Chương 7
“Tell me the truth without making me ask each question,” she said.
He looked toward the window.
“That’s what I need.”
“There are things I can’t discuss because of the deal.”
“I’m not talking about the deal.”
“The deal is part of it.”
“Then choose.”
His gaze returned to her.
“Your marriage or your confidentiality agreement.”
“That isn’t fair.”
Catherine stood too quickly. Pain pulled through her body and she gripped the chair arm.
Michael rose to help.
She held out one hand.
He stopped.
Leah came back into the room carrying two empty tote bags. She looked from Catherine to Michael and said nothing.
Catherine waited until the pain eased.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
Michael’s voice sharpened. “You said you needed the truth.”
“I do.”
“I’m trying to explain why it’s complicated.”
“It isn’t complicated to me.”
“You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
Catherine looked at the nursery walls, the crib, the folded blankets, and the man who still believed the largest stakes in any room belonged to him.
“That’s the problem,” she said. “You think I don’t.”
They packed for twenty minutes.
Michael followed them through the house without interfering. When Ben carried the bassinet downstairs, Michael took one end. Neither man spoke.
In the kitchen, Catherine opened the cabinet above the built-in desk and removed a blue document box.
Michael saw it.
“Why are you taking that?”
“My documents are inside.”
“We keep those here.”
“I don’t.”
His face changed again. “Are you talking to a lawyer?”
“Not yet.”
“Catherine, filing anything now would be insane.”
“Why?”
“Because of the merger.”
There it was.
Leah closed the cabinet harder than necessary.
Michael lowered his voice. “The board votes in ten days. Any public indication of instability could affect financing.”
Catherine held the document box against her body.
“Instability.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
“I’m asking you not to make a permanent decision in the first twenty-four hours after giving birth.”
“I’m asking you why our marriage affects financing.”
Michael hesitated.
“What did you sign?” she asked.
“Nothing involving you.”
“What did you promise?”
He looked toward Ben, who stood beside the bassinet.
“Everyone needs to leave.”
“No,” Catherine said. “Everyone stays.”
Michael’s jaw flexed.
“The Carson group required disclosure of any personal relationship that could create a conflict inside senior leadership,” he said. “Amber oversees communications. I oversee the negotiation. If the board believes our judgment was compromised—”
“Did you disclose the affair?”
“It was over.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
Leah set down the tote bag.
Michael continued quickly. “It happened once. It did not affect the transaction.”
“Then why are you afraid of anyone knowing?”
“Because people aren’t rational about these things.”
Catherine almost admired the sentence.
He had turned secrecy into protection from irrational people rather than protection from consequences.
“Does Amber know you didn’t disclose it?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone else?”
“No.”
“What does she want?”
“She wants the deal to close.”
“That isn’t all she wants.”
Michael looked exhausted now.
“No,” he said.
Catherine waited.
“She thought we had a future.”
The words entered the kitchen quietly.
Leah stared at him.
Ben looked down at the bassinet.
Catherine heard the refrigerator motor start.
“And what did you tell her?” she asked.
“That I wasn’t leaving you.”
“When?”
“After January.”
“Before or after you slept with her?”
“After.”
“What did you tell her before?”
Michael did not answer.
Catherine carried the document box outside.
At Leah’s house, she called an attorney named Ruth Kaplan, recommended by a woman Catherine knew from a museum board. Ruth’s assistant offered an appointment the following afternoon. Catherine accepted, then spent three minutes worrying the appointment itself was an overreaction.
She nearly canceled twice.
That night, Eleanor cried from eleven forty until one. She was dry, fed, warm, and furious. Catherine paced the guest room with one hand supporting the baby’s neck while the other held her robe closed.
Leah appeared in the doorway.
“Give her to me.”
“I can do it.”
“I know.”
“I said I can do it.”
Leah lifted both hands. “Okay.”
Eleanor cried harder.
Catherine’s eyes filled.
Leah stepped into the room but did not reach for the baby.
“Sometimes they just cry,” she said.
“I know.”
“You don’t look like you know.”
“I know babies cry.”
“I meant you don’t look like you believe it isn’t your fault.”
Catherine sat on the edge of the bed.
Leah lowered herself beside her.
For several minutes, they listened to Eleanor protest the world.
Then the baby stopped.
No gradual settling, no sigh. She simply fell asleep with her mouth open.
Leah stared at her.
“That seems medically suspicious.”
Catherine laughed before she could stop herself. The laugh became a sob. She bent forward carefully, holding Eleanor against her chest.
Leah put one arm around her shoulders.
Catherine cried without grace. Her nose ran. Her stitches hurt. The baby slept through all of it.
“I still love him,” Catherine said.
“I know.”
“I hate that.”
“I know.”
“What if I destroy everything because of one night?”
Leah’s hand tightened.
“It wasn’t one night.”
“What if it could be repaired?”
“Maybe it could.”
Catherine lifted her head.
Leah looked miserable but steady. “I’m not going to tell you what decision makes you brave. Stay, leave, wait, file, don’t file. None of that changes what he did. Just don’t make your decision because you’re afraid people will call you dramatic.”
Catherine wiped her face with the sleeve of her robe.
“You’ve hated him for years.”
“I have found him consistently annoying. That’s different.”
“You once called him a decorative dictator.”
“He reorganized my wedding seating chart after I finalized it.”
“He improved it.”
“He put Aunt Denise beside the speakers.”
“She complains less when she can’t hear anyone.”
Leah smiled despite herself.
May you like
Then she said, “I don’t hate him. I hate what you become when you’re trying to keep him comfortable.”
At Ruth Kaplan’s office the next afternoon, Catherine sat in a gray chair with Eleanor asleep in a carrier at her feet. Ruth was in her late fifties, with silver hair cut bluntly at her jaw and a habit of removing her glasses before asking difficult questions.
