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The realization dawns on me, like a revelation. I am so stunned that I sit there, gaping, unable to form the words.
Jack narrows his eyes at me. “What?”
“Oh my God! It’s her!”
“Who?”
I get out of bed, come to stand in front of him and put my hands on his chest. “Have you spoken to Jenny since she started doing this?”
He shakes his head. “I tried early on but her cellphone number has been disconnected.”
I nod. “Have you seen her? Met up with her?”
“No! She asked me to, many times, but always for a drink or a coffee as if we were… friends! No way!”
I walk away, biting on my thumbnail. My heart is thumping as I pace, the pieces coming together in my mind.
“It’s what she does. She spreads rumors, then she accuses someone else of doing it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s not Jenny sending these emails, it’s Bronwyn.”
“What? No!”
“She found out about Jenny somehow. She must have been incensed about what happened between you two, even if it was just a kiss or whatever. Trust me, Jack, I know her.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Think about it. How would Jenny know who your old clients were? How would she know to contact employment agencies that specialize in your field of work? And Bronwyn didn’t know you and I were a couple until you told her we were getting married. Would that be around the same time Jenny suddenly reappeared?”
He sits down on the edge of the bed. “No. It can’t be.” He shakes his head forcefully. “Jenny was horrible to her too.”
“Jack…”
“She used to leave little notes from someone named Beth for Bron to find. Little handwritten notes that made it sound like I was having an affair.”
* * *
I had to tell him, obviously. I wasn’t ready for it, and it was one of the hardest conversations of my life because he looked at me like he didn’t know who I was.
“Bron left because of you.” He said it quietly, like he was spent.
“No, she didn’t leave because of me, or Beth, or Jenny. She left because she wanted to. She didn’t leave Charlie because of a couple of love notes in your jeans pocket. She left because she’s insane, and she’s sick, and she wanted to punish you. And she’s not finished yet. And you have to believe me. About the painting, about the texts from Summer. You have to believe me because if you don’t, I don’t know how we can go forward.”
We talked for a long time. We argued, we cried, but he agreed in the end. He looked pained. He said he couldn’t get his head around it, he couldn’t make sense of all the things I’d said, but he took a leap of faith.
I breathe out. “Thank you. And once you’ve signed the divorce papers, she has to leave, okay? The next day, I’m not joking. She can stay in a hotel if she needs too. God knows she can afford it.”
“Okay. Deal.”
“When is it, by the way? That you meet with the lawyer?”
“Tuesday.”
“Oh, thank God. Not long now.”
“No,” he says, kissing my shoulder. “Not long now.”
