Chương 4
One had more than two hundred thousand views.
Megan sat cross-legged on her couch in sweatpants, holding Rachel’s phone.
“You should turn this off.”
Rachel sat at the kitchen table wearing one of Megan’s old college T-shirts and a pair of shorts that were too small.
“What does it say?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Read it.”
“No.”
“Megan.”
“One person says your father is an actor hired by Ethan’s ex-girlfriend.”
Rachel stared.
“That’s almost comforting.”
“There are also people saying you should’ve married Ethan anyway because apparently public humiliation is less serious than catering deposits.”
“Good point.”
“And somebody named FreedomMamaOhio thinks this is proof of the collapse of traditional masculinity.”
Rachel rubbed both hands over her face.
“Turn it off.”
“Already done.”
Megan placed the phone facedown.
Thomas was sleeping in a motel near the train station.
Rachel had not invited him to stay.
She had not hugged him.
Before they separated outside Megan’s building, Thomas had written his phone number on the back of an old receipt.
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he said. “If you want.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll wait one more day.”
“Then?”
“Then I go back.”
“To Pennsylvania.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s there?”
“Work.”
“What kind?”
“Restoration carpentry mostly.”
Rachel had almost smiled at that.
Of course.
Her father had spent half her childhood fixing things nobody else thought were worth fixing. Porch railings. Church pews. Old windows with wavy glass. He would complain about cheap modern screws with the intensity other men reserved for taxes.
She had become an architect specializing in historic restoration.
For years she told herself it came from her mother’s love of old buildings.
Maybe it did.
People liked single explanations because they made family history easier to store.
At one thirty in the morning, Megan was eating cereal dry from the box when Rachel said, “You knew something.”
Megan stopped chewing.
“What?”
“At the cathedral. You looked at Ethan before you looked at my dad.”
Megan put the cereal box down.
“I didn’t know this.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Megan stared at the table.
“About six months ago, Ethan and I got into an argument.”
“About what?”
“You.”
“Great.”
“He was making all the wedding decisions.”
“He was helping.”
“That’s what you called it.”
Rachel leaned back.
Megan sighed.
“I told him he treated anything painful in your life like a scheduling problem.”
“That sounds like you.”
“He said something I thought was shitty.”
“What?”
Megan picked at a chipped corner of her nail polish.
“He said some people are safer as ghosts.”
Rachel stopped breathing for a second.
“You never told me.”
“I thought he meant your dad generally. Like emotionally. I didn’t think he literally meant—” She shook her head. “I didn’t know.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“Yes.”
“You were my maid of honor.”
“I know.”
“You’re supposed to tell me when the person I’m marrying says creepy things about dead people.”
“Yes.”
Rachel stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
Megan flinched.
That made Rachel angrier.
Then ashamed.
She walked to the window.
A garbage truck moved slowly along the street below, lights flashing yellow against the brick buildings. Somewhere in another apartment, a baby had been crying for almost ten minutes.
Rachel said, “Everyone keeps deciding what I can handle.”
Megan did not defend herself.
After a while she said, “Yeah.”
Rachel slept for forty-three minutes.
At eight the next morning she texted Thomas.
A diner. Ten o’clock. Public place.
His reply came three minutes later.
Okay.
No heart.
No dramatic sentence.
Just okay.
Rachel appreciated that more than she wanted to.
Thomas was already seated when she arrived.
He had shaved the edges of his beard but not the rest. His overcoat hung beside him in the booth. The leather bag sat at his feet.
He was drinking coffee from a thick white mug.
Rachel stopped beside the table.
“You still drink it black?”
Thomas looked up.
“You remember.”
“I remember you saying milk was for people afraid of coffee.”
“That sounds stupid.”
“It was.”
She sat.
A waitress appeared with a menu.
Thomas said, “She’ll want tea.”
Rachel looked at him.
Thomas immediately winced.
“Sorry.”
The waitress glanced between them.
Rachel said, “Coffee. Milk.”
Thomas nodded as if she had corrected something important.
The waitress left.
Rachel put her phone on the table.
“I’m recording this.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t object?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you should have a record.”
“You think like a criminal now?”
Thomas smiled without humor.
“Used to think like a drunk. This is an improvement.”
It was the first thing he had said that sounded like the father she remembered.
Rachel hated that it made her want to smile.
She did not.
“Tell me about March.”
Thomas wrapped both hands around the coffee mug.
“I was in Dayton then. Working for a company that restored church interiors. Your grandmother found me before Ethan did.”
“How?”
“Private investigator.”
“And?”
“She called.”
“What did she want?”
“Same thing she’d always wanted. Me gone.”
“Why didn’t you tell her to go to hell?”
“I did.”
“Then what?”
“She told me you were doing well.”
Rachel waited.
“She sent pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“Your firm website. Some charity dinner. You and Ethan at a Christmas thing.”
“You were following my life online?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why didn’t you contact me online?”
“I did once.”
Rachel looked up sharply.
“Facebook. Message probably went into one of those request folders. Never got answered.”
Rachel had deleted Facebook years ago.
“I don’t remember it.”
“I figured.”
“When did Ethan appear?”
“Couple weeks after Margaret called.”
Thomas stared into his coffee.
“He walked into the shop wearing a coat that cost more than my car.”
“Sounds like Ethan.”
“He said you’d asked him to find me.”
“I had.”
Thomas looked at her.
That landed between them.
Rachel folded her hands.
“I asked him because I couldn’t do it myself.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
She almost stood up.
Thomas lifted one palm.
“Sorry. Old habit.”
May you like
“What old habit?”
“Pushing when I don’t have the right.”
