Chương 2
I stopped at the curb instead of pulling into the driveway.
Sophie looked up from her phone.
"Why are we sitting here?"
"I forgot something."
"What?"
For one useless second, I could not invent anything believable.
"My grocery list."
She stared at me.
"You don't need a list to go inside."
"No, I mean I forgot to make one."
"Mom."
Rebecca's silver SUV sat behind Mark's sedan, angled slightly toward the street as if she expected to leave soon.
I could see the front curtains moving in the living room.
Someone was walking past the window.
I put the car in park.
"Sophie, I need you to do me a favor."
Her expression changed immediately.
Children recognize the tone adults use when they are pretending something is ordinary.
"Is Rebecca inside?"
"Looks like it."
"Why?"
"I don't know yet."
She pulled her choir bag onto her lap.
"Do you want me to stay in the car?"
Part of me did.
A larger part knew that asking my twelve-year-old daughter to hide in a parked car while I investigated her father would be one more adult burden dropped into her lap.
"No."
I turned off the engine.
"We're going inside."
The front door was unlocked.
Mark's voice carried from the kitchen.
"That's not what I said."
Rebecca answered too softly for me to make out the words.
Sophie froze beside me.
I touched her shoulder.
"Go upstairs."
She did not move.
"Mom."
"Please."
That was enough.
She climbed the stairs slowly, glancing back once before disappearing around the landing.
I walked into the kitchen.
Rebecca stood at the island with her handbag open.
Mark was beside the sink, both palms flat on the counter.
Between them lay a blue folder I had never seen before.
They looked at me at exactly the same time.
Nobody spoke.
Then Rebecca closed the folder.
"Laura."
The way she said my name made something inside me sharpen.
Not guilt.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
She had been expecting this moment too.
"What are you doing in my house?"
Mark straightened.
"Don't start like that."
I looked at him.
"Like what?"
"Hostile."
Rebecca picked up her handbag.
"I should go."
"No."
The word came out before I had decided to say it.
She stopped.
Mark's eyes narrowed.
"Laura."
"I want to know why she's here."
"We were talking."
"About?"
"Church stuff."
I looked at the blue folder.
Neither of them moved toward it.
"What church stuff comes in a folder?"
Rebecca crossed her arms.
"It isn't my place to get involved."
I almost admired the sentence.
She had managed to say it while standing in my kitchen.
"Then why are you here?"
Her mouth opened, but Mark answered.
"Because I asked her to come."
"Why?"
He rubbed the back of his neck.
That gesture was different from the coat-pocket one.
This was the gesture he used when he was irritated by a question he believed he should not have to answer.
"Because we need to talk about some things."
"We?"
"Rebecca and I."
I glanced toward the staircase.
"About our house?"
Rebecca looked at Mark.
It was quick.
It was enough.
He saw that I had seen it.
"Laura, can we please not do this with the kids home?"
"You already did it with the kids home."
His face hardened.
"I don't know what that means."
"Rebecca told Sophie I was moving out."
Rebecca went pale.
Mark turned toward her.
"You told Sophie that?"
"Not like that."
"You told me you didn't say anything to her."
"I didn't say anything definite."
I laughed once.
The sound surprised all three of us.
Rebecca lifted her chin.
"She asked why things felt weird."
"So you told my daughter I was leaving my home."
"I said there might be changes."
"That's not what she told me."
"She's twelve."
The words hung there.
Rebecca seemed to realize too late what she had implied.
I stepped closer.
"Yes, she is."
Mark raised one hand.
"Enough."
Something about that word almost broke my restraint.
He had used it on me for years as if he were the person responsible for deciding when reality had become inconvenient.
I looked at the blue folder again.
"What's in there?"
"Nothing."
"Then open it."
Mark did not.
Rebecca tightened her grip on her handbag strap.
"Laura, I'm leaving."
"You can."
I moved aside.
"But the folder stays."
She looked at Mark.
Again.
Always Mark.
He sighed.
"It's mine."
"Then you can open it."
"This isn't a courtroom."
"No."
I kept my voice level.
"It's my kitchen."
From upstairs came the muffled thump of a bedroom door closing.
Mark lowered his voice.
"You're upsetting Sophie."
I felt something ugly and clean move through me.
"You're using our daughter to shut me up."
"That's not fair."
"Neither is rewriting her family before telling me the marriage is over."
Rebecca flinched.
Mark stared at me.
For a moment, his face lost the practiced irritation and showed naked alarm.
I knew then that Claire had been right.
There was more.
I reached for the folder.
Mark got there first.
He picked it up and held it against his side.
That single movement told me more than if he had shouted.
"What is it?"
"Work papers."
"From your office?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
His eyes changed.
"Why?"
"Because the bank says the occupancy update on our mortgage came from your office."
Rebecca closed her eyes.
Only briefly.
But she did it.
Mark's face went completely still.
I had expected denial.
Instead I got silence.
That was worse.
"You knew," I said to Rebecca.
She shook her head.
"Laura, I really shouldn't be here for this."
"You already are."
Mark stepped between us.
"Stop interrogating her."
"I'm asking a question."
"You're cornering her."
Rebecca put a hand on his arm.
It was such a familiar gesture that my stomach turned.
"Mark, don't."
He looked down at her hand.
Then at me.
There was no point pretending anymore.
Not really.
May you like
He seemed to know it.
I pointed at the folder.
