“You’re awfully quiet.” Roger commented. It had been the slowest dining experience in Juliette’s recent memory. “You doing okay?”
Juliette had already decided if her husband asked her that question one more time before the evening was over, she would buy herself a plane ticket and spend the next eight years in Cambridge with Kennedy. Instead, she quickened her pace as they left the restaurant. “I’m fine.” Roger’s promise to at least pray about resuming brothel work was reassuring. It was the first step in getting her way, at least.
“Got some change, lady?”
Juliette frowned. She was used to pan-handlers soliciting her when she was out by herself, but she found it even more insulting to be addressed directly when she was with her husband. She lifted her chin and walked on without glancing
