The Men I Didn't Marry Read Free Page B

purple legal pads and reverted to standard yellow.
    “What have you got in there?” I ask.
    “A Judith Lieber minaudière to make you feel better,” she says proudly, pulling out a glittery jewel-encrusted pocketbook in the shape of a frog. “Anybody can comfort you with apple pie or Valium.”
    I take it from her, pleased. “This is really for me?”
    “Well, it’s on loan,” she says. “Nine thousand dollars retail. But keep it as long as you want. It’s insured.”
    “Last time you lent me an evening purse I wore it to go to a formal dinner dance at the Plaza with Bill,” I say, tears springing to my eyes.
    She snatches back the gift. “Whoops, my mistake. Sorry, sweetie. I came over to cheer you up, not make you think about the creep.” She rifles through a second bag. “Here. Try these. Chanel sunglasses. I love the shape and Coco’s an inspiration to single women everywhere. Her lover dumped her—and she went on to create her zillion-dollar company.”
    I slip on the oversize tortoiseshell frames.
    “Perfect,” I say. “I don’t know if they’ll help me build an empire, but at least they’ll hide my puffy eyes.”
    Bellini comes over and puts her arms around me. “No more crying,” she says, taking a wisp of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. “You’re perfect. This isn’t your fault.”
    “Of course it’s my fault,” I say. “I’ve been replaying every second of our marriage again and again and again. Did I pay too much attention to Bill—or not enough? Did I plan too many evenings out, or too many at home? Did he hate my new perfume?”
    “None of the above,” says Bellini sympathetically. “You’re a great wife.”
    “Then why did Bill turn out to be such a rat?”
    “Not a rat, a vole. And, unfortunately, the wrong kind of vole,” Bellini says firmly. “I read about it in
The New York Times
. Prairie voles are dependable mates. But if researchers tinker with just one gene, they become promiscuous—like meadow voles.”
    “So I got the guy whose genes gave him blue eyes and an eye for Ashlee?”
    “Something like that. This is where we should be spending our research dollars. If scientists can genetically engineer voles and fruit flies, how hard could it be to change a man?”
    “Very,” I say dispiritedly.
    Bellini sighs. “You’re right. I guess all you can do now is go out and look for a prairie vole.” Then she gives me a once-over, taking in my Nikes and shorts and thrown-together hiking gear. “From the looks of it, that’s what you were planning before I even came in.”
    “A hike,” I tell her. “Emily thought it would be a good idea. Get my blood pumping and get me out of the house.”
    “Smart girl that Emily. I came over to drag you out of the house, too.” Then she pauses and grits her teeth. “You know I’d do anything for you. Anything. Do you want me to come with you on the hike?”
    I’m genuinely touched. Coming from Bellini, an offer to go into the great outdoors for anything but a clambake in the Hamptons is friendship beyond the call.
    “Your Manolos won’t make it up the mountain. But I love you for asking. And for coming over.” I give her a kiss on the cheek, and then it occurs to me. “By the way, how did you get inside the house?”
    Bellini grins. “You’d already told me not to come over and I knew you’d disconnected the bell. But I had to make sure you were okay, so I found your key inside the second black umbrella hanging from the metal coatrack on the left side of the mudroom.” She winks at me. “Easy enough. That’s where everybody hides one.”
    Encouraged by Bellini’s visit, I realize that I do know where I’m going after all. At least for this afternoon. I remember that Bill used to take the kids on day hikes, and the name of their favorite spot pops into my head. I type it into the GPS in my car. An hour later, I’m at the appealing little town of Cold Spring, which is packed with cute stores selling