JUST-DESERTS.COMS
teve’s old truck was parked in the garage. My stomach fluttered as I entered the lot and parked beside it, turning off the NPR story about how canning fruits and vegetables was good for the environment. The climate was changing, and the world might have been ending, but I was too chicken to ask my husband if he was cheating.
“Honey?” I juggled groceries as I opened the door into the kitchen. When he didn’t answer, I put the eggs and milk in the refrigerator and helped myself to a spoonful, okay three, of Nutella.
I was bored with life as a band widow—sitting alone at a table in a bar until one o’clock in the morning, nursing a drink, listening to the same six songs. I liked writing our songs. And his voice was sexy, beautiful. But how many times was a wife required to
