Chương 3
Mara paused the video on that frame.
For months, she had watched him move through their house with the loose, distracted air of someone carrying too much work. He had started taking his phone into the shower. He left early, came home late, and apologized with takeout meals he rarely ate. When she asked what was wrong, he said the commercial real-estate market was brutal and he was trying to keep his team from losing accounts.
She had believed the stress because stress explained everything without requiring anyone to be cruel.
The plane leveled above a layer of clouds. The seat belt sign turned off.
Mara sent the recording to a private folder in her work cloud account, then emailed a copy to herself. She did not send it to her brother, her closest friend, or Evan. She did not post it. She did not know yet whether this restraint was dignity, caution, or shock.
She opened the rest of his messages.
I made a mistake.
I was going to tell you.
We have been unhappy for a long time and you know it.
Tessa is not the reason.
Please don’t punish her. She didn’t know.
The last message came as Mara read it.
I love you.
She turned the phone off.
Her father’s house smelled of dust, cedar chips, and the faint medicinal sweetness of the hand lotion he had used during his last winter. Mara noticed it the moment her brother opened the door.
Cal stood in the entryway wearing paint-spattered jeans and one of their father’s old sweatshirts. At forty, he had the same heavy eyebrows their father had possessed and the same habit of looking irritated when he was frightened.
“You’re late,” he said.
“My flight landed twelve minutes early.”
“You took forever at baggage claim.”
“I didn’t check a bag.”
Cal looked past her. “Where’s Evan?”
Mara rolled her suitcase over the threshold.
“Atlanta.”
“That’s what Dad’s lawyer said when he didn’t come to the funeral.”
“He came to the funeral.”
“He came after the service started.”
Mara set the suitcase beside the umbrella stand. Their father’s red windbreaker still hung from one of the hooks, sleeves empty, zipper broken at the bottom.
Cal closed the door. “Did you eat?”
“No.”
“There’s pizza. It’s bad.”
“Then why did you buy it?”
“I was hoping grief had lowered my standards.”
Mara removed her coat. Her brother took one look at her face and stopped trying to be funny.
“What happened?”
She walked into the kitchen, where half the cabinet doors were marked with blue painter’s tape. Keep. Donate. Estate sale. The refrigerator was empty except for mustard, beer, and a bag of oranges that had begun to collapse inward.
Cal followed her.
“Mara.”
She opened the refrigerator, stared at it, and closed it again.
“I saw Evan at the airport.”
“In Atlanta?”
“At Gate Forty-Two.”
Cal waited.
“He was with a woman.”
His shoulders changed first. They rose and settled as if he were preparing to lift something heavy.
“What kind of with?”
Mara leaned against the counter.
Cal’s eyes closed. “Oh.”
“He said she’s a client.”
“Sure.”
“He also said she thought we were separated.”
Cal opened his eyes. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her that?”
“I was on another floor.”
“What does that mean?”
“I called him. He was standing below me. I recorded them.”
“You recorded—”
“I have two phones.”
“I know you have two phones. Why do you have two phones?”
“One is for work.”
“That wasn’t really my question.”
Mara pressed both hands against the edge of the counter. The laminate had been chipped near the sink since she was fourteen. Her father had always promised to replace it after the next tax refund, then after retirement, then after his knees improved.
Cal opened a cabinet and took out two glasses. “Show me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“He cheated on you.”
“I know what he did.”
“Do you?”
The anger arrived so quickly that Mara welcomed it. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re making this about how clearly I understand my own marriage.”
“I’m asking whether you know what you saw.”
“I saw him kiss her.”
Cal poured water into a glass and pushed it toward her. “Then I’m sorry.”
The softness nearly undid her.
Mara picked up the glass, but she could not drink. She watched a small air bubble cling to the side.
“He told her we were separated.”
“Maybe he told himself too.”
“That doesn’t make it true.”
“No.”
“I was going to surprise him when he came back. I booked the restaurant on Ludlow Street. The one he said was impossible to get into.”
Cal glanced at the calendar pinned beside the refrigerator. Saturday was circled in Mara’s handwriting.
Their tenth wedding anniversary.
“Jesus,” he said.
“He told me Atlanta would only be two nights.”
“What flight was he taking?”
“I don’t know.”
“You recorded the gate. We could look it up.”
“I don’t care where they were going.”
Cal gave her a skeptical look.
“I care,” Mara corrected. “I just don’t want to care yet.”
Her brother took a beer from the refrigerator and opened it with the edge of a drawer pull. Their father had done the same thing despite owning at least four bottle openers.
“You can stay here as long as you need,” Cal said.
“The closing is Monday.”
“Then you can stay with me.”
“You live in a one-bedroom apartment with a drum set.”
“It’s an electronic drum set.”
“You still hit it.”
“I could stay somewhere else.”
Mara finally drank the water. “I’m not moving to Denver because my husband had an affair.”
“I didn’t say move.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say you don’t have to decide anything tonight.”
She looked at him.
May you like
Cal took a long swallow of beer. “See? Sometimes I’m not an idiot.”
They ate cold pizza at the dining-room table because the microwave had been sold that morning. Cal talked about the estate-sale company, the buyer’s inspection, and an argument with the title office over a missing death certificate. He did not mention Evan again until Mara’s personal phone began vibrating inside her bag.
