When Never Comes

by Barbara Davis

“You knew, didn’t you? Maybe not her name, but you knew there was someone.” Another sigh, this one weightier than the last. “I wasn’t sure, but I suspected. He’d let a few things slip now and then. Nothing specific, just . . . things. He never mentioned a name, though, and I never pressed him for one.” “Of course not. That would be breaking the rules.” “Rules?” “The cheater’s club or whatever you call it. All for one and one for all. Isn’t that how it works?” “Look, Christine, I know this hasn’t been easy for you, especially the way it all went down, but one thing I do know is that Stephen—” “Don’t!” she snapped, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare say he loved me. That isn’t why I called, to have you reassure me that a half-naked woman in my husband’s car doesn’t mean anything. She means something to me. I think I have the right to at least know her name—and I don’t mean by reading it in the tabloids. It’s been a week, and honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re not dragging your feet on purpose.” “What is it you’re accusing me of?” The paternal tone was gone, replaced with a gruff wariness. “I’m not accusing you of anything. All I want is a name. And the number or address of someone who might be able to tell me what was going on between that woman and my husband.” “Look, I don’t have the information you want, but even if I did, I couldn’t share it with you. Victims have rights, Christine. So do their families. In other words, there are rules.