Chương 8
Naomi peeled the lid off the gelatin and ate half of it without asking.
“You hate lime.”
“I’m stressed.”
“You become a different person under pressure.”
“I become a person who steals hospital gelatin.”
“That’s serious.”
Naomi pointed the spoon at her.
“Don’t tell Ruiz.”
Elara smiled despite herself.
It lasted only a few seconds.
Then her phone situation came back to her.
“I need access to my email.”
Naomi stopped eating.
“Why?”
“I want my financial records.”
“I thought they told you not to investigate this yourself.”
“I’m not investigating.”
“That is exactly what people say before investigating.”
“I want to know what accounts are mine.”
Naomi set the gelatin down.
“Do you even know?”
The question stung because it was reasonable.
Elara thought of passwords Mark managed, tax returns she skimmed, account statements she stopped opening because every conversation about money somehow ended with her being accused of mistrust.
“I know my checking account.”
“Your personal one?”
“Yes.”
“How much is in it?”
Elara hesitated.
“About six thousand.”
Naomi stared.
“What?”
“You make more than that.”
“I’ve been on maternity leave.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Elara looked toward the door.
“My income goes into the joint account.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re married.”
Naomi pressed her lips together.
“Please don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face is tired.”
“You used that one already.”
Naomi rubbed her forehead.
“Fine.”
Elara looked at Leo.
“I need my laptop.”
“It’s at the house.”
The house.
For the first time since waking, Elara pictured going back there.
Not the nursery.
The kitchen.
The stairs.
The bedroom she shared with Mark.
His running shoes beside the closet.
His charger plugged into her side of the bed because his outlet was blocked by a nightstand.
The half-empty bottle of sparkling water he had probably left on his desk.
Ordinary things waiting inside a place that no longer felt ordinary.
“I’m not going there.”
“No.”
Naomi answered too quickly.
Elara looked at her.
“You don’t get to decide that either.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying you know.”
“And then I keep doing it.”
“Exactly.”
Naomi sat down.
For once she did not defend herself.
“I was the one who went in after the police finished.”
Elara’s anger disappeared.
“You went inside?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why?”
“You needed clothes.”
Naomi looked at her hands.
“And Leo needed everything.”
Elara swallowed.
“The nursery?”
“I didn’t go in.”
“Then how did you get his things?”
“Mrs. Bell bought some.”
Elara looked at the yellow sleeper.
Naomi nodded.
“She bought diapers too.”
A ridiculous wave of gratitude nearly made Elara cry.
Mrs. Bell, with her ceramic geese and terrible soup, had done more for Leo in one afternoon than Mark had managed in a weekend.
“What was the house like?”
Naomi looked toward the window.
“Quiet.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.”
“Was there blood downstairs?”
“No.”
“Did it smell?”
Naomi’s face tightened.
“Elara.”
“I need to know.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone else has seen what happened except me.”
“You were there.”
“I was unconscious for part of it.”
Naomi rubbed one thumb over the other.
“The nursery smelled like cleaner because the remediation company had started.”
Elara flinched.
“Remediation company?”
“The police cleared the room after they documented it.”
Naomi spoke slowly now.
“The carpet has to come out.”
“That carpet was new.”
The sentence escaped before Elara could stop it.
Naomi stared at her.
Then both sisters started laughing.
It was awful laughter.
Tired, inappropriate, helpless laughter.
Elara pressed one hand against her abdomen because it hurt.
“I’m sorry.”
Naomi wiped her eyes.
“No, that was genuinely insane.”
“It was expensive.”
“You almost died and you’re worried about carpet.”
“I liked that carpet.”
“I know.”
They laughed again, quieter this time.
Leo slept through it.
When the laughter faded, Elara felt unexpectedly lighter.
Not better.
Just briefly capable of existing without every thought becoming evidence.
Naomi picked up the abandoned gelatin.
“I brought your laptop.”
Elara stared at her.
“You just said it was at the house.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew you’d try to work.”
“I’m not going to work.”
“You answered a client email while you were in labor.”
“That was different.”
“You were eight centimeters dilated.”
“The deadline was noon.”
Naomi got up and retrieved a tote bag from beneath the chair.
Elara recognized it as one of hers.
Her laptop was inside.
“So much for not deciding things for me.”
“I contain multitudes.”
“You contain crimes.”
Naomi placed the computer on the tray.
“Start with your personal email.”
Elara opened it.
There were four hundred and twelve unread messages.
Most were junk, baby-store promotions, design newsletters, and automated congratulations from companies that knew she had given birth because she had once searched for a bottle warmer.
Buried among them were bank alerts.
She searched Mark’s name first.
Hundreds of messages appeared.
Restaurant reservations.
Flight confirmations.
Shared calendar invitations.
Receipts.
Then she searched Harrow Bridge.
One result appeared.
The message had been sent six months earlier.
Subject: DOCUMENTS RECEIVED.
Elara clicked it.
The body contained only three lines.
Thank you for submitting the requested guarantor materials.
Your application package has been forwarded for underwriting review.
Please contact Mr. Vance with any questions regarding the transaction.
Naomi leaned over her shoulder.
“Guarantor?”
“I never applied for anything.”
There was an attachment.
Elara opened it.
The first page displayed a financial statement.
Her name appeared at the top beside Mark’s.
Under assets were the house, the lake cabin, retirement accounts, and a brokerage account Elara had never seen.
Under liabilities were numbers that made no sense.
Then she saw her annual income.
It was almost double what she actually earned.
“Mark inflated this.”
Naomi pointed lower.
“What’s that account?”
Elara followed her finger.
A brokerage portfolio valued at three hundred and twenty thousand dollars.
“I don’t have that.”
Naomi went silent.
Elara scrolled.
Another page listed cash reserves of ninety-four thousand dollars.
“That’s not ours.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
May you like
“How sure?”
“I would know if we had ninety-four thousand dollars sitting in cash.”
