Chương 2
Claire listened carefully until he mentioned recovery.
“How long before I can walk normally?”
“That depends on healing, physical therapy, and what we find during surgery.”
“Months?”
“Potentially.”
Claire stared at the ceiling.
Her job immediately entered her mind.
Not Evan.
Not Judith.
Work.
She had spent six years becoming senior financial planning manager at Vantage Core Technologies, where she oversaw forecasting for a division whose annual budget exceeded two hundred million dollars.
The irony made her stomach turn.
At work, executives waited for Claire’s approval before shifting six-figure expenditures.
At home, she had to ask Evan for forty dollars in cash.
“Can I use a laptop after surgery?”
The surgeon smiled faintly.
“If you’re asking whether your leg affects spreadsheets, probably not.”
“I need to contact my employer.”
Naomi, standing near the door, glanced up.
“Is your husband employed there too?”
Claire nodded.
“He’s director of strategic partnerships.”
“Does he supervise you?”
“No.”
“Do you supervise him?”
“No.”
“Do you share a reporting chain?”
“Eventually, yes, through the COO.”
Naomi made another note.
Claire noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing yet.”
Yet.
The word stayed with her.
Surgery took nearly three hours.
When Claire woke, her mouth tasted metallic and her leg felt impossibly heavy.
Susan Bennett was sitting beside the bed.
For several seconds Claire assumed she was hallucinating.
Her mother looked older than she had during their last video call.
There was more gray in her hair, and deep lines bracketed her mouth.
She wore the same blue travel jacket she had owned for years.
Claire stared.
Susan stared back.
Then Susan stood so quickly her chair struck the wall.
“Mom?”
Susan covered her mouth.
Claire began crying before either of them touched.
“I’m sorry.”
Susan shook her head.
“I’m so sorry.”
“No.”
“I should have called.”
“Claire.”
“I kept thinking I’d call when things were better.”
Susan took her hand.
“Stop.”
“I was horrible to Dad.”
“Your father has survived aircraft carriers, congressional budget hearings, and teaching you to drive.”
A wet laugh escaped Claire.
“He’ll survive being right.”
“He was right.”
“Yes, and unfortunately he knows it.”
Claire laughed again, then winced because laughing moved more of the body than she had appreciated.
Susan bent and kissed her forehead.
“Your father is on the next flight.”
“How did you know?”
“A woman named Naomi called us because you gave permission before surgery.”
Claire remembered signing something.
She remembered little else.
Susan sat down again.
For several minutes they said nothing.
A cart rattled past the doorway.
Someone farther down the hall argued about orange juice.
A monitor beside Claire made a soft electronic chirp every few seconds.
Ordinary noises filled the room, and Claire found herself grateful for every one of them.
Her mother was examining her hands.
“What?”
“Your nails.”
Claire looked.
Three were broken nearly to the quick from crawling through the yard.
“There’s dirt under them.”
“I can see that.”
“I used to hate dirt under my nails.”
“You used to carry hand sanitizer to soccer practice.”
“I was twelve.”
“You labeled it.”
Claire smiled weakly.
Then Susan’s face changed.
“Did he do this?”
“His mother.”
Susan’s eyes closed.
“He left me there.”
That was harder to say.
Susan opened her eyes again.
“Evan?”
Claire nodded.
Her mother’s fingers tightened around hers, then loosened deliberately.
“Your father is going to want to kill him.”
“Please don’t let Dad do anything stupid.”
“I’ve been married to Daniel Bennett for thirty-seven years.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Claire almost smiled.
Then her eyes drifted toward the plastic belongings bag on the counter.
Margaret had sent clothing.
Naomi had arranged for basic toiletries.
Claire owned almost nothing in the room.
No wallet.
No phone.
No house keys.
No computer.
The strange poverty of it frightened her more than she expected.
“I need access to my accounts.”
Susan’s expression tightened.
“Your accounts?”
“My salary goes into the joint household account.”
“How much can you access?”
“Right now?”
Claire swallowed.
“Nothing.”
Susan went still.
“Nothing?”
“I have a credit card.”
“Where?”
“At the house.”
“And your identification?”
“Also there.”
Susan looked toward the window.
Claire knew that look.
It was the look her mother used during school-board meetings when someone said something so absurd she needed several seconds to choose a response that would not end her career.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Mom.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
Susan stood and walked to the window.
Traffic moved below in the pale morning.
She folded her arms tightly.
“I spent two years telling myself you were busy.”
“I was.”
“I told myself marriages change people.”
“They do.”
“I told myself not to interfere because you hated it when we interfered.”
Claire looked away.
“You did interfere.”
“Yes.”
“A lot.”
“Yes.”
“You made me feel like marrying him proved I was stupid.”
Susan turned.
“I know.”
The admission silenced them both.
Claire had expected denial.
Susan returned to the chair.
“I was scared, and I behaved like being right mattered more than keeping the door open.”
Claire stared at the blanket.
“I shut the door too.”
“Yes.”
Neither woman rescued the other from that truth.
A nurse came in to check Claire’s blood pressure.
Susan moved aside and asked whether there was anywhere nearby to get decent coffee.
The nurse pointed toward the elevators and warned her against the vending machine on the third floor.
For five minutes, they discussed coffee.
It was the first normal conversation Claire had had with her mother in years.
When Susan left, Claire closed her eyes.
Her room phone rang.
She assumed it was her mother calling from downstairs.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then Evan said, “You’ve made this into something it isn’t.”
Claire’s eyes opened.
She did not answer.
“I know you’re there.”
“How did you get this number?”
“Claire.”
“How?”
He exhaled.
“You’re my wife.”
The old version of her would have heard tenderness in that sentence.
Now she heard ownership.
“What do you want?”
May you like
“I’m coming to see you.”
“No.”
