Chương 2
My father’s bedroom had an exterior door opening toward the workshop.
He used it so employees could bring paperwork without walking through the house.
At least that was what he had always said.
“What time?”
“After midnight.”
“You sure?”
“I slept in the den.”
He rubbed his jaw.
“That door needs oil.”
I glanced toward the driveway.
My father was helping a neighbor load folding chairs.
“There was a woman in his room.”
Ernesto stopped moving.
“I saw her through the door.”
“Who?”
“I couldn’t see her face.”
His expression changed slowly.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
That frightened me more.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You just made the exact face people make before saying no.”
“Daniel.”
“Was there somebody with him?”
Ernesto looked toward the house.
Through the kitchen window, Mariana was laughing at something my mother had said.
“No idea.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Keep your voice down.”
The request sounded too much like my father.
I stepped closer.
“You asked me whether I was in the hallway.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“Why did you?”
He picked up one of the extension cords and began winding it around his elbow, then stopped when he realized it was already wound.
“That door didn’t start opening last night.”
My mouth went dry.
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“You obviously know something.”
“I know I’ve heard it before.”
“With a woman?”
“I never saw anybody.”
“How many times?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Enough.”
Before I could ask another question, my father called from the driveway.
“Ernesto, you planning to marry those extension cords?”
My uncle flinched.
It was small, but I saw it.
“Coming.”
He grabbed the tote.
I caught his arm.
“Who is she?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“You suspect somebody.”
His eyes moved toward the kitchen window again.
I followed them.
My mother had disappeared from view.
Mariana remained at the counter alone.
When I looked back, Ernesto was already walking away.
The rest of Sunday became an exercise in pretending.
I carried coolers.
I swept confetti from the patio.
I drove Mariana back to our apartment in Liverpool while she talked about thank-you cards and whether we could return unopened wine to the distributor.
I answered often enough to avoid another argument.
At a red light, she touched my wrist.
“Are you regretting yesterday already?”
The question landed harder than she intended.
“No.”
“You’ve barely spoken to me.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“You keep saying that.”
A driver behind us honked when the light changed.
I accelerated too quickly.
Mariana removed her hand.
Our apartment smelled faintly stale after being closed all weekend.
A stack of unopened wedding gifts occupied half the living room.
Someone had given us three different toaster ovens.
Mariana stood among the boxes and looked at them.
“If marriage doesn’t work, at least we can each take a toaster.”
I laughed despite myself.
She smiled.
For a few minutes, I hated myself for what I had suspected.
Then she went to shower.
I opened my phone and searched my father’s business page.
I did not know what I expected to find.
There were photographs of excavators, skid steers, trailers, and my father grinning beside machinery as if every diesel engine were a family member.
I scrolled back six months.
Nothing.
A year.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something stupid.
A photograph from July showed my father standing beside a refurbished Bobcat outside the workshop.
In the background, almost hidden behind an open truck door, was a woman.
Only part of her body was visible.
Long dark hair.
My pulse accelerated anyway.
I enlarged the photograph until it became grainy.
The woman wore a green blouse.
Mariana owned a green blouse.
So did approximately half the women in New York.
I locked the phone in disgust.
The shower stopped.
When Mariana emerged, she found me sitting among the wedding gifts.
“You look like somebody died.”
“I’m fine.”
She crossed her arms.
“No, you’re not.”
I looked at the woman I had married less than twenty-four hours earlier.
There was a small red mark on her shoulder from where the wedding dress strap had rubbed her skin.
Her face was bare of makeup.
She looked ordinary and familiar and nothing like a secret.
“Did you ever go into my father’s bedroom before last night?”
The room changed.
Mariana did not answer immediately.
That delay was enough.
“When?”
I stood.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I know.”
“Then answer it.”
She tightened the belt of her robe.
“Yes.”
The word hit with astonishing physical force.
“When?”
“A few times.”
“For what?”
She looked toward the bedroom.
I stepped between her and the hallway without intending to.
Her eyes hardened.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Stand there like I’m trapped.”
I moved aside immediately.
She remained where she was.
“What were you doing in his room?”
“Helping him.”
“With what?”
“Daniel, lower your voice.”
“I’m not yelling.”
“You’re almost yelling.”
I pressed my palms against my jeans.
“What were you helping him with?”
She looked at me for a long moment.
“Paperwork.”
“My father has an office.”
“I know.”
“Then why his bedroom?”
“Because some of the paperwork was there.”
“What paperwork?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth would be fantastic.”
Her face changed.
“Excuse me?”
“I saw a woman in his bedroom last night.”
Mariana went completely still.
“At twelve forty-three in the morning.”
“What?”
“She had long dark hair.”
“You think it was me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I came back here and you were gone.”
“I told you where I was.”
“And now you’re telling me you’ve secretly been in my father’s bedroom before.”
“It wasn’t secret.”
“I didn’t know.”
“That doesn’t make something secret.”
“Did Mom know?”
Mariana looked away.
There it was.
Not guilt exactly.
Something worse because I could not name it.
“Did my mother know?”
“I don’t know.”
“About the paperwork?”
She sat down slowly on the arm of the couch.
“You need to talk to your father.”
May you like
“Why?”
“Because I promised him I wouldn’t get involved.”
