“Several.”
For a second, I couldn’t speak.
Then Grace hurried forward.
“But nothing romantic happened. I swear.”
I laughed.
It sounded horrible.
“Then explain the handprints.”
She rubbed her palms together.
“Your husband hosted neighborhood meetings here. We moved the couch away from the wall to make room for chairs.”
I stared at her.
“Neighborhood meetings?”
She nodded.
“Small gatherings. Usually five or six people.”
“In my house?”
“Lucas said you knew.”
I shook my head.
“He told us you didn’t enjoy having people over when you were home. He said you were fine with him inviting people while you were at work, as long as everything was cleaned up before you returned.”
I looked toward the doorway.
Beyond it, I could hear people laughing.
People I’d spent weeks trying to invite into my home.
“He told you that?”
Grace swallowed.
“He said tonight was different because you wanted to prove something.”
Something inside me went cold.
“What else did he say?”
She hesitated.
“Grace.”
“He said you were having trouble adjusting. That you sometimes misunderstood people.”
“What people?”
“The neighbors.”
I waited.
She looked miserable.
“He warned us not to take things personally if you seemed unfriendly.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“He told you I was unfriendly?”
“He made it sound like he was protecting you.”
I remembered every awkward conversation.
Every invitation that had gone nowhere.
Every time someone had smiled politely before finding an excuse to leave.
“Why would he do that?”
Grace shook her head.
“I didn’t understand it at first.”
“At first?”
She sat on a kitchen chair.
“When Lucas started hosting those gatherings, he talked about how difficult things had become at home.”
I stared at her.
“He said you checked up on him constantly. That you got jealous when he spoke to other women.”
My stomach twisted.
“He said you were convinced people were talking about you.”
I almost laughed again.
Because I had worried about that.
Especially lately.
“And you believed him?”
Grace nodded slowly.
“I’m ashamed to say I did.”
She explained that Lucas had first invited her over to discuss possible job opportunities.
A couple of neighbors had joined them afterward.
Then more gatherings followed.
Sometimes coffee.
Sometimes lunch.
Lucas liked bringing people together, she said.
But the conversations frequently returned to me.
Apparently, I was jealous.
Difficult to please.
And Lucas was endlessly patient.
“People felt sorry for him,” Grace admitted.
I leaned against the counter.
The kitchen suddenly felt unfamiliar.
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I started noticing things.”
She explained that whenever she met me, I was friendly.
Sometimes awkward.
Sometimes nervous.
But never the person Lucas described.
Then I’d invited her to Halloween.
“You barely knew me,” she said. “But you remembered where I worked, asked about my job, and said you hoped we could become friends.”
She looked down.
“That was when I started wondering why your husband was so determined to convince everyone you hated them.”
I closed my eyes.
Grace continued.
“Two weeks ago, I told him he needed to stop talking about you.”
“Here?”
She nodded.
“That’s why I recognized the prints. We used to pull the couch forward to make room for extra chairs. When everyone left, I helped put the room back together. Sometimes I’d squeeze behind it to straighten the curtains, bracing my hands against the wall. My hand cream must have left those marks.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I helped spread those stories. I was afraid you’d hate me.”
Before I could answer, the kitchen door opened.
Lucas.
He looked between us.
“Everything okay?”
Grace stood.
I looked at him.
“How many people have you invited into our house without telling me?”
He froze.
Then his expression hardened.
“Grace, what have you been saying?”
“The truth,” she answered.
Lucas laughed dismissively.
“She’s misunderstanding things.”
I stared at him.
“Did you tell people I didn’t want them here?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Did you tell them I was jealous?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Can we discuss this later?”
“No.”
His eyes flicked toward the living room.
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
And suddenly, I heard it.
Not concern.
A warning.
