The Transient Wife

Chapter 21

Philip silently cursed himself inside his study.

Was his wife right? He was acting different?

Shaking his head in denial, he checked his email and found an encrypted message from Henry. He frowned. His friend rarely sent encrypted messages.

This could only mean serious business.

He opened it and read.

Be careful at the party. They will be there. Can't contact each other the usual way anymore. We have to be careful.

Act normal.

Philip rubbed his hands over his face. He was not used to these things. He never expected to be even in this mess.

But he was and he no one to blame but himself.

*****

The next few days went back to normal which meant Philip was back to his old self. Cassandra even began to wonder if he was using this other personality as façade or he really had some kind of multiple or bipolar personality disorder.

By Friday, Philip found her at the back of the house while she was painting on canvas. She stopped and turned to face him. "I'm done cleaning the living room if that's what you came here for."

She was pissed with him today—not that it wasn't always the case anyway—because he had been following her around, critiquing her chores. He had asked her to clean the living room three times already and just to make herself feel better she made herself believe he just forgot about the first two times he did.

He frowned and said, "We're going shopping."

"For what?'

"Food. And aren't you going to get your dad a gift for tomorrow?"

Cassandra stood there thinking for a few seconds and finally shrugged. "Okay," she started to pick up her things. "I'll just go change."

He stepped closer and took her brushes from her, "I'll do this. Go hurry up."

"Be careful with this, okay?" she tapped her canvas, looking at him sternly like her life depended on it.

"Just go change," he stared at her dryly.

Without a word, she left him and went to her room. She grabbed an oversized black shirt and a pair of denim shorts and black ankle boots. No bags. Philip had to pay for everything, including her father's gift.

With not a word of debate from him, she climbed behind him at the backside of the car and they drove toward the city. He was still dressed in his khaki pants and gray sweatshirt from earlier since she woke up. They went to get some groceries first.

"No, bring that back. I'm not buying that," he said, looking like he was going to puke.

Cassandra looked down at the tray of eggs and frowned. "Why? We need eggs. It's protein."

"I don't need eggs for the next three years." He wheeled the cart away from her and added, "And don't try to sneak another ham into this cart because that's not ever going to happen."

Cassandra fumed. How did he expect her to serve food for? Already planning on how she could sneak the eggs into the counter, she noticed that he stopped at a nearby rack with cooking books on display.

"What's that?" she asked absently, pretending to look over his shoulder as she carefully placed the tray of eggs underneath the pack of tissue.

"It's for you." He pushed a large cooking book in front of her. "You really have to learn how to cook or I'll die early."