Chương 4
Daniel reconsidered.
“I’m not only angry.”
“Better.”
He rubbed his thumb against his wedding band.
“If there are children, why wouldn’t that have appeared when we got married?”
“Marriage licenses don’t require people to provide a complete reproductive biography.”
“I mean records. Background checks. Something.”
“Did you run a background check on your wife?”
“No.”
“Then there’s your answer.”
Daniel leaned back.
“I trusted her.”
“I know.”
Nina’s voice softened, but only slightly.
“That’s why this hurts.”
He stared at the carpet.
“What if the man is her husband?”
“Then we verify it before you accuse her of bigamy in your kitchen.”
“And if he’s an ex-husband?”
“Then the legal problem may be smaller than the personal one.”
“Smaller.”
“I didn’t say small.”
Daniel nodded.
Nina studied him.
“Do you want to stay married to her?”
He looked up sharply.
“I don’t know what I’m married to.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I can’t answer it.”
“Then don’t make permanent decisions today.”
He almost snapped at her.
Instead he said, “What would you do?”
“I charge people not to ask me that.”
“Nina.”
She removed her glasses.
“I’d find out what’s true. Then I’d decide which truth matters most.”
He left with the name of a licensed investigator and a headache beginning behind his right eye.
He did not call the investigator.
Not yet.
At three, he found himself in a grocery store because he had driven there automatically.
Claire had left a note on the refrigerator that morning.
Milk. Parsley. Dish soap.
Daniel stood in the produce section holding parsley.
He nearly laughed.
His wife had two secret teenagers and had still remembered they were out of parsley.
An older woman beside him picked through cilantro.
“You don’t want that bunch,” she said.
Daniel looked at her.
“What?”
“It’s already yellowing.”
He looked down.
She was right.
“Oh.”
She handed him another bunch.
“This one.”
“Thanks.”
“You cooking?”
“I don’t know.”
She smiled politely and moved away.
Daniel remained there for another ten seconds, then put the parsley in his cart.
He bought the milk.
He bought dish soap.
He went home.
At seven fourteen, Claire called.
Daniel stared at her name until the third ring.
“Hey.”
“Still alive?”
“Apparently.”
“How was your day?”
He opened the refrigerator.
“Got parsley.”
A pause.
“Wild man.”
“And milk.”
“Stop. You’ll exhaust yourself.”
Her laugh was quiet and familiar.
Daniel gripped the refrigerator handle.
“Claire.”
Something in his voice changed the air between them.
“Yes?”
“How long have we been married?”
Silence.
“What?”
“Just answer.”
“Almost eight years.”
“And how long have we known each other?”
“Daniel, what’s going on?”
“Answer.”
“Almost nine.”
He closed the refrigerator.
“Have you ever lied to me about something that would have changed whether I married you?”
The silence that followed was not confusion.
Daniel knew that immediately.
He leaned against the counter.
“Claire?”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“You didn’t answer.”
“I don’t know how to answer a question like that.”
“Yes or no usually works.”
Her breathing changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“Daniel.”
“Are you in Milwaukee?”
Another silence.
He waited.
She said, “No.”
His knees weakened.
He sat at the kitchen table.
“Where are you?”
“In Chicago.”
“Where?”
“I’m in a hotel near the river.”
“Why?”
“I can explain.”
“That phrase has never improved a situation.”
“I know.”
“Who are the kids?”
Nothing.
Daniel shut his eyes.
He heard her inhale.
Then he heard a small sound that might have been the hotel room’s air conditioner.
“Who told you?”
“No.”
“What?”
“You don’t get to start there.”
“I need to know what you saw.”
“I saw you.”
“Where?”
“Maya Reynolds’s studio.”
Claire made a sound under her breath.
Daniel could not identify it.
“You were there?”
“For my headshots.”
“Oh, God.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not—”
“Who are they?”
Her voice dropped.
“My children.”
The directness of it was almost crueler than denial.
Daniel pressed his fingertips against the table.
“The man?”
“Their father.”
“Your husband?”
“No.”
“Ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Daniel—”
“How long were you married?”
“Six years.”
He stared at the bowl of lemons.
“Six.”
“We divorced a long time ago.”
“You told me you’d never been married.”
“I know.”
“How old are the kids?”
“Emma is sixteen. Lucas is fifteen.”
Their names.
Names made everything worse.
Daniel stood and walked to the sink.
“When were you planning to tell me?”
Claire did not answer.
“That’s not rhetorical.”
“I don’t know.”
“You went to a family portrait studio.”
“I know.”
“You used Bennett.”
“I know.”
“You told me you were in Milwaukee.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know.”
“Then stop asking questions where the truth is obvious.”
Daniel went silent.
Claire immediately said, “I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t do that yet.”
“Daniel—”
“Why?”
She took a long breath.
“When I was twenty-four, I married a man named Mark Ellison.”
Daniel leaned against the counter.
“I don’t need the biography. I need why you erased two children.”
“I didn’t erase them.”
“You erased them from me.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
The admission stunned him more than another defense would have.
Claire continued.
“I had Emma when I was twenty-five. Lucas the next year. Mark and I were already bad together before Lucas was born. After him, I got worse.”
“Worse how?”
“I was sick.”
“What does that mean?”
“Depression. Panic attacks. I stopped sleeping. Then I started taking things to sleep.”
Daniel said nothing.
“Prescription pills at first,” Claire said. “Then whatever I could get. I was not functioning. Mark’s mother moved in for a while. I hated her for it. I hated him. I hated myself. I—”
Her voice cracked and then steadied.
“I left.”
Daniel stared at the dark kitchen window.
“You left your children.”
“Yes.”
“How old were they?”
“Three and two.”
He closed his eyes.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I know.”
“No. Stop saying that.”
She did.
“What happened after?”
“I went to treatment. I relapsed. I went again. Mark filed for divorce. He got sole custody.”
May you like
“Did you fight him?”
“No.”
