Chương 5
In the master bathroom, my white robe hung from its hook.
I stared at it.
It was freshly washed.
That detail hurt in a ridiculous way.
Someone had worn my robe in my bedroom with my husband, and afterward one of them had apparently put it in the laundry.
I took it down.
For several seconds I considered throwing it away.
Instead, I folded it and placed it in the back of the closet.
Then I changed the bedsheets.
That was even more ridiculous.
I knew it.
I did it anyway.
At 2:35, I left to pick up Theo.
I told him we were having a sleepover at Grandpa’s house.
He cheered.
“Can Kevin come?”
“Kevin can come.”
“Bunny too?”
“Yes.”
“The blue blanket?”
“Yes.”
He frowned thoughtfully.
“That’s a lot.”
“We’ll manage.”
At my father’s house, my mother opened the door before I reached the porch.
Dad had told her enough that she did not ask questions in front of Theo.
She hugged me once, hard.
Then she immediately bent down and said, “Theo, Grandpa bought terrible cookies.”
From the kitchen Dad shouted, “They were on sale.”
Theo ran inside.
My mother caught my wrist before I followed.
Her eyes searched my face.
“Don’t do anything because you want him to hurt as much as you hurt.”
I swallowed.
“What am I supposed to do instead?”
“Do whatever leaves you able to respect yourself afterward.”
That was much less satisfying.
It was also why I had called Dad instead of her.
At 4:02, I returned home.
I parked three streets away and walked back through the narrow pedestrian path behind the houses.
My own backyard looked strangely unfamiliar from that angle.
At 4:17, I entered through the basement door using my key.
The house was empty.
I went upstairs, sat at the small desk in the guest room, and opened the security application on my laptop.
At 4:48, Charlotte’s sedan turned into the driveway.
She got out carrying her handbag and a paper grocery sack.
She unlocked the front door with the key Solomon had given her years ago.
From downstairs came the faint sound of her heels crossing the hardwood.
I stayed motionless.
Two minutes later, the security app displayed an attempted manual shutdown.
The feeds remained active.
Charlotte tried again.
Then a third time.
Downstairs, I heard her say something under her breath.
My phone vibrated with a text from Solomon.
Everything okay with Theo?
I stared at it.
Then I typed:
Much better.
At 5:06, Solomon’s car entered the driveway.
He was supposed to be downtown.
He parked beside Charlotte.
He walked into the house.
Through the floor, I heard their voices but could not distinguish the words.
At 5:14, my phone vibrated again.
Solomon:
Going into the pitch meeting now.
Might be unreachable for a while.
I read the message while listening to my husband moving around directly beneath me.
Then Charlotte spoke loudly enough for one sentence to rise through the floor.
“She knows something.”
Solomon answered too quietly for me to hear.
Charlotte’s voice came again.
“I’m telling you, she was strange last night.”
A chair scraped.
Then Solomon said, “She doesn’t know.”
Charlotte replied, “Theo does.”
The silence after that sentence seemed to fill the whole house.
At 5:29, a black SUV pulled into my driveway.
Jennifer stepped out.
She was carrying a bottle of wine.
Jennifer paused beside the SUV and checked her phone before walking toward the front door.
She wore dark jeans, a camel-colored coat, and the same efficient expression I remembered from company holiday parties where she moved through conversations as if every room had an agenda.
The bottle of wine swung lightly from two fingers.
For one ugly second, I found myself wondering whether it was expensive.
Then I hated myself for caring.
Charlotte opened the door before Jennifer knocked.
They hugged.
Not politely.
Not like two women connected only by Solomon.
Charlotte put one hand on Jennifer’s shoulder and said something that made Jennifer laugh.
I could not hear the words from upstairs.
I did not need to.
That small familiarity hurt in a new place.
Jennifer entered.
The door closed.
I stayed in the guest room with the laptop open and my phone recording audio beside it, though I knew the recording might capture little more than muffled voices through the floor.
My father had warned me not to become obsessed with collecting perfect evidence.
“Perfect evidence is a television idea,” he had said.
“Real life gives you pieces.”
At 5:34, footsteps moved toward the stairs.
I shut the laptop halfway and stood.
My heart began pounding so hard that I could feel it in my gums.
The steps stopped.
Solomon’s voice came from the hallway below.
“Upstairs?”
Jennifer answered, “Not if she’s acting weird.”
Charlotte said, “Exactly.”
There was a pause.
Then Solomon laughed.
It was a short, irritated sound.
“You two are making this into something.”
Jennifer’s voice sharpened.
“Your son walked in on us.”
“I handled it.”
“No, your mother handled it.”
Charlotte said, “And I shouldn’t have had to.”
The words were clearer now because they had moved toward the bottom of the staircase.
I stood completely still.
Jennifer lowered her voice, and I missed the next sentence.
Solomon answered louder.
“She doesn’t check the system logs.”
I looked at the laptop.
Charlotte said, “You don’t know that.”
“I know my wife.”
The certainty in his voice was almost intimate.
It was the same confidence he had used when ordering for me at restaurants.
The same confidence he used when telling friends I hated horror movies and loved dry red wine.
He knew me.
That was part of what made the deception possible.
Jennifer said, “Can we not do this here tonight?”
Charlotte answered, “I said the same thing.”
“Then why did you tell me to come?”
“I didn’t.”
A silence followed.
Solomon said, “I did.”
Jennifer exhaled.
“Jesus, Sol.”
May you like
“I needed to talk to both of you.”
“Then call me.”
