Chương 5
“And what did she say?”
“That you were going to ruin my life.”
Nora looked toward the closed door.
“Charming.”
“I told her to stay out of it.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly those words?”
He hesitated again.
Nora shook her head.
“What did you actually say?”
“I said I would handle it.”
The baby moved between them.
A tiny hand pushed against Nora’s shirt.
She stared at Ethan.
“There it is.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant. You meant you would deal with me before she had to.”
“No.”
“That’s what she heard.”
“I told her I loved you.”
“When?”
“Later.”
“Later when?”
“April.”
Nora’s face became hot.
“In April you were still telling me you needed time.”
“I did need time.”
“To do what?”
“To stop behaving like my father.”
The answer was so unexpected that Nora almost missed it.
Ethan looked at the window.
“My father could turn any relationship into a negotiation. He’d decide what everyone needed, what they were likely to do, how much risk they represented. I spent my whole adult life despising him for it, and then you got pregnant and within twelve hours I had my attorney asking about trusts.”
Nora said nothing.
“I didn’t tell the attorney your name. I didn’t make any agreement. I just—”
“You started managing.”
“Yes.”
“And Lydia helped.”
“I didn’t ask her to.”
“You told her you’d handle it.”
“I did.”
“You kept me private.”
“Yes.”
“You asked who I’d told.”
“Yes.”
“You gave her enough room to decide I was a problem.”
Ethan’s voice dropped.
“Yes.”
There was no relief in hearing it.
Nora had imagined this conversation many times. In some versions Ethan defended himself until she hated him. In others he apologized perfectly, which was somehow worse.
She had never imagined him simply sitting there and agreeing with the indictment.
“You didn’t make her shove me,” Nora said.
“No.”
“But you made secrecy feel normal.”
He looked at her.
“Yes.”
The baby fell asleep.
Just like that.
His mouth softened.
His hand opened against Nora’s chest.
She stared down at him and felt a sudden wave of exhaustion so complete it was almost nausea.
“I want to go home.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“Your lock—”
“I’ll call a locksmith.”
“At seven on a Friday night?”
“Yes, Ethan. People work at seven on Friday nights.”
He looked embarrassed.
“Right.”
“I don’t want to be here with her.”
“She’s leaving.”
“I don’t want to be here with you right now either.”
That one hurt him.
Good, Nora thought.
Then immediately felt guilty.
Also good, she decided.
Guilt meant she had not become Lydia.
Ethan stood.
“I’ll drive you.”
“No.”
“I’ll call a car.”
“No.”
“You shouldn’t drive if your shoulder—”
“My sister is coming.”
“You called her?”
“I texted her before I came here.”
He absorbed that.
“You knew this might go badly.”
“I knew your sister would be here.”
“I told her to leave.”
“She told me that.”
“What?”
“Before she grabbed me. She said you’d told her to leave because I was coming.”
He looked toward the door.
“So she waited.”
“Yes.”
Nora saw something settle in him.
Not rage.
Responsibility.
That frightened her less.
He opened the study door.
Lydia was sitting on the bench across the hall.
She stood quickly.
Nora frowned.
“I thought you were leaving.”
“I was.”
“But?”
Lydia looked at Ethan.
“I need to talk to you alone.”
“No,” he said.
“Ethan.”
“No more conversations about Nora that Nora isn’t allowed to hear.”
Lydia laughed bitterly.
“Fine.”
She pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse.
“I was trying to tell you there is already a problem.”
Ethan did not take it.
“What?”
“A reporter emailed the foundation this morning.”
Nora’s stomach tightened.
“About what?”
“The baby.”
Nobody spoke.
Lydia looked at Nora.
“This is what I was trying to prevent.”
Nora nearly smiled.
“You’re incredible.”
“I’m serious.”
“You assaulted me twice to prevent a reporter from emailing?”
“I didn’t assault you twice.”
Ethan said, “Lydia.”
She snapped, “Stop correcting every word.”
“Then use accurate ones.”
Her face flushed.
Nora shifted the sleeping baby carefully.
“Who is the reporter?”
Lydia gave the paper to Ethan.
He read it.
Nora watched his eyes move.
“Local business desk,” he said.
“Why would a business reporter care who you have a baby with?”
Lydia answered.
“Because Mercer Urban is bidding on the River District project and someone sent them a claim that Ethan used company resources to conceal a relationship with a consultant connected to the bid.”
Nora stared at her.
“I’m not connected to the bid.”
“I know.”
Ethan looked up from the page.
“Who would say she was?”
Lydia folded her arms.
“That’s the part you should be worried about.”
Nora laughed once.
“I’m worried about the woman who grabbed my newborn carrier.”
“I said I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No. You said you grabbed the strap. Those are different sentences.”
Lydia opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Ethan looked at the email again.
“When did this come in?”
“Eight forty-six.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I was trying to find out who sent it.”
“You went to Richmond instead.”
“I had a board meeting.”
“You told Nora to disappear.”
“I thought if she left town for a little while—”
Nora stared.
“Left town?”
Lydia’s confidence faltered.
“I was going to offer you somewhere private.”
“You mean another payoff.”
“A house.”
“I have a house.”
“You have a one-bedroom rental.”
“I have a home.”
Lydia looked away.
Ethan handed Nora the printed email.
She read it.
The reporter’s note was careful, almost boring. A request for comment regarding an allegation that Mercer Urban’s chief executive had maintained an undisclosed romantic relationship with a subcontractor involved in a municipal redevelopment proposal.
No mention of a child.
No mention of pregnancy.
No accusation of wrongdoing presented as fact.
Nora read it again.
“Where’s the part about the baby?”
Lydia froze.
Ethan’s eyes lifted.
May you like
Nora looked at her.
“You said the reporter emailed about the baby.”
