Chương 10
“Why me?”
“Because one of the records is about your wedding.”
Elena went still.
“What?”
“A communications memo.”
“From whom?”
“The family office.”
“When?”
“June.”
After Victor knew.
After Adrian agreed to remain silent.
“What does it say?”
“I’m not reading it over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to become less stupid.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“Progress.”
Vanessa gave a small laugh.
They met with both attorneys present.
Catherine disliked Vanessa’s attorney within five minutes, which Elena took as a good sign.
The memo was not dramatic.
No one had written USE ELENA’S WEDDING TO HIDE PATERNITY SCANDAL.
Real people rarely created evidence that convenient.
Instead, the document discussed “continuity of scheduled family events,” “reputational noise,” and “avoiding unnecessary changes likely to amplify unrelated inquiries.”
The wedding was listed.
So was a foundation gala.
A board retreat.
An interview Adrian had been scheduled to give to a financial magazine.
Elena read the memo twice.
“Who wrote this?”
“A communications consultant,” Vanessa said.
“Did Victor approve it?”
Vanessa’s attorney pointed to an email.
Victor had replied:
Proceed. No avoidable disruption.
Adrian had been copied.
Elena felt physically cold.
She looked at Catherine.
“Is this useful?”
“For your divorce? Not much. For understanding the people involved? Quite a bit.”
Vanessa shifted in her chair.
“There are travel records too.”
Catherine held up one finger.
“We are not turning this meeting into amateur discovery. Your lawyer can determine what you lawfully possess and what is relevant.”
Vanessa’s attorney nodded.
Elena kept staring at Adrian’s name in the email.
Copied.
He had seen the language.
No avoidable disruption.
Their wedding had been an item on a continuity plan.
She called him from the hallway.
He answered immediately.
“Did you see the June memo?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“You told me your father thought proceeding normally would be better.”
“That’s what the memo said.”
“No. You made it sound like a conversation.”
“It was both.”
“You were copied.”
“Yes.”
“Did you reply?”
“No.”
“Did you object?”
“Not in writing.”
“Did you object at all?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Later.”
“To whom?”
“My father.”
“What did you say?”
“That using the wedding in the communications plan was wrong.”
“And what did he say?”
“That the wedding was already happening.”
“And?”
“I said that was true.”
Elena laughed.
It sounded ugly in the hallway.
“You agreed with him.”
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“You could have told me.”
“I know.”
“You always knew.”
She hung up.
That night she cried again.
Not because of new facts.
Because each new fact removed another excuse she had unconsciously been saving for him.
A week passed.
Then two.
Public attention shifted.
A celebrity divorce replaced the wedding scandal on entertainment sites. Then a political story replaced that.
Elena returned to work.
She was the operations director for a small educational nonprofit that renovated community learning spaces. Her job involved budgets, contractors, broken HVAC systems, grant deadlines, and people who used the phrase quick question before asking something that took three days.
On her first morning back, her staff did not know where to look.
Her assistant, Miguel, finally said, “Do you want us to pretend we have not seen the internet?”
“Yes.”
“Great.”
“Unless something affects work.”
“Also great.”
He paused.
“My aunt thinks you should sell the wedding dress.”
Elena stared at him.
“I said pretend.”
“She has a resale account.”
“Miguel.”
“Understood.”
The ordinariness saved her.
A contractor had installed the wrong cabinet hardware at a literacy center.
A donor wanted a report reformatted because she disliked pie charts.
A printer jammed.
At lunch Elena ate soup at her desk and went nearly fifteen minutes without thinking about Adrian.
Then she noticed the time and ruined it.
Her therapist, whom she had started seeing during her mother’s illness years earlier and returned to after the wedding, asked what she wanted.
“I want to stop loving him.”
“That is not a switch.”
“I know.”
“What else?”
“I want to stop being the woman from the video.”
“Who is that?”
“The bride who slapped her husband.”
“Is that how you think people see you?”
“It’s how strangers see me.”
“Do strangers get a vote?”
Elena groaned.
“Please don’t become a refrigerator magnet.”
Her therapist smiled.
“Fair.”
Elena rubbed her hands together.
“I hate that I hit him.”
“Why?”
“Because it was wrong.”
“That sounds clear.”
“I also hate that part of me is glad I did.”
“Also clear.”
“I’m not supposed to feel both.”
“According to whom?”
Elena looked at the clock.
“You charge too much to answer questions with questions.”
“So does Catherine.”
“Everyone in my life is annoying.”
“Useful defense.”
“See? That. Stop.”
They both smiled.
Outside the office, Elena bought coffee and sat in her car for ten minutes doing nothing.
No revelation came.
No metaphor.
The coffee was bad.
It helped.
Adrian moved out of the townhouse.
He told Catherine Elena could stay there until the divorce was final.
Elena refused for three weeks.
Then her father’s habit of waking at five thirty and her mother’s belief that every emotion required carbohydrates wore her down.
She went to collect her belongings.
Adrian was not supposed to be there.
He was.
He stood in the kitchen surrounded by cardboard boxes.
Elena stopped in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
He looked startled.
“Packing.”
“You said you were out.”
“I was. I forgot some things.”
She looked at the boxes.
“You forgot your entire kitchen?”
He glanced around.
“Dad’s house has nine kitchens.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
Adrian smiled.
Then both stopped.
He looked thinner.
Elena hated noticing.
“I can go,” he said.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
He picked up one box.
A wooden spoon fell out.
Elena bent automatically.
So did he.
Their hands nearly touched.
Both pulled back.
Adrian straightened.
“Sorry.”
“It’s a spoon.”
“I know.”
He put it in the box.
On the counter sat a basil plant.
Elena stared.
“That died.”
“I bought another.”
“Why?”
“The kitchen looked strange.”
May you like
She looked at him.
He seemed embarrassed.
