Chương 9
The heat seemed to return all at once.
“Between you?”
“Some.”
“Why would he delete only some?”
“Because those are the ones that make him look worse.”
I closed my eyes.
“Rebecca, if this is your way of getting ahead of something—”
“It isn’t.”
“You slept with my husband?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“Did you kiss him?”
Silence.
There it was.
I sat down in the driver’s seat.
“How many times?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“July.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
The words arrived without decoration.
I appreciated that and hated her for it anyway.
“How did he get there?”
“I invited him in after dinner.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted him there.”
At least she did not pretend otherwise.
“And then?”
“We talked.”
“You kissed him.”
“Yes.”
“Who kissed who?”
Another pause.
“I kissed him first.”
My free hand closed around the steering wheel.
“Did he stop you?”
“Not immediately.”
I almost laughed at the elegance of that answer.
“What does that mean?”
“It means he kissed me back.”
The woman with the SUV slammed her trunk and drove away.
I sat alone in the shimmering parking lot.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
“Maybe ten seconds.”
“That’s specific.”
“I’ve replayed it.”
The shame in her voice was real enough to irritate me.
“What happened after?”
“He pulled away.”
“Why?”
“He said he couldn’t.”
I looked at the dashboard.
There was a dried smear of sunscreen near the vent from a beach trip in June.
We had taken Lucy to Isle of Palms.
Caleb had spent half the drive answering work emails.
Rebecca had been back in Charlotte then.
“Did he come back?”
“No.”
“Did you want him to?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“Thank you for the honesty.”
“It’s late.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because he came to my apartment this morning.”
My chest tightened.
“He told me he was going to work.”
“He probably did afterward.”
“What did he want?”
“To warn me.”
“About what?”
“That you had found the messages.”
Of course.
Caleb’s first impulse after being exposed had been to manage the perimeter.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said you were upset and might contact me.”
“Might.”
“He asked me not to engage.”
I let out a breath through my nose.
“He told me you were vulnerable.”
That made me laugh once.
Rebecca went quiet.
“Did he.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“That you were spiraling.”
I stared through the windshield.
A couple walked past carrying iced coffees.
The man was explaining something with both hands while the woman laughed.
“I processed payroll this morning.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Rebecca did not ask.
That was probably wise.
“He also said the kiss was a mistake and that bringing it up would only hurt you.”
I closed my eyes again.
“And you disagreed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he used your pain as an argument for protecting himself.”
The sentence landed harder than I expected.
I pressed my thumb against my temple.
“Did you know he saw a divorce attorney?”
Rebecca’s silence changed.
Not surprise.
Something denser.
“Yes.”
“When did you know?”
“The day after.”
I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel.
“He told you.”
“Yes.”
“Before he told me.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said the meeting made things feel real.”
“Was he planning to leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know or you don’t want to answer?”
“I don’t know.”
Her voice sharpened for the first time.
“I’m not trying to make myself innocent here, Margot.”
“Good.”
“I let him come to my apartment.”
“Yes.”
“I kissed him.”
“Yes.”
“I knew he was married.”
“Yes.”
Each answer made my throat tighter.
“But I also spent months telling him not to turn me into an excuse.”
I stared at nothing.
“He told me you two had been living like roommates for years.”
“That’s interesting.”
“I figured it was probably exaggerated.”
“It was.”
“He said you barely talked unless it was about Lucy or logistics.”
“Also exaggerated.”
“He said you had stopped wanting him.”
That one hurt because it was not entirely false.
I looked down at my wedding ring.
There had been months when I had avoided sex because exhaustion made touch feel like one more person needing something.
There had also been months when I had reached for Caleb and found him asleep, traveling, working, or simply elsewhere in the room.
“Did you believe him?”
“Some of it.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to.”
I respected the ugliness of the answer.
It sounded human.
“What did you want from him?”
Rebecca exhaled.
“At first?”
“Yes.”
“To see him.”
“That simple.”
“No.”
She gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Nothing about seeing your married college boyfriend after eighteen years is simple.”
“Did you want him to leave me?”
“Sometimes.”
The honesty hurt more than a denial would have.
“And other times?”
“I wanted him to go home and stop calling me.”
I closed my eyes.
“That is convenient.”
“I know.”
“No, Rebecca, really.”
My voice rose despite myself.
“You get to be conflicted and reflective now because you’re not the one explaining to a five-year-old why Daddy is sleeping somewhere else.”
“You’re right.”
I had expected defense.
The agreement left me with nowhere to put the anger.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I’m telling you because you deserve the whole picture.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“Did I deserve it in July?”
Rebecca did not answer.
“Did I deserve it in August?”
“No.”
“Did I deserve it yesterday when you walked out of that conference room?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Of what happened next.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That’s the part people always say after they help create the thing.”
“I know.”
Traffic moved along the boulevard beyond the parking lot.
I watched a city bus stop, doors opening and closing.
“Are there more deleted messages?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Do you still have them?”
“Some.”
“Why only some?”
May you like
“I delete threads when I get overwhelmed.”
That sounded believable in a way a neat archive would not have.
