Chương 5
“Yes.”
Megan swore again.
Claire walked toward the stairs.
Daniel stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To get your bag.”
“Claire.”
“You can stay at a hotel.”
“We need to talk.”
“We have.”
“There’s more.”
She stopped halfway out of the kitchen.
Of course there was more.
People always said there was more as though quantity might improve quality.
“Not tonight.”
“Rebecca is not telling you everything.”
“I’m sure she isn’t.”
“She has reasons for doing this.”
“So do you.”
“She’s angry about money.”
Claire turned.
“You told me she was dead because she was angry about money?”
“No. I’m saying tonight wasn’t some act of conscience.”
“Do you think that helps you?”
“No.”
“At least we agree on one thing.”
Claire went upstairs.
Daniel’s suitcase was still mostly packed.
She added underwear from his drawer, two shirts, another pair of trousers, his toothbrush, medication, chargers. She did not fold anything.
Megan stood in the doorway.
“You don’t have to pack for him.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
“Because if he does it, he’ll take forty minutes.”
Megan almost smiled.
Claire zipped the bag.
At the bottom of Daniel’s dresser drawer she saw a small gray envelope.
She had no reason to open it except that every rule had changed.
Inside was a photograph.
Daniel, younger, standing beside Rebecca.
Claire recognized her immediately, though the hair was longer and dark in the photograph.
Rebecca was smiling.
On the back, in blue ink:
Mackinac, August 2014. You promised me we’d stop starting over.
Claire read it twice.
Daniel had told her he and Rebecca had been emotionally finished by 2012.
She carried the photograph downstairs.
He saw it and went still.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“A month ago.”
Megan muttered, “There it is.”
Claire held up the photograph.
“This says 2014.”
“I told you we were separated, not that we never tried again.”
“You met me in 2017.”
“Yes.”
“Did you keep seeing her after telling me she was dead?”
“For practical things.”
“What does that mean?”
“Property. Accounts. Insurance.”
“Did you go to her house?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Not often.”
“That’s not a number.”
“Maybe four or five times a year.”
Claire thought of business trips.
Philadelphia.
Richmond.
Chicago.
Daniel’s work genuinely required travel, which meant a lie had been able to hide inside the truth without changing clothes.
“Where does she live?”
“Alexandria.”
Claire stared at him.
Twenty miles.
Not another state.
Not some distant past.
Twenty miles.
“You said she died in North Carolina.”
“I know.”
“Stop.”
He lowered his eyes.
Claire handed him the suitcase.
“Go.”
Daniel looked at her for a long moment.
“I love you.”
Megan inhaled sharply.
Claire felt no dramatic surge.
Only exhaustion.
“I believe you.”
That seemed to hurt him more than if she had called him a liar.
She continued.
“That’s the problem. I think you love me. And you still did this.”
He looked as if he wanted to say something.
Then he took the suitcase and left.
Claire locked the door.
Megan stayed until two in the morning.
Neither of them discussed Daniel for the last forty minutes.
They watched a home-renovation show with the sound low while Claire drank water and Megan complained about a couple who had chosen black tile for a bathroom.
“They’ll regret the grout,” Megan said.
Claire nodded.
“Absolutely.”
It was the first useful conversation of the night.
At 2:17, alone in bed, Claire received a text from an unknown number.
My name is Rebecca Mercer. I’m sorry about the way you learned the truth. I’m not sorry that you learned it. Eleanor said she would give you my number if you asked. I decided that was cowardly. You can call me when you’re ready. I won’t contact you again unless you do.
Claire stared at the message.
Then she saved the number.
Not as Rebecca.
As DON’T CALL.
At 8:05 the next morning, she called.
Rebecca answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
Her voice was lower than Claire expected.
“Rebecca.”
Silence.
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“I’m sorry.”
Claire sat at the kitchen table wearing Daniel’s old college sweatshirt because she had put it on without thinking.
“Which part?”
“The restaurant.”
“Not the rest?”
“I don’t know you well enough to apologize for the rest.”
Claire almost hung up.
Instead she said, “Why did you pay?”
Rebecca exhaled.
“I wanted him to understand that I knew where he was.”
“You could have called him.”
“I did.”
“He didn’t answer.”
“I expected that.”
“So you humiliated me instead.”
“I didn’t intend to humiliate you.”
“You sent a manager to my anniversary table with a receipt bearing your name.”
Rebecca was quiet.
“You’re right.”
Claire had prepared for defensiveness.
The admission disrupted her anger.
Rebecca continued.
“I was angry. I told myself I was giving you proof. But I was angry.”
“At him.”
“Yes.”
“And I was acceptable collateral.”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
Claire looked out at the backyard.
A squirrel was digging in one of Daniel’s planters.
She had the irrational urge to chase it away.
“Why?”
Rebecca said, “Because two weeks ago he told me he wanted the divorce finalized.”
“You’ve been separated eleven years.”
“Mostly.”
“What does mostly mean?”
“It means marriage is messy and separation is sometimes just marriage with two addresses.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
Rebecca did not answer immediately.
Claire’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“Since 2017?”
“No.”
“Before?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Several times after we first separated. Last time was 2015.”
Daniel’s answer, at least on that point, matched.
Claire hated feeling relieved.
“Why didn’t you divorce?”
“Money at first.”
“Daniel said property.”
“Property. Debt. His business. My health insurance for a while. Then my mother got sick and I stopped caring enough to fight about paperwork.”
“You stayed married for health insurance?”
“For three years. After that, inertia. Fear. Resentment. Pick one.”
“And Daniel?”
“He benefited too.”
“How?”
Rebecca gave a short humorless laugh.
“You should ask him.”
May you like
“I’m asking you.”
“We owned a commercial property together. He guaranteed debt connected to it. Divorce meant accounting. Accounting meant looking at things neither of us wanted looked at closely.”
