Read Online His Other Wife by Deborah Bradford - Free Book Online Page A

chairs. Above them, in the stands, the benches were filling. Thank heavens they’d reserved seats
     on the grass for family, Hilary thought. Every time her mother came to visit, it was harder for her to get around.
    Pam walked ahead of them, wearing a dress Hilary envied, a brilliant navy Dior with a white belt that made her waist look
     about as big around as a twig. Ben and Lily skipped ahead of their mother, sidling into one chair after another, glancing
     back at Pam for her approval.
    “No,” she kept calling to them. “A little farther. We want to be close to the podium.”
    Eric strode along in front of them, too, although he was lagging behind Pam. The folds in his suit changed color in the light,
     from brown to gray then brown again. He walked with his hand shoved inside one pocket, which wrinkled his sleeve, revealed
     his gold watch on his wrist, hefted the hem of his jacket. The whole effect made him appear altogether too relaxed and amiable.
     But Hilary knew better. He was as uncomfortable as the rest of them.
    She saw him wanting to hurry, wanting to catch up with Pam, but he was slowing down to keep tabs on Hilary’s mother and his
     own parents, George and Ruth. “That’s okay, Eric,” Ruth called to him. “Save us seats. We’ll get there. We’re right behind
     you.”
    Hilary watched Eric’s steps shorten. The next thing she knew, he was offering his elbow to her mother. Hilary knew her mother
     had missed Eric. Alva had always loved and relied on him, ever since the day Hilary brought him around so Alva could meet
     him. She had told Hilary she thought he looked like Harrison Ford. Since he ate the entire bowl of Alva’s banana pudding,
     the one with the recipe on the vanilla wafers box, in one sitting that day, Hilary’s mother had nothing but praise. Eric
     and Alva walked along in front of Hilary with their heads together, and her mother stood a little straighter and moved a little
     faster now that Eric was at her side. His lips were lowered to her ear. He told her something that made her pat his arm.
    So much for me , Hilary was thinking. So much for loyalty.
    Pam and the kids were waving at George and Ruth from way up the aisle. At last they’d found a row of seats that were acceptable.
     When the rest of them finally got there, Eric allowed Alva to enter the row first, which seated her beside Pam and the children,
     himself beside Hilary, and George and Ruth Wynn on Hilary’s other side. Pam didn’t like the arrangement, Hilary could tell.
     She kept glancing in their direction. Hilary thought about suggesting that Eric trade places with her mother, but she didn’t.
     She wasn’t sure whether she let it go because it would take so much effort for her mother to rearrange herself or because
     she was feeling spiteful. Hilary didn’t have time to analyze her motivations, though, because in that instant she was surrounded
     by friends and other families from the high school. Gina adjusted the zoom on her camera. Kim hung her purse on the back of
     a chair and sat beside her husband.
    Each hug that came Hilary’s way was accompanied by knowing smiles, melancholy glances. Seth’s third-grade teacher asked about
     his plans for the future and Hilary listed them with pride: the substantial scholarship to Emhurst, the liberal-arts college
     in Springfield, and a writing class he’d enrolled in.
    “Where has the time gone?” the teacher asked as she shook her head.
    Some in this group had known Hilary long enough to recognize Eric. Others hadn’t. Hilary was caught in an endless round of
     introductions: “These are Seth’s grandparents. This is Seth’s father, Eric…his wife, Pam…their children,” Hilary said, and
     pointed toward the kids, and they replied, “Nice to meet you. Nice to meet you,” under the scrutinizing eye of their mother.
     “Eric. Pam. Kids. This is Julie.” Or “Donna” or “Fay” or “Kim.” Others crossed the aisle, too, the MacCleods and