Also by Tracey Garvis Graves
On the Island
DUTTON
Published by the Penguin Group
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Copyright © 2013 by Tracey Garvis Graves
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Graves, Tracey Garvis.
Covet / Tracey Garvis Graves.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-101-62741-9
1. Husband and wife—Fiction. 2. Suburban life—Fiction. 3. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3607.A78296C68 2013
813'.6—dc23 2013016256
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
contents
Title Page
Also By Tracey Garvis Graves
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1: claire
Chapter 2: chris
Chapter 3: daniel
Chapter 4: claire
Chapter 5: chris
Chapter 6: claire
Chapter 7: claire
Chapter 8: daniel
Chapter 9: claire
Chapter 10: chris
Chapter 11: claire
Chapter 12: chris
Chapter 13: daniel
Chapter 14: claire
Chapter 15: claire
Chapter 16: claire
Chapter 17: claire
Chapter 18: claire
Chapter 19: claire
Chapter 20: chris
Chapter 21: claire
Chapter 22: claire
Chapter 23: claire
Chapter 24: claire
Chapter 25: daniel
Chapter 26: chris
Chapter 27: claire
Chapter 28: daniel
Chapter 29: claire
Chapter 30: claire
Chapter 31: daniel
Chapter 32: claire
Chapter 33: claire
Chapter 34: claire
Chapter 35: daniel
Chapter 36: claire
Chapter 37: chris
Chapter 38: claire
Chapter 39: claire
Chapter 40: claire
Chapter 41: claire
Chapter 42: claire
Chapter 43: chris
Chapter 44: daniel
Chapter 45: claire
Chapter 46: chris
Chapter 47: claire
Chapter 48: claire
Chapter 49: daniel
Chapter 50: claire
Chapter 51: claire
Chapter 52: claire
Chapter 53: chris
Chapter 54: daniel
Chapter 55: claire
Chapter 56: claire
Chapter 57: daniel
Chapter 58: claire
Chapter 59: chris
Chapter 60: claire
Chapter 61: chris
Chapter 62: claire
Chapter 63: chris
Chapter 64: claire
Chapter 65: claire
Chapter 66: claire
epilogue: claire
acknowledgments
To the girls of FP: Thank you for your light, your love, and your laughter. I couldn’t have done it without you.
1
claire
I’m on my way home from dropping off the kids at school when he pulls me over. I see the lights in my rearview mirror seconds before he hits the siren, giving it two short bursts. I’m not speeding, or in violation of any traffic laws that I know of, but I pull to the shoulder and the police car slows to a stop behind my bumper. When the officer walks up to the driver’s-side window, I hit the button to lower it.
“Did you know you have a taillight out, ma’am?” he asks.
“Really?” I crane my neck to look behind me—as if I could possibly see it from inside the car—and immediately feel foolish.
“Yes,” he says. “Passenger side. Can I see your license and registration and proof of insurance?”
I nod. “Sure.”
He doesn’t look like any cop I’ve ever seen. He looks like a model pretending to be a police officer for a photo shoot. Or maybe one of those cops who shows up at a bachelorette party and then strips down to his underwear.
Suddenly, I can’t remember where anything is.
He waits patiently while I locate the necessary documents in the console and pry my license out of my wallet. I hand everything to him and he takes it to his car, and when he returns he leans down by my window and hands it all back.
Up close, I notice that his eyes are green, the exact shade of a piece of sea glass I found on the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico two years ago when Chris and I took the kids to South Padre Island. He must be six two or three, and he’s lean but broad shouldered. He doesn’t look older than mid to late thirties, but there are a few flecks of gray in his dark hair, which only enhance his good looks. So unfair. He rips a piece of paper off the pad he’s holding, glances down at the name he’s written on it, and looks back up. “Claire?”
“Yes.”
He hands me the ticket. “It’s just a warning,” he says, reading my expression and smiling to dispel my worry that I’m about to get slapped with a fine. His teeth are white and perfectly straight. “Have it taken care of as soon as possible, okay? It isn’t safe.”
“I will,” I say, looking down at the ticket. It’s been signed by Officer Daniel Rush. “Thank you.”
He nods. “Have a nice day.”
When I return home, my husband, Chris, is standing in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand. He’s wearing jeans and a polo shirt in accordance with casual Friday, and he smells like the cologne I gave him for his birthday.
“Have you seen my watch?” he asks, in lieu of a proper greeting. I unearth it under a stack of mail on the counter, and he straps it on. “Did you drive the kids to school?”
“Yes,” I say, setting down my purse on the island. “Last day,” I add, because even though I mentioned it, there’s a fairly good chance Chris forgot; he’s got other things, important things, to focus on right now. “I wanted to hand deliver the gifts for their teachers. I wasn’t sure they’d arrive in one piece if they took them on the bus.”
The kids are a safe topic, and politely exchanging information regarding their whereabouts and well-being has become our fallback method of communication. Neither of us raises our voice. I once read an article in a women’s magazine that said it’s a really bad sign when you and your spouse stop arguing. It means that you’ve given up and no longer care about saving your marriage. I hope that’s not true, but I worry that it probably is. I walk to the dishwasher and start unloading it, not bothering to tell Chris about the taillight; I’ll take care of it myself.