Chương 4
She was too tired to decide.
Outside the hotel, the January air hurt her face.
Claire’s car was in valet, but the valet line stretched beneath the awning, so she and Emma sat on a stone bench near two large planters containing ornamental cabbages.
Emma leaned against her.
People emerged from the gala laughing.
A man complained into his phone about a flight.
A woman in sequins argued with her husband about whether he had tipped someone twice.
Normal life moved past them.
Claire found herself envying every trivial problem.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from her ex-husband, Ben.
EMMA OK?
Claire stared at it.
Ben had known about the gala. He had also known that Claire planned to speak with Avery. She had told him only because Emma would be with her and because their custody agreement required them to disclose situations that might involve press attention.
At first he had thought she was being dramatic.
Then a reporter had left him a voicemail.
Claire typed:
She’s with me. Tired. We’re leaving.
Three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
Then returned.
CALL WHEN SHE’S ASLEEP.
Claire put the phone away.
Emma watched.
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Is he mad?”
“No.”
That was not exactly true.
Ben had been angry for weeks, though not for the reasons Claire first assumed. He was angry that she had hidden the investigation from him until a foundation lawyer contacted him about the ownership of an old laptop. He was angry because Emma had overheard too much. He was angry because Claire’s work had been occupying the emotional space of a house she no longer technically shared with him but still affected.
Mostly, he was angry because Claire had spent ten years telling him not to worry about her.
Eventually, people resented being ordered out of another person’s fear.
The car arrived.
Emma fell asleep before they reached the second traffic light.
Claire drove north with the radio off.
At home, she carried Emma from the car even though the child was too heavy now.
Emma woke halfway up the stairs.
“I can walk.”
“I know.”
“You’re hurting your back.”
“I know.”
“Dad says you lift wrong.”
“Your father says a lot of things.”
Emma gave a sleepy laugh.
Claire got her into bed without removing the princess dress.
She managed the tiara and shoes.
The earrings went onto the dresser, both of them, together.
Then Claire stood in the dark hallway and listened to her daughter breathe.
For three months she had been sleeping badly, but that night she did not sleep at all.
At 2:18 a.m., Ben called.
He skipped hello.
“What happened?”
Claire sat at the kitchen table in an old gray sweatshirt with the gala gown pooled around her ankles because she had only changed the top half of her body.
“Victoria dumped my purse on the floor.”
There was silence.
“What?”
“Not important.”
“It sounds important.”
“It was childish.”
“Claire.”
She pressed two fingers to her forehead.
“Avery got a restored security file. Victoria and Simon were in my office the night the approvals were uploaded.”
Ben exhaled.
“That’s good.”
“It’s something.”
“Isn’t that what you needed?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they can prove she was in the room. They can’t prove whose hands were on my keyboard.”
“You weren’t there.”
“My credentials were.”
“You told them your password was compromised.”
“I told them I don’t know.”
Another silence.
This one was less comfortable.
Ben had always hated that answer from her.
“You still won’t say it,” he said.
“Say what?”
“That somebody did this to you.”
“I don’t know that.”
“You think Victoria accidentally walked into your office at midnight while Simon accidentally brought a laptop?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“You always do this.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Please don’t.”
“No, you always leave one inch of room for the person hurting you to maybe have a reasonable explanation.”
“I work in compliance, Ben. One inch is the job.”
“You’re not at work.”
That sentence stayed between them.
Claire looked at the bowl on the counter where Emma dropped loose buttons, coins, erasers, and things she believed might become useful later.
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“All right.”
She immediately regretted saying it.
Ben did not punish her.
That was worse.
After a moment he asked, “What did Emma see?”
“Too much.”
“What does that mean?”
“Victoria kicked my phone. Emma cried. Security came.”
“For God’s sake.”
“She’s asleep.”
“I’m coming in the morning.”
“Ben.”
“I’m not asking.”
“You have work.”
“I’ll move things.”
“She has school.”
“I know how Tuesdays work, Claire.”
She rubbed her eyes.
“Fine.”
“Are you safe there?”
“Yes.”
“Any press outside?”
“No.”
“Victoria contact you?”
“Not since we left.”
“Lock the back door.”
“I lock the back door.”
“I know.”
She almost told him not to worry.
The words reached her teeth.
She stopped them.
“Good night,” she said instead.
Ben was quiet for a second.
“Good night.”
He came at seven carrying coffee, a paper bag of bagels, and a resentment he tried unsuccessfully to hide from Emma.
He had not shaved.
Emma ran to him in pajamas.
Claire watched from the kitchen doorway.
There were moments when divorce seemed like an administrative arrangement and moments when it seemed like the strangest possible way to love a person: knowing precisely how they took their coffee, how they folded a newspaper, which shoulder hurt when the temperature dropped, and having no right to ask where they had slept.
Ben kissed Emma’s forehead.
“Princess survived?”
“My earring almost died.”
“Tragic.”
“We found it.”
“Heroic.”
“Mom yelled at me.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Ben looked over Emma’s head.
Emma added, “Then she said sorry.”
“Less tragic.”
Claire turned toward the coffee.
Ben followed her into the kitchen.
He kept his voice low.
“You yelled?”
“I was looking for a tiny star under a planter while my career was being dissected twenty feet away.”
“I’m not judging.”
“You looked like you were.”
May you like
“That’s just my face.”
She snorted despite herself.
