Chương 1
"Margaret shoved the bedroom door open hard enough for the brass knob to strike the wall, and for one absurd second the only thing she could see was Walter’s bare foot sticking out beneath the hem of a burgundy silk robe.
The champagne bottle stood in an ice bucket on Samuel’s dresser, sweating onto a folded hand towel Margaret had given Chloe for Christmas.
Walter stared at her with his mouth slightly open.
The young woman beside him pulled the sheet higher across her chest, though she was still wearing a black camisole, and looked from Walter to Margaret as if hoping one of them would explain what kind of mistake had just walked through the door.
“Margaret,” Walter said.
She had heard him say her name thousands of ways in thirty-two years.
Sleepily from the other side of the bed.
Impatiently when she misplaced the car keys.
Softly in hospital waiting rooms.
With irritation during arguments about money.
With affection that she had once believed she could identify even in a crowded room.
She had never heard him say it like this.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Margaret looked at the champagne, then at the robe, then at the young woman.
“That’s your question?”
Walter stood too quickly and nearly stumbled over one of Samuel’s running shoes.
“Just give me a minute.”
“I’ve apparently given you thirty-two years.”
The young woman slid off the opposite side of the bed.
“Walter, you told me she knew.”
“Be quiet, Jenna.”
“No, don’t tell her to be quiet.”
Margaret’s voice surprised even her.
It was calm.
She pointed at the young woman.
“You talk.”
Jenna’s face lost what little color it had.
“I don’t want to be involved in whatever this is.”
“You’re in my son’s bed with my husband.”
“I didn’t know this was your son’s apartment.”
Margaret turned toward Walter.
Something in his expression changed.
It was small, but after three decades she recognized the movement around his eyes when he was trying to decide which version of the truth would cost him least.
“Why are you here?”
“Margaret, not now.”
“Why are you in Samuel’s apartment?”
Walter reached for the trousers hanging over a chair.
“Because I have a key.”
“I heard that part.”
He stopped.
Margaret’s stomach tightened.
“Where did you get it?”
Walter did not answer.
Jenna grabbed a blouse from the floor and started fastening it with shaking fingers.
“I’m leaving.”
“No,” Walter said.
“Yes.”
“Jenna.”
“I said I’m leaving.”
She missed a button, cursed under her breath, and started again.
Margaret stepped aside from the doorway.
She had imagined herself dragging Chloe into the hallway less than five minutes earlier.
Now she could barely feel her hands.
“Did Samuel give you the key?”
Walter looked down as he pulled on his trousers.
“That’s complicated.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is if you’ll let me explain.”
Margaret laughed once, without humor.
“Then amaze me.”
Walter glanced toward Jenna.
That glance frightened Margaret more than finding them together had.
It was not romantic.
It was administrative.
It was the look Walter used when discussing something that needed to be managed.
“Jenna, go downstairs and wait in the car.”
Jenna stared at him.
“You told me Samuel was helping you.”
Margaret felt something cold move through her.
“Helping him do what?”
Walter closed his eyes.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Helping him do what?”
Jenna looked genuinely confused now.
“I thought Samuel knew about us.”
“He doesn’t,” Walter snapped.
“But you said the apartment was safe because your son—”
“Stop talking.”
Margaret crossed the room before she had decided to move.
Walter flinched when she raised her hand.
She did not slap him.
That almost disappointed her.
Instead she snatched his phone from the dresser.
“Give me that.”
He reached for it.
Margaret backed away.
“Password.”
“Margaret.”
“Password.”
“You don’t get to break into someone’s home and start demanding—”
She stared at him.
Walter stopped.
The ridiculousness of the sentence seemed to reach him a second too late.
Margaret held up the duplicate key in her other hand.
“You’re right about one thing.”
Her fingers closed around it.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
Nobody spoke.
A lawn mower droned somewhere beyond the apartment windows.
Jenna finished buttoning her blouse and searched under the bed for one of her shoes.
The ordinary sound of the mower made Margaret suddenly aware that it was Thursday afternoon, that she had chicken thawing on the bottom shelf of her refrigerator, and that Walter had kissed her forehead that morning before saying he needed to meet a client in St. Paul.
She looked at his phone again.
“How long?”
Walter sat on the edge of the bed.
“Margaret, we should do this at home.”
“How long?”
Jenna found her shoe.
“Eight months.”
Walter looked at her sharply.
Margaret nodded as though Jenna had told her the time.
“Eight months.”
“I’m sorry,” Jenna said.
“Don’t.”
Margaret swallowed.
“I don’t know yet whether I hate you, pity you, or don’t care about you at all, so please don’t make me decide while you’re standing there.”
Jenna lowered her eyes.
Walter rubbed both hands over his face.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”
Margaret almost smiled.
“Was there a scheduled way for me to find out?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He looked older sitting there.
That irritated her too.
She did not want him to look vulnerable.
She wanted him to look exactly like the kind of man who could destroy thirty-two years without requiring anyone to feel sorry for him.
Jenna picked up her purse.
“I really am leaving.”
This time Walter did not stop her.
She reached the doorway, hesitated, then looked at Margaret.
“For what it’s worth, he told me you two had been separated emotionally for years.”
Margaret stared at her.
Jenna gave a helpless shrug.
“He said you stayed together because of finances and your son.”
Walter stood.
“Jenna.”
May you like
“What?”
“You don’t need to make this worse.”
