Chương 8
“Hi.”
Her voice was cautious.
“Hi.”
“Grandma said you got cake.”
“I did not get cake.”
“She said she was investigating.”
“Apparently the investigation failed.”
Lily giggled.
Daniel closed his eyes.
He had not realized how much he needed that sound.
“Are you okay?”
“I think.”
“That’s allowed.”
“Dad says I shouldn’t have had to do that yesterday.”
“He’s right.”
“He said he was wrong.”
“He was.”
“Are you still mad at him?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“You can love somebody I’m mad at.”
“I know.”
Daniel smiled slightly.
“Good.”
She became quiet.
“Are you mad at Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still love her?”
Daniel looked at the coffee stain on his table.
Children had no respect for pacing.
“Yes.”
Lily was silent.
“Is that weird?”
“A little.”
“Fair.”
“Dad says people can be two things.”
Daniel sat straighter.
“Your dad said that?”
“He said Rebecca can be hurt and still hurt you.”
Daniel stared at nothing.
Aaron had once thrown a lamp through a bedroom door because an online bet had gone wrong.
People could be two things.
“Yes,” Daniel said. “That’s true.”
“Can you be mad and still miss somebody?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Why?”
“Nothing.”
He heard fabric moving.
“Lily.”
“I miss Rebecca a little.”
Daniel swallowed.
Rebecca had taken Lily to a pottery-painting place twice. She had learned how Lily liked grilled cheese cut diagonally. She kept spare hair ties in her purse because Lily always lost hers.
“That’s okay.”
“She lied.”
“Yes.”
“I can still miss her?”
“Yes.”
Lily exhaled.
“Okay.”
After the call, Daniel sat in the kitchen for a long time.
His coffee went cold.
At three Rebecca texted.
I will meet anywhere you choose. I will answer everything. No excuses.
He replied before he could overthink it.
Tomorrow. 10 a.m. Bell Street Café.
Her response came instantly.
Thank you.
Bell Street Café was crowded enough that neither of them could stage a scene.
Daniel chose it for that reason.
He arrived twelve minutes early.
Rebecca was already there.
She wore black pants, a cream blouse, and no makeup Daniel could see. Her copper hair was tied back. She looked smaller without the wedding clothes, which irritated him because vulnerability could become its own kind of leverage even when unintentional.
He sat across from her.
Neither reached for the menu.
Rebecca wrapped both hands around a cup of tea.
“I’m sorry.”
Daniel looked toward the counter where a teenager was arguing with the espresso machine.
“Okay.”
She blinked.
“I don’t expect that to be enough.”
“It isn’t.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t lead with it like a transaction.”
She looked down.
“All right.”
A man at the next table laughed loudly into his phone.
Rebecca waited until the sound passed.
“I married Aaron eight years ago. We knew each other seven months.”
Daniel said nothing.
“He was charming.”
“That sounds like him.”
“He was.”
Her mouth moved faintly.
“He could walk into a room where he knew nobody and leave knowing everybody’s birthday.”
“He still does that.”
“The gambling got bad right after we married.”
Daniel watched her fingers tighten around the cup.
“He was already doing it before. I didn’t understand how bad. I thought he was irresponsible with money. I didn’t understand addiction.”
“What happened?”
“You heard enough at the chapel.”
“I want your version.”
Rebecca stared into the tea.
“He lied. I checked. He lied better. I checked more. Eventually our relationship became me trying to prove what he was doing and him trying to prove I was crazy for checking.”
Daniel thought of Aaron’s current apartment with its labeled budget folders, a recovery routine Daniel had always treated with mild suspicion.
Rebecca continued.
“One night he lost almost six thousand dollars. I moved what was left in our checking account so rent would clear. He came home and punched a cabinet.”
“Beside you.”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever hit you?”
“No.”
“Threaten you?”
“He threatened himself.”
Daniel nodded.
“I left two days later.”
“Why didn’t you finish the divorce?”
“I tried.”
“The case was dismissed.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying you tried like the court got tired and erased your marriage by sympathy.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“That’s fair.”
“No. It’s accurate.”
She nodded.
“My lawyer stopped representing me because I owed money. Aaron wasn’t responding consistently. I moved twice in one year. I was twenty-five. I was working at a hotel during the day and doing events at night. I got the dismissal notice.”
“And?”
“I put it in a drawer.”
Daniel waited.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You did nothing.”
“Yes.”
“For eight years.”
“I told myself I would handle it when I had money.”
“You got money.”
“I told myself I would handle it when I had time.”
“You got time.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know.”
“And then you met me.”
“Yes.”
“When did you know who Aaron was to me?”
“When you showed me a picture from your mother’s birthday.”
Daniel remembered.
Rebecca had gone quiet that night.
He had assumed she was tired.
“What did you think?”
“That I should leave.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She looked at him.
“Because I loved you.”
He laughed once.
The woman at the next table glanced over.
Rebecca flinched.
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t get to use love as an answer to why you lied.”
“I’m not.”
“It sounded exactly like that.”
She pressed her lips together.
Daniel leaned back.
“What did you think would happen?”
“I thought I could fix the divorce quietly.”
“And then?”
“And then tell you.”
“After?”
Rebecca did not answer.
“After we were married?”
“No.”
“When?”
“Before.”
“When before?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s the problem.”
“I know.”
“No, Rebecca. You had fourteen months after you recognized Aaron. You had eight months after you sat across from him. You had six weeks after an attorney confirmed there was no final decree. You had yesterday morning. Which version of before were you waiting for?”
Her face tightened.
“I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Of losing you.”
May you like
Daniel looked out the window.
Cars moved through a green light.
