Chương 7
Solomon answered, “Bathroom.”
“The downstairs bathroom exists.”
“I know.”
My pulse climbed into my throat.
The stairs creaked again.
He was coming up.
I shut the laptop completely, slipped my phone into my pocket, and moved toward the closet.
Then I stopped.
If he entered the guest room, hiding would make me look absurd even to myself.
If he entered our bedroom, I could stay where I was.
I stood behind the door instead, not concealed so much as out of its direct line.
Solomon reached the landing.
His footsteps crossed the hall.
Our bedroom door opened.
I released a breath through my nose.
A drawer slid.
Another opened.
He was looking for something.
His phone rang downstairs.
Jennifer called, “Solomon.”
“Two seconds.”
Another drawer.
Then silence.
A vibration sounded from somewhere close.
Not his phone downstairs.
Something inside the bedroom.
A second phone.
I stepped into the hall before fear could stop me.
The master-bedroom door was half open.
Solomon stood beside his nightstand holding a small black pouch I had never seen before.
He had pulled it from the bottom drawer beneath a stack of old T-shirts.
He unzipped it.
Inside were two passports, a thick envelope, and what looked like a bank card.
My stomach dropped.
He removed the envelope and counted cash.
Not a few bills.
A stack.
Then he checked one of the passports.
His own.
The other remained inside the pouch.
I could not see the name.
Jennifer called from downstairs again.
“What are you doing?”
“Coming.”
He shoved the envelope into his jacket pocket.
Then he froze.
His head turned slightly.
I had shifted my weight.
The floorboard beneath me had made the smallest possible sound.
For one second neither of us moved.
Then Solomon walked toward the bedroom door.
I stepped backward into the guest room and pulled the door almost closed.
His footsteps entered the hallway.
They stopped outside.
My phone vibrated.
The sound was tiny.
It might as well have been an alarm.
I pulled it out.
Dad:
You okay?
The guest-room doorknob moved.
I looked at it.
Solomon opened the door.
He stared at me.
I stared back.
For several seconds, his face contained nothing.
Then everything arrived at once.
Confusion.
Fear.
Calculation.
My husband looked at the phone in my hand.
He looked at the closed laptop on the desk.
Then he looked back at me.
“What are you doing here?”
Downstairs, Charlotte called his name.
I did not answer.
Solomon’s eyes sharpened.
“How long have you been here?”
My heartbeat was violent, but my voice came out almost calm.
“Long enough.”
His face lost color.
Behind him, Jennifer appeared at the top of the stairs.
She saw me.
The wineglass in her hand stopped halfway to her mouth.
Charlotte came up behind her.
Nobody spoke.
The four of us stood in the hallway where, six weeks earlier, my five-year-old son had been taught that telling me the truth could destroy his family.
I looked at Charlotte first.
Her mouth opened.
I raised one hand.
“Don’t.”
She closed it.
Then I looked at Jennifer.
She set the wineglass on the small table near the stairs because her hand had started shaking.
Finally I looked at Solomon.
His right hand moved toward the jacket pocket containing the envelope.
That was when I stopped thinking about the affair.
“Show me what’s in your pocket.”
He stared at me.
“What?”
“The envelope.”
His hand went still.
Jennifer looked at him.
Charlotte did too.
Neither woman knew about it.
That was clear immediately.
Solomon swallowed.
“It’s nothing.”
I almost smiled.
Seven years of marriage, and he still chose the worst possible sentence.
“Then show me.”
He did not move.
Jennifer said quietly, “Sol?”
His eyes never left mine.
“What exactly did you hear?”
I took one step into the hallway.
“Enough to know there is no Dalton account.”
Jennifer looked down.
“Enough to know this started before Thanksgiving.”
Charlotte’s face tightened.
“Enough to know all three of you thought frightening a five-year-old into silence was somehow easier than being adults.”
Charlotte flinched.
Solomon said, “Keep your voice down.”
The sentence was so instinctive, so absurd, that a laugh escaped me.
Theo was not even in the house.
Still he wanted me quiet.
I stopped laughing.
“Take out the envelope.”
He looked toward the stairs.
For the first time, I saw him searching for an exit rather than an explanation.
My father had told me not to assume the affair was the only thing I did not know.
Now Solomon was standing ten feet away with cash hidden beside passports.
Jennifer whispered, “What envelope?”
Solomon snapped, “Stay out of it.”
Her expression changed.
Not hurt.
Suspicion.
Charlotte stepped closer.
“Solomon, what is she talking about?”
He rubbed one hand over his mouth.
Nobody moved.
Then the security system chimed downstairs.
The front door had opened.
Solomon looked toward the stairs.
So did I.
A man’s voice rose from the foyer.
“Anybody home?”
I recognized it immediately.
My father.
Solomon’s face changed again.
This time there was no calculation left.
Only fear.
My father called again from downstairs, louder this time.
“I’m not standing in the foyer all night.”
Nobody moved.
Solomon’s eyes stayed on me.
“You called him?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before Jennifer got here.”
Jennifer’s head turned toward him.
“You told me she didn’t know.”
Solomon ignored her.
“You brought your father into this?”
The question came out with offended disbelief, as though I had violated some private rule after finding three people breaking every meaningful one.
“He owns the house.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
Dad’s footsteps crossed the living room.
Charlotte descended two steps and called, “Frank, stay downstairs.”
He stopped.
“Charlotte?”
She looked at me.
I said nothing.
Dad answered, “Why are you here?”
Charlotte closed her eyes briefly.
There was no good answer.
Solomon stepped into the hallway and lowered his voice.
“Can we talk privately?”
Jennifer laughed once.
May you like
“Now you want privacy?”
He turned on her.
