Chương 7
The concession made it harder to remain angry.
“What do you need from me?”
“A written statement confirming no organizational funds, staff, devices, or records were involved. We also need you to step away from public-facing duties until counsel reviews the risk.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“My presentation to the county commission is Thursday.”
“Daniel can give it.”
“I wrote it.”
“And he can give it.”
The work had taken four months. The proposal would convert an abandoned motel into transitional housing for women veterans and their children. I had negotiated with residents, police, zoning staff, and a councilman who referred to trauma as a lifestyle issue.
Now Daniel, who had joined the board six weeks earlier and still confused operating grants with capital funding, would present it.
“I’ll send the statement,” I said.
“Mara.”
“Yes?”
“Do not post anything.”
“I haven’t.”
“Do not respond to reporters.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not threaten your sister.”
I looked at Grant.
“Was that suggested?”
“Her attorney alleged that you used a private investigator to intimidate her.”
“I hired him to learn whether my husband was lying.”
“I believe you.”
“But?”
“But our insurer will care about documentation, not belief.”
After the call, I stared at my untouched toast.
Grant closed his laptop.
“Facts and consequences,” I said.
He nodded.
“Different speeds.”
By noon, Paul had issued a statement through the architecture firm.
It described the reception as a painful private matter. It denied any misuse of company funds and announced that he and Eric would temporarily step back from client communications. It said nothing about paternity.
Eric did not call me again.
Instead, he sent a message.
I am meeting Paul at the office. I need to understand what he did.
I typed three replies and deleted them.
The fourth said: Start with what you did.
He did not answer.
I returned home while he was gone.
The flowers from the anniversary filled the kitchen exactly as he had said. White roses stood in silver bowls along the counter. Pale-pink petals had begun dropping onto the tile. The three-tier cake had been delivered too, minus the slice the caterer had removed for serving before Natalie’s announcement.
Our initials remained intact.
I opened the refrigerator and found forty-seven small boxes containing uneaten portions.
I took one out, sat at the breakfast table, and ate the cake with a teaspoon.
It tasted of almond and orange peel.
Halfway through, I began to cry.
There was no dramatic collapse. My face tightened. Tears dropped onto the cardboard lid. I kept eating because I had not eaten breakfast and because throwing away good cake seemed wasteful.
When the box was empty, I washed the spoon.
Upstairs, Eric’s closet door stood open. Two shirts lay on the bed, one white and one blue, as though he had been deciding what a betrayed husband should wear to confront his pregnant mistress’s other lover.
I removed a suitcase from the shelf.
Packing for deployment had always been easier. There were lists, weight limits, required equipment. Leaving a marriage offered no official guidance on how many sweaters to bring.
I packed six.
Then I removed two.
In the bathroom, my toothbrush stood beside Eric’s in the ceramic cup Natalie had given us for Christmas. The cup said HIS on one side and HERS on the other. She had called it tacky and funny.
I packed the toothbrush and left the cup.
At the bottom of my dresser, beneath folded scarves, I found the fertility clinic envelope containing the photograph of our only viable embryo.
We had named it June because the transfer was scheduled for June first.
It had never become a child.
The photograph showed six cells in a gray circle. A person had to be told what it was before it looked like anything at all.
I sat on the floor with the envelope in my lap.
Eric entered the bedroom without calling my name.
He stopped when he saw the suitcase.
His left cheek was reddened.
“What happened?”
“Paul hit me.”
I looked at him.
“He hit you?”
“I hit him first.”
“That makes more sense.”
Eric touched his cheek.
“I asked him how long.”
“And?”
“Since last November.”
The room became very quiet.
Natalie had slept with Paul for four months before beginning with Eric.
“Why?”
“He says she came to him after the foundation gala. She was upset. They had drinks. He drove her home.”
“And then accidentally entered her apartment eight or nine times?”
Eric looked at the suitcase instead of answering.
“What did Paul say about the test?”
“That she knew.”
“Did he show you proof?”
“He showed me the consent form.”
“Did she understand it?”
“He says she demanded it.”
That fit Grant’s evidence. It also fit Paul’s interests.
“What else?”
“He gave her money.”
“How much?”
“Thirty thousand.”
“For what?”
“He said she threatened to tell Linda unless he helped with expenses.”
“Pregnancy expenses?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
Eric sat on the edge of the bed.
“He paid the deposit on a condo.”
The white shirt crumpled beneath him. He moved it aside automatically.
“Did you know about the condo?” I asked.
“She told me she was renting it.”
“With what money?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t wonder how your sister-in-law, who changes jobs every six months, suddenly rented a riverfront condo?”
“She said she had a new consulting contract.”
“With whom?”
“I don’t know.”
I stood.
“You weren’t in love with her.”
His head lifted.
“What?”
“You didn’t know anything about her life. You knew she listened to you and wanted you. That was enough.”
His face tightened.
“I cared about her.”
“Did you know she was sleeping with Paul?”
“No.”
“Did you know she owed twenty-two thousand dollars on credit cards?”
“No.”
“Did you know she was facing eviction in February?”
“No.”
“Did you know she told Mother she was taking prenatal vitamins because of a hair condition?”
May you like
“No.”
I had learned that last detail from Grant’s report. Saying it aloud made me feel dirty.
