The phone buzzes again, and I look down, finding a second video from Grafton. This one has been taken from a cell phone, the camera shaking and unfocused as it follows Christopher’s walk across the ground-floor lobby of the building. I can’t see his face as he approaches the front doors, the guards still crowding him. But then I catch sight of a bike messenger striding toward the trio, his expression determined and focused on Christopher.
The person taking the video is too far away to catch the conversation, but I can see the messenger pulling a large envelope out of his satchel, holding it out for my husband to take. Christopher hesitates for just a second, but reaches out to take the envelope with tentative fingers.
As soon as the messenger releases his hold on it, he grins widely, and I can just make out the words, “You’ve been served,” falling from his mouth.
It doesn’t take longfor my phone to start blowing up. In fact, it is probably just enough time for Christopher to read the words,Petition for Divorce, and rush to his car—because he needs privacy forthatcall.
I sit on the edge of the bed, curling my fingers into the blush-colored bedspread, listening as Mace, Ginny, and my mother talk in the other room. They’re watching some family movie on the television, but it sounds like the kids are bickering over the number the volume is set at.
One is arguing for even numbers, the other for odds.
My phone is lying next to my hip, the blanket muffling the incessant vibrating, his name flashing across the screenlike a warning. At first, it is just phone calls—one after the other. When it becomes clear I am not going to answer, he starts leaving voice messages, and then the text messages flood in. I’ve glanced at a few, each one angrier and angrier than the last, full of accusations and demands.
It’s surreal. There’s no taking it back now. Christopher put us on this path, but I’m finishing it. I’m detangling myself from someone I’ve promised to spend the rest of my life with. The father of my children. The man who stood before our families and everyone, vowing love and fidelity.
A vivid image of him bending a woman over his desk fills my head, and I shudder. It’s followed by an insidious knowing that this wasn’t a new development. It might have taken me far too long to fully open my eyes to truth, but the blinders are off now. He’s too good at it all; the mask he wears and the lies he tells.
Mase suspects something. He’s not saying a word about what, but he was too happy to come to my mother’s house. Since we’ve been away from home, he’s been extra careful not to bring his father up in conversation, and that feels more telling than anything else.
Ginny… My girl is blissfully unaware. There’s nothing wrong in her world, and that has guilt surging through me, hot and acrid. Even if Christopher is an absent parent, at best, our daughter has never known anything else, and she adores him.
But I will not trap myself in a faithless marriage any longer. Ginny will not grow up learning that what her father is doing is okay, and that she should just accept that kind of treatment. She will not grow up thinking that this isnormal.
I’m also not going to sit here and wonder what I could have done differently. I’ve already moved past that now,and I’m firmly in the camp of,It doesn’t matter. There is nothing I did to deserve this.
This is his fault. Not mine.
The only reminder I need is the memory of the humiliating experience of going to the doctor and asking a complete STI panel. The knowing look in the nurse’s eyes, coupled with her sympathetic glance at my wedding rings, was enough to have me almost coming out of my skin. The first thing I did this morning when I gave Ian the green light was yank the meaningless metal off and dump them down the toilet.
“Lynley?” my mother calls through the door, followed by a quiet tap. “Your sister said she needs to talk to you, but you’re not answering. Is everything okay?”
A quick glance at my phone shows that the messages from Christopher are now interspersed with some from Caroline as well. An itching suspicion niggles at the timing, but I don’t let myself dwell.
“Lynley?” my mother calls again.
“I’m fine. I don’t feel like talking to her.”
There’s a faint hum of disapproval that has me rolling my eyes, wishing my dad were here. He wasn’t the perfect parent or husband—far from it—but when he was around, I at least had someone on my side.
Caroline is only two years younger than me, but she was firmly put into the role of baby from the moment she came squalling into the world. My mother claims she’s delicate, that she needs more, but all it roughly translates into is her ignoring me whenever Caroline gets a bee in her bonnet.
There’s another tap at the door, and then Mom cracks it open, peering around the edge at me, her features pulled down into a frown. “I’m worried about you, Lynley.”
I open my mouth to tell her not to be, words of reassurance lying on the tip of my tongue, but I hear myself say, “I need to go out for a little bit. Do you mind watching the kids?”
Her eyes widen before she masks the surprise. “Of course that’s okay. Where, um… Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting a friend.” It’s a lie, but it doesn’t actually feel like one. I pick up my phone, standing to face her head-on. “I shouldn’t be too long.”
The faintest breezebrushes across my skin. It flows through the grass and over the pond, so light that it barely ripples the surface of the water, leaving it looking like dark silk. The park is quiet, the sun low enough that most people are home, having dinner. I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, the silence heaven on the chaos in my head.
“Interesting place to meet.”
A small smile curls my lips, but I bite it back. “I’m surprised you were free tonight.”
It occurs to me that I have no idea where Grafton lives. He must have an apartment in Ashland—probably near Reynolds & Media—and the idea that he didn’t hesitate to drive out here to meet me on short notice makes my head spin.
“I was hoping you’d call,” he admits, his deep voice soft, like he doesn’t want to spook me. He sits beside me on the wooden bench, his hard thigh brushing against mine, and nerves shoot through me.
