She’d worked only a half-day herself, come home, packed her bag—including the frothy lace teddy she’d bought to wear that night—and delivered Skippy, his leash, his food and water bowls and a ten-pound bag of kibble to her neighbor across the street. Then she’d paced, Googled the directions to Cindy’s inn in West Dennis and paced some more, waiting for Scott and wondering whether this excursion would save her marriage. At least he’d agreed to make the trip with her. Begrudgingly, resentfully, but she would not be going alone. “I’m bringing my laptop with me,” he’d warned. “I really don’t have time for this stupid trip. I’ve got too much work to do.” Fine. He could work all day if he wanted. At night, she’d don the teddy. Maybe he would finally notice that there was thirty-four pounds less of her than there had been two years ago. Maybe he’d take one look at her in that skimpy little garment and forget about all the work he had to do. Maybe he’d remember why he’d fallen in love with her.
