Chương 6
I hated that I noticed.
I hated that part of me still wanted to understand them.
“What did you mean?”
I asked Patricia again.
She looked toward the hallway.
“The last time Nathan came here, he was sick afterward.”
My stomach tightened.
“Sick how?”
“He vomited in the driveway.”
Gerald said, “He had been drinking.”
“He had one beer.”
“You counted?”
“Yes.”
My mother’s voice sharpened.
“Because I was scared.”
I stared at her.
“Why were you scared?”
She looked at Gerald again.
This time he did not stop her.
“Because he told us he had copied everything.”
“What everything?”
“The church records.”
My father spoke quietly.
“Bank statements, investment transfers, internal reports.”
“You stole them?”
“No.”
“Then what did he copy?”
Gerald pulled out a chair and sat.
His shoulders had collapsed inward.
“I was treasurer.”
I waited.
He looked at the tabletop.
“St. Matthew’s had a capital reserve.”
“For what?”
“Repairs, expansion, the school building.”
“How do you get one point two million dollars out of a church without anyone noticing?”
“You don’t.”
His answer came so simply that I almost missed it.
I took one step toward him.
“Who noticed?”
“The finance committee noticed inconsistencies.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“And?”
“I explained them.”
“With what?”
He looked up.
“Temporary reallocations.”
“Were they temporary?”
He said nothing.
My mother answered.
“They were supposed to be.”
I laughed then.
I could not help it.
The sound came out wrong and ended too quickly.
“Stop saying that.”
Patricia’s mouth tightened.
“It’s true.”
“No, it’s what people say after they use money that isn’t theirs.”
Gerald winced.
The sight gave me no satisfaction.
“What did Nathan have to do with any of this?”
“He found out because of the gala.”
“The museum gala?”
Gerald nodded.
My museum had partnered with St. Matthew’s cultural foundation for a restoration fundraiser the previous spring.
Nathan had helped review vendor agreements because I complained one night about a donor contract with strange indemnity language.
At the time, I had thought he was being helpful.
Now another piece moved into place.
“He saw the church accounts through the foundation records.”
“Some of them.”
“And then he investigated you.”
Gerald stared at his hands.
“Yes.”
Patricia interrupted.
“He invaded our lives.”
I turned on her.
“He found missing money.”
“He went looking for something to use against us.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he never liked us.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“He judged us.”
“He had reasons.”
Her face changed.
I saw that one land.
Good, I thought.
The ugliness of the satisfaction surprised me less than it should have.
Gerald stood.
“Fay, go home.”
Patricia looked at him.
“What?”
“Let her go.”
“She’s upset.”
“She should be.”
He faced me.
“Take your car.”
I did not move.
“You’re telling me to leave after saying Nathan got sick here.”
Gerald’s jaw flexed.
“He got sick because he was furious.”
“Anger doesn’t usually make someone vomit in a driveway.”
“It can.”
“Did he eat here?”
My mother went still.
Gerald said nothing.
I looked from one to the other.
“Did he?”
Patricia answered.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Dinner.”
“What did you serve?”
“For God’s sake, Fay.”
“What did you serve?”
“Pot roast.”
The normality of the answer made my skin crawl.
“Did you eat it too?”
“Yes.”
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“And Nathan was the only one who got sick?”
Patricia looked away.
I felt something cold settle beneath my ribs.
“What did he drink?”
“A beer.”
“From where?”
“The garage refrigerator.”
“Did anyone else drink one?”
Gerald said, “I did.”
“The same kind?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we talking about this?”
My mother crossed her arms tighter.
“Because afterward Nathan accused us of trying to poison him.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I gripped the back of a dining chair.
“He said that?”
“He was angry and vomiting and completely irrational.”
“When did he tell you?”
“Before he left.”
“You let him drive?”
“He refused to stay.”
Gerald said, “I offered.”
I looked at him.
“Did you call me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He told us not to.”
“Why would he do that?”
My father swallowed.
“He didn’t want you involved.”
That sounded like Nathan.
It also sounded like something people could hide behind forever.
“What happened after he left?”
“He went home.”
“I was home.”
Patricia blinked.
“What?”
“I was in Manhattan that night.”
Neither spoke.
“And Nathan didn’t come home sick.”
Gerald’s eyes narrowed.
“What night was this?”
My mother answered too quickly.
“November eighteenth.”
I knew the date immediately.
Not because of them.
Because November eighteenth was the night Nathan had texted me at nine forty-seven saying he had to stay downtown with a client and would sleep at his office.
He had come home the next morning in yesterday’s shirt.
I had teased him about smelling like mouthwash.
He had showered before answering.
My knees weakened.
“He didn’t come home.”
Gerald looked at Patricia.
“What?”
I ignored him.
“Where did he go after he left here?”
“We don’t know.”
“You said he went home.”
“I assumed.”
“You assumed.”
Patricia’s voice rose.
“Fay, this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Because your story changes?”
“Because you grab one detail and turn it into catastrophe.”
“My husband is dead.”
She flinched.
For once, I did not soften my voice afterward.
I opened my phone and searched old messages.
The thread with Nathan sat pinned at the top.
I had not been able to unpin it.
November eighteenth.
There it was.
Running late.
Client mess.
Don’t wait up.
I opened the message details.
Sent at 9:47 p.m.
My father watched my face.
“What?”
“He lied to me.”
Patricia said nothing.
I looked at the timestamp.
“How long did it take him to leave here?”
“What?”
“What time did he leave?”
Gerald rubbed his forehead.
“Maybe eight.”
Patricia said, “Closer to eight-thirty.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t remember every minute.”
“Was he able to drive?”
“He was sick, not unconscious.”
“Did anyone follow him?”
“No.”
May you like
“Did anyone call him later?”
Neither answered.
