Three women.
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A middle-aged woman stepped out carrying an enormous tote bag. Wesley appeared almost immediately and helped her carry it toward the garage.
Five minutes later, another woman arrived with a long garment bag.
Then came a third, struggling with a large plastic storage box.
I stared through the windshield in disbelief.
He hugged one of them.
Three women. In one evening.
Wesley greeted them like old friends. He even hugged one of them.
My stomach dropped. What kind of man invited three women over while his wife was supposedly at the hospital?
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I waited another fifteen minutes, hoping someone would emerge with an explanation written on a giant sign.
Nobody did.
I heard women talking.
Finally, I’d had enough.
I drove home, parked quietly, and approached the garage, moving carefully so I wouldn’t aggravate my injury.
The main door was closed, but the side door hadn’t latched properly.
