Free Hidden by Catherine McKenzie

with steam, and her hair was wet and slicked back from her face. Pale skinned, she already had a slight sunburn across the bridge of her nose.
    “Damn. If only I’d gotten here a few minutes earlier.”
    She looked away from the television and grinned. “One-track mind.”
    “Is that a bad thing?”
    I walked towards her to give her a kiss, but her attention was drawn back to the screen. I followed her gaze. Anthony Bourdain was biting into what looked like a raw sea urchin, plucked from the crystal ocean behind him.
    “Where is he this week?”
    “Sydney.”
    “Australia?”
    “Yes.”
    I watched the screen for a moment, listening to her breathing, feeling the stillness expand between us.
    “It’s beautiful,” I said eventually. “No wonder Tim loves it there.”
    “Shouldn’t we get to that cocktail party?” She stood, hugging the towel around her tightly. “You’re right, we should.”
    I walked past her to the bathroom and showered quickly, trying not to think about Claire and Australia and Tim. Eventually, I shifted my thoughts to the driving range as a distraction. And it worked, after a fashion.
    I told Claire about John as we dressed.
    “He’s a jerk,” she said. “But you shouldn’t let it bother you.”
    “Wouldn’t it bother you?”
    “Of course. But a lot of the old guard are like that. You have to roll with it.”
    “Are you saying you get treated like that?”
    “I used to. Sometimes.”
    “By who? And why haven’t you told me that before?”
    “Because I knew you’d want to beat the crap out of them, and that wouldn’t have been good for my career, now would it?”
    “I might’ve taken some pleasure from it, though. Seriously, who talked to you like that? Was it that Ed guy?”
    “It was no one in particular; part of my old life. Now come on, we’re going to be late.”
    I stifled my annoyance and finished tying my tie.
    Outside, we walked along the path to the clubhouse. It was dusk, and as we walked, a set of lanterns stuck into the lawn snapped on, illuminating the path. Bugs and birds buzzed and twittered in the trees above us. The air smelled like freshly mown grass and new paint. Venus was rising, bright above the horizon.
    Claire curled her fingers into mine. After a moment’s hesitation, I squeezed her hand.
    “Is this going to be excruciating for you?” I asked.
    “Of course not. I’m sure I and the other wives will spend the night talking about our kids.”
    I laughed and felt lighter because of it. “I do work with a few women.”
    “Maybe I’ll talk to them, then.”
    The clubhouse had a long wraparound porch. Little white lights were strung through the balustrade, and the din of cocktail conversation spilled towards us. We collected drinks from a waiter and spent the next hour winding through the crowd, having those brief exchanges you always have at these types of events. “Where are you from?” “What department do you work in?” “This is my wife.” “This is mine.” “Isn’t this place great?” “It really is.” “Do you work for the company too?”
    Claire kept an eye out for the waiters passing with canapés, and by the end of the hour we had a good drink-to-bite-sized-food ratio going.
    When the Milky Way was a streak above the now nearly invisible golf course, a gong sounded, calling us into dinner. We searched the seating chart for our table and found out thatwe were sitting with John and his wife. I knew Claire actively disliked both of them, and I was pretty sure she’d hate John by dessert.
    Hell, we might both hate him by dessert.
    When we got to the table, John and Cindy were already seated, making inroads into a bottle of red wine. His face had a florid, other-side-of-sober look to it. He patted the seat next to him when he saw Claire. She sighed, and I whispered to her that she didn’t have to sit there if she didn’t want to. She told me she could handle it and sat down, her shoulders squared as if for a fight. I took the