Second Wife

Chapter 5 — Beth

Anna found her at the Cedar Hollow Kroger on a Friday afternoon, in the dairy aisle, comparing two cartons of eggs like the fate of the world depended on it.

It had taken Anna four days of driving to Cedar Hollow — four days of parking near Birchwood Lane, of learning Beth Marlow’s routines the way you’d study for an exam — to engineer this “accident.” Beth did her grocery shopping on Fridays at four. She always started in produce. She always ended in dairy. Anna had the whole choreography memorized.

What she didn’t have memorized was what Beth would look like up close. In the park photos, she’d been a green coat and a laugh. Here, under the fluorescent lights, she was smaller than Anna expected — thirty-six, maybe, with ash-blond hair pulled into a messy bun, flour on her sleeve, and tired eyes that still managed to look kind.

She was beautiful in the way of women who don’t know they’re beautiful. Anna hated her instantly. Then hated herself for hating her.

Anna’s cart “drifted” into Beth’s. The collision was gentle, practiced.

“Oh! I’m so sorry — ” Anna began.

“No, no, my fault entirely.” Beth smiled, and her whole face changed. “I was having a deeply philosophical moment about free-range versus organic.”

Anna laughed before she could stop herself. “I have the same crisis every week. I’ve started just grabbing whichever one’s on sale and calling it a lifestyle choice.”

“That’s the spirit.” Beth held up the organic carton. “My daughter claims she can taste the difference. She’s six. She’s lying.”

“Mine’s sixteen and claims she can’t taste anything that isn’t from a drive-through,” Anna said, and it was true, and it was the strangest thing in the world — standing in a strange town’s grocery store, making small talk with the woman who was sleeping with her husband, and it felt *normal*.

They drifted down the aisle together. Beth’s cart held the groceries of a real family — gallon of milk, a family pack of chicken thighs, two boxes of cereal, a bag of apples, goldfish crackers. Anna found herself cataloging it all, building a picture of the life at 14 Birchwood Lane from its shopping list.

“Are you new in town?” Beth asked, reaching for the milk. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

“Just visiting my sister,” Anna said smoothly. The lie came out so easily it frightened her. “She lives over on Elm. I’m Anna, by the way.”

“Beth.” Beth shifted her basket to shake Anna’s hand. “Beth Marlow.”

Anna’s heart slammed against her ribs. Hearing the name out loud — the name from the property records, the name on the guest review — made it real in a way the photos hadn’t. This was her. This was the other wife. This woman’s hand was warm and her smile was genuine and she had flour on her sleeve from baking something for the children who had Craig’s nose.

“Nice to meet you, Beth,” Anna said, and her voice didn’t shake. She was proud of that.

They talked for ten more minutes — about the schools, about the new coffee shop on Main, about the Harvest Festival coming up in October. Beth was easy to talk to. That was the terrible part. She asked about Anna’s “sister,” laughed at Anna’s jokes, recommended the bakery on Fifth Street (“the sourdough will change your life”).

“Do you work around here?” Beth asked as they reached the checkout lanes.

“Library,” Anna said. Another easy lie. “Part-time. You?”

“Oh, I do bookkeeping from home. Numbers don’t care where you sit, you know?” Beth grinned. “Two kids, so it’s the only way I stay sane. Maya’s six, Eli’s nine — they’re at that age where if I’m not home by three, the house becomes a crime scene.”

Maya. Eli. Anna filed the names away like evidence bags.

“And your husband?” Anna asked, casual as anything. “What does he do?”

Something flickered across Beth’s face — so fast Anna almost missed it. A shadow. A tightening around the eyes.

“He’s in sales,” Beth said. “Travels constantly. Gone more than he’s home, honestly. It’s — ” She laughed, a little too brightly. “It’s the life we signed up for, right?”

*We.* The word landed like a stone in still water.

“Right,” Anna said softly.

They checked out in adjacent lanes. At the doors, Beth hesitated, shifting her grocery bags.

“Hey — this might be forward, but would you want to grab coffee sometime? I don’t get out much, and you seem — ” She smiled, a little shy. “It’s nice to meet someone who gets the whole traveling-husband thing.”

Anna’s pulse roared in her ears. This was more than she’d hoped for. An invitation. A door opening.

“I’d love that,” she said.

“Great! How about Tuesday? The coffee shop on Main — Daily Grind, ten o’clock?”

“Perfect.”

Beth waved and headed for the parking lot, toward a silver SUV that Anna now knew by heart. Anna watched her load the groceries, watched her check her phone and smile at something on the screen — a text, probably. From him. From Craig.

Anna stood in the Kroger doorway until the SUV pulled away. Then she walked to her own car on legs that didn’t feel like hers, sat down, and let out a long, shaking breath.

She’d done it. She’d met her. She’d stood three feet from the other wife, shaken her hand, laughed at her jokes — and Beth had no idea. Beth had invited her for coffee like she was just a friendly neighbor.

Anna started the car. Her hands were steady now. The cold, clear feeling from the drive home on Tuesday was back, settling over her like armor.

She pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Route 48, toward Fairview, toward the house on Sycamore Lane where her husband would be home Sunday night with his suitcase and his easy smile and his lies.

Tuesday, ten o’clock. Coffee with Beth Marlow.

Anna smiled at the road ahead — the first real smile in days.

“See you soon, Beth,” she whispered.