Page 44 of The Husband I Left

Before I knock on the door, I attempt to brush some of the glitter off my chair and suit jacket, wincing as it falls gently to the floorboards of the porch. I should have gone back up to the penthouse and changed my clothing at least and attempted to brush the glitter out of my hair, but that meant facing the possibility of either more booby traps or more notes. I did not have the capacity to deal with either one.

I run my fingers through my hair, and when I take my hand away, it’s covered in glitter. So I wipe it on my pants, only now there’s glitter on my pants. Giving up, I straighten my tie and knock on the door.

It opens almost immediately.

Will Palmer fills the doorframe, his broad shoulders squared, his face angrier than I’ve ever seen. The friendly man who cracked jokes and welcomed me to his home is gone, and a furiously outraged father has taken his place.

“Mr. Palmer,” I begin, “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see but—”

“You‘re not welcome here,” Will replies.

“Sir, I understand that, but if I could please have—”

“You know, when I was a young man,” Will interrupts, “I didn’t have much. My father was a deliveryman, and my mother cleaned other people’s houses to help make ends meet. I married my wife in a borrowed suit, and we didn’t have two nickels to rub together. But when I asked Alice to marry me, I went to her father, and I shook his hand and looked him in the eye and told him my intentions, and by God, I meant every word of it.”

“Yes, of course, and that’s why I’m—”

“I may have been poor, but I did things right by Alice. I didn’t take advantage and whisk a hard working young girl off to Vegas under false pretenses for a hasty wedding without even her mother there to witness it. No, I stood up with Alice in front of our families, and we gave each other our vows, and we’ve kept them. That is how a real man treats his wife, Mr. Sinclair.” Will is practically yelling now, and behind him I can see Alice peek her head out of the kitchen, probably drawn by the noise. The disappointment I can see in her eyes nearly unmans me. I have a sudden memory of Alice telling me that first Sunday that she’d always dreamed of her youngest wearing her veil. I’d promised her we’d do a big reception later, when things settled down. They never did.

“You know,” Will says, his voice going soft again, “she’d come home every Sunday, and she’d smile and tell us how wonderful everything was and how wonderful you were, and the whole time she was getting quieter. She stopped dressing like herself. She stopped acting like herself. I was watching my Genny-Bug disappear right in front of my eyes, and she’d still sit at our table and defend you.”

If I felt badly before, it was nothing compared to what I felt now.

“You’ll never find another one like her. You know that, right? You’ll never find a better woman than my daughter. Not one. She’s kind to everybody. She’s funny as the dickens. She works harder than any three people I know, and she’s never once in her life asked anybody for a handout. She is a gem, son. And you had her, and then you threw her away.”

“I know that Mr. Palmer, please believe me, I know that. If I could just—”

“Answer me this, Oliver. What kind of man lets his wife walk around for months thinking her husband was carrying on with another woman on purpose as part of some sick game he was playing?”

“A man who made a terrible mistake,” I say. “Please, if you’d just let me—”

“A man with no honor. You’ve got no honor, Oliver. All that money, all that schooling, all those advantages, and you don’t have the one thing that matters.”

I have been called a great many things in my life. Ruthless. Arrogant. Cold. My father once called me a spoiled little bastard, and I laughed at him. None of it has ever affected me the way Will’s dressing down has.

“I’m sorry,” I manage. “Mr. Palmer. I’m so sorry.”

“You ever helped a child learn to ride a bike, Oliver? You run behind them, holding the seat. Because that’s your little girl and you want her to be safe. In a way, you spend your whole life running behind her, holding on to the seat. And then she grows up and falls in love, and you have to let go of the seat. I trusted you to keep her from falling, Oliver. And you failed.”

“Please,” I beg, “I love her. I’ll make it right. Just tell me where—”

“I’m going to ask you once to leave my property. If you don’t, I’ll set my dogs on you.”

I know Will’s dogs, a pair of elderly mutts named Buster and Duke, who spend most of their time sleeping on the living room rug or begging for scraps at the dinner table. They’re more likely to lick me to death than cause any actual harm. But the message is clear.

“Understood,” I say quietly.

Will shuts the door in my face.

I’m halfway down the walk when I hear an upstairs window slide open.

“Hey!”

I look up. Genny’s youngest brother, Jake, is leaning halfway out of the second-floor window. His grin is pure, unholy glee, and his red curls gleam in the sun.

“You look real pretty covered in glitter, loser!” He slams the window shut, and even with it closed, I can still hear him howling with laughter.

Perfect. Just perfect.