heard the husband was abusive. Anyway, we’ve been friendly to her, and I’ve even watched her cat when she’s been gone.”
    “And?” Suzette looks hungry for something more.
    “Well, Delia took up running as a form of therapy. And not long after that, Phil took up running too.”
    “Aha,” says Suzette in a tone I find slightly offensive.
    “But Phil
used
to run,” I say quickly. “He did cross-country in high school and college. And he ran for exercise for years. He’d just gotten out of the habit the past ten years or so. But in January he decided to take it up again.”
    “In the middle of winter?”
    I sigh. “He was worried that he’d put on weight during the holidays.”
    “Who doesn’t?”
    “Right. Anyway, I didn’t think a thing of it. But then he started getting more into it …” I pause to take a sip of wine. “And he started buying new running clothes and shoes and things, like he was getting really serious, you know? Sometimes I catch him looking at himself in the mirror, sort of like he’s admiring his improved physique. You know what I mean?”
    Suzette nods as if she really does, and maybe it’s the wine or the day or the mountain air, but like an idiot I just keep on talking, going on and on until I am almost completely convinced thatmy suspicions are right—that my husband is indeed having an affair with the beautiful young woman who lives down the street.
    “And why wouldn’t he be attracted to her?” I say in conclusion. “She’s young and gorgeous, and I’ve seen them