Chương 8
Nora’s doctor had advised her to take several days off, and her clinic arranged coverage. She spent the morning on the couch responding to worried messages she had not asked for.
Her mother called from Ohio and suggested flying in immediately.
Nora said no.
Her father called separately and asked whether Ethan was “still sane.”
Nora told him that was an unhelpful question.
He apologized.
Then he asked whether Margaret had pushed her.
Nora told him no.
He sounded disappointed by the lack of clarity.
Everybody wanted the story to become simpler.
Nora had started resisting that impulse.
Margaret had not pushed her.
Margaret had humiliated her, held her wrist, ignored her attempt to leave, and spoken cruelly while she was on the floor.
Ethan had not attacked anyone.
He had frightened people and destroyed a table.
Caroline had not betrayed Ethan maliciously.
She had betrayed his confidence because she believed she could prevent a larger conflict.
Elise had laughed once because, according to the message she sent Nora Monday afternoon, she had been shocked and ashamed and had “made the ugliest possible human sound at the ugliest possible moment.”
Nora read the message twice.
Ethan was in the backyard throwing a tennis ball for Sampson, who watched it land and made no effort to retrieve it.
Elise had written more.
I should have stood up when Margaret began talking to you that way. I did not. I have known her for twenty-two years, I sit on a board with her, and I chose the easier silence. I am sorry.
Nora called her.
Elise answered immediately.
“I didn’t expect you to call.”
“I didn’t expect to.”
“I deserve that.”
Nora closed her eyes.
“Can we ban that sentence?”
“What sentence?”
“I deserve that.”
Elise laughed softly.
“Fair.”
“What happened to the video?”
Elise hesitated.
“What do you mean?”
“Who recorded it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were there.”
“So were five other women and two staff members.”
“Did you record anything?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
A longer silence.
“Elise.”
“I know who had her phone out.”
Nora waited.
“Janice.”
Janice Bellows, the youngest woman at the table, was forty-seven and had once told Nora that maternity leggings were “an industry designed to punish husbands.”
“Did she post it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she send it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know.”
“I know she sent it to somebody because she showed Alice afterward and said, ‘This is insane.’ That’s all.”
“Why didn’t you tell the board?”
“I did.”
Nora opened her eyes.
“What?”
“I told Leonard this morning.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Janice says she sent it to her daughter. Her daughter says she forwarded it to a friend without thinking. The friend posted it.”
“That sounds stupid enough to be true.”
“It probably is.”
Nora stared out the window.
“Is there video from before Ethan came in?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Janice started recording when he raised his voice.”
That was almost a relief.
No perfect evidence was coming.
No hidden angle would arrive and rescue them from ambiguity.
Nora said, “What did you tell Leonard about my fall?”
“The same thing I told Ethan. Margaret held your wrist. You pulled away. You tripped.”
“And what Margaret said?”
Elise hesitated again.
“I told him some of it.”
“Some?”
“I told him she had been confrontational about Denver.”
“Elise.”
“I did not remember every exact sentence.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
The woman on the other end breathed out.
“I did not tell him everything.”
“Why?”
“Because Margaret and I have worked together for sixteen years.”
Nora almost laughed.
“That’s your reason?”
“It’s not a good reason.”
“It’s not even a reason.”
“She nominated me for the board. She supported me when half the men in that room thought I was there because I married well. She sat with me after my divorce. She got my son into treatment when he was twenty-three and I did not know who to call.”
Nora said nothing.
Elise’s voice changed.
“People are not one thing, Nora.”
“I know.”
“I am not defending what she did.”
“I know.”
“I’m trying to tell you why I froze.”
Nora looked toward the backyard.
Ethan had stopped throwing the ball and was sitting on the porch step while Sampson sniffed the grass.
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
“Will you speak to the board?”
“If they ask me.”
“They will.”
The request came the next morning.
Not a summons.
Not testimony.
A voluntary interview with two independent board members and outside counsel.
Nora agreed.
Ethan objected for thirty seconds before catching himself.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I’m supposed to avoid strenuous activity, not conversation.”
“You don’t owe them anything.”
“I know.”
He paced the bedroom.
Nora sat on the edge of the bed putting on flats.
“If this gets stressful, leave.”
“I know.”
“If they start asking about our marriage—”
“I know.”
“If Mom is there—”
“She won’t be.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I asked.”
Ethan stopped.
Nora looked up.
“This is my interview.”
He put both hands on his hips.
“Right.”
“You can be angry in the parking lot if you want.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You’re standing like a disappointed gym teacher.”
He dropped his hands.
“Sorry.”
She slipped on the second shoe.
“Come with me.”
He blinked.
“To the interview?”
“To the building.”
“HR said—”
“You can sit in the coffee shop across the street.”
“That sounds pathetic.”
“It does.”
He smiled.
“Fine.”
The interview lasted ninety minutes.
Ethan spent eighty-five of them staring through a coffee shop window at the entrance to Hale & Mercer.
The barista refilled his cup without being asked.
“You waiting on a job interview?” she asked.
“My wife is in one.”
“Good luck to her.”
“Thanks.”
“What kind of job?”
He looked at the building.
“Complicated.”
The barista nodded like that answered something.
May you like
Nora emerged at 11:40 with her shoulders tight and her phone in one hand.
Ethan stood too fast, knocking his knee against the table.
