Chương 3
Daniel did not move.
For four years, that part of her life had existed as a sealed room. She did not lie about Boston exactly. She simply opened every door around it.
The law firm had been toxic.
True.
Her boss had been married.
True.
She had quit suddenly.
True.
She had hated herself afterward.
True.
She had never told Daniel the name of the married man.
Also true.
Emily swallowed.
“His name was Andrew Vale.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do.”
Daniel looked at his hands.
“He died three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“In a car accident.”
“Yes.”
“You went to the funeral.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
He was quiet.
She hated that quiet.
“Ask,” she said.
Daniel looked up.
“Was Lucy conceived before we were married?”
Emily stared at him.
For one second she genuinely did not understand.
Then anger broke through the exhaustion.
“What?”
“My mother’s theory.”
“We’ve been married three years.”
“I know.”
“Lucy was conceived nine months ago.”
“I know.”
“Andrew has been dead for three years.”
“I know.”
“Then what the hell are you asking me?”
“I’m not asking because I believe her.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because that’s what she thinks.”
“How?”
Daniel leaned back.
“She doesn’t think Andrew is Lucy’s father.”
Emily waited.
A terrible understanding began moving toward her.
She shook her head before he said it.
Daniel said, “She thinks Andrew’s son is.”
Emily stared at him.
“No.”
“His son was in Chicago last year.”
“No.”
“Evan Vale.”
“I know his name.”
“My mother found a photo of you with him.”
Emily’s face went cold.
“Oh my God.”
Daniel nodded.
“The alumni dinner.”
“Yes.”
“You never mentioned it.”
“It was a fundraiser.”
“You’re standing next to him.”
“There were nine people in that picture.”
“You have your hand on his arm.”
“He had just spilled wine on me.”
Daniel rubbed his mouth.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I talked to him.”
Emily blinked.
“You what?”
“I called him.”
Her anger changed shape.
“You called Evan?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked whether you’d had a relationship.”
Emily stared at her husband.
“And?”
“He asked if I was insane.”
Despite everything, she almost smiled.
“That sounds like Evan.”
“He was less polite after that.”
“He should have been.”
“He was.”
Emily looked down at Lucy.
The baby was asleep.
How could babies sleep through the destruction of adult dignity? Emily wondered.
Maybe that was one of their gifts.
Maybe they simply had no use for shame yet.
Daniel said, “Evan gave me access to the event records. He was there with his husband.”
Emily looked up.
Daniel nodded.
“Yes.”
A laugh escaped her.
Then another.
It hurt her bruised hip.
She pressed a hand there.
“Oh, this is insane.”
“I know.”
“Your mother thinks I had an affair with a gay man because I touched his sleeve at a fundraiser?”
“She thinks his marriage is convenient.”
“To whom?”
“Apparently the entire homosexual community of Illinois.”
Emily laughed again.
Daniel’s mouth twitched.
For half a second, the hospital room became almost normal.
Then Emily remembered the wheelchair.
Her laughter stopped.
“She kicked that chair at me because of a photograph.”
Daniel’s expression closed.
“No.”
“No?”
“She kicked it because she wanted you afraid.”
Emily looked at him.
Daniel stood and walked to the window.
“What else?”
He turned.
“What?”
“There’s something else.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because your mother didn’t say, Ask her about Evan. She said, Ask her what happened in Boston.”
Daniel leaned one shoulder against the wall.
Emily knew she was right.
“What happened in Boston?” he asked.
She looked down.
Four years of silence stood between them.
Lucy’s hand had loosened around Emily’s finger.
Emily took a breath.
“I slept with Andrew.”
Daniel nodded.
“For about five months.”
Another nod.
“He was married.”
“Yes.”
“I knew.”
Daniel’s jaw moved.
There it was.
Not outrage.
Not shock.
Pain.
Emily almost preferred outrage.
“He told me they were separated,” she said. “Then I found out they weren’t. And I stayed for another month anyway.”
Daniel looked away.
She forced herself to continue.
“I was twenty-six. That’s not an excuse. I was lonely and stupid and ambitious, and he was very good at making me feel like every bad decision was sophisticated.”
Daniel said nothing.
“I left when his wife came to the office.”
His eyes returned to her.
“She knew?”
“She knew about other women. She didn’t know about me until then.”
“What happened?”
“She slapped him.”
Emily almost smiled at the memory, then hated herself for it.
“She looked at me and asked whether I’d enjoyed sleeping in the bed where her daughter had learned to read.”
Daniel’s face changed.
“I hadn’t.”
“What?”
“I’d never been to their house. But it didn’t matter. That sentence stayed with me.”
She looked at the wall.
“There are sentences people give you that you end up carrying longer than the people who said them.”
Daniel sat again.
Emily continued.
“I resigned the next morning. Andrew called me for weeks. Then months. I blocked numbers. He sent flowers to my apartment. I threw them away. Eventually he stopped.”
“And the funeral?”
“I went because I felt guilty.”
“For ending it?”
“For being relieved when he died.”
Daniel was very still.
Emily’s throat tightened.
“I saw the news alert. Highway accident outside Providence. And my first thought was, He can never call me again.”
She looked at Daniel.
“That was my first thought about a dead man.”
“Emily.”
“I hated that.”
“People think ugly things.”
“I know.”
“They think them when they’re scared.”
“I know.”
“Did you ever love him?”
Emily considered lying.
The answer mattered less than honesty now.
“I thought I did.”
Daniel looked down.
“That hurts.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean—”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I knew about the affair. I didn’t know that part.”
Emily watched him.
“How did you know?”
“The investigator found emails.”
Her stomach dropped.
May you like
“What emails?”
“Old ones.”
