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I hate forcing the issue but don’t see any other choice. “I stopped by the copy room during lunch the other day.”
Confusion morphs across her features at the abrupt change in topic. “Oh? I don’t remember seeing you. Wasn’t I there?”
“No, you were.” A beat of silence falls over us before I add, “Mr. Pembroke was in the room with you.”
Her eyes widen as shock flashes in her eyes before it’s quickly shuttered away. “The man is my boss. If I remember correctly, he stopped by with some papers that needed to be copied.”
Disappointment swirls through me that she’s lying. It’s the first time I’ve felt this emotion where my mom is concerned. In fact, I’ve always been proud of her for keeping everything together after Dad died. She’s the strongest woman I know.
“You were wrapped up in his arms and he was kissing you.”
Her face turns ashen as she says in a clipped tone, “You’re mistaken.”
Slowly, I shake my head. “No, I’m not. The door was partially closed and when I pushed it open, I saw the two of you embracing. Stop lying. I know what I saw.”
This conversation feels surreal. Have I ever spoken to my mother like this?
We stare silently for a handful of seconds before her shoulders slump and remorse fills her eyes.
“How long has this been going on for?”
A couple of weeks?
Months?
It can’t be more than that.
With any luck, I’ll be able to talk some sense into her before it goes any further.
“Two years.”
I can only stare as if she’s speaking a foreign language.
There’s no way I heard her correctly.
Years?
My mouth crashes open as I gape.
“But he’s married.” The man is married with kids. Two of them attend Hawthorne Prep. The boy is a junior, and the girl is a freshman. I see both around school.
“I know,” she admits quietly.
“Then why are you with him?” My voice escalates with each grounded-out syllable.
Years.
The word won’t stop echoing throughout my head.
She jerks her shoulders defensively. “It’s not like we planned for this to happen. We started talking at school, getting to know one another on a more personal level, and after a while, it led to more.” Her expression turns earnest. “His wife doesn’t understand him, honey. She doesn’t get him the way I do.”
A groan escapes from my lips.
Please tell me she’s not that naïve. This is the same woman who’s always steered me in the right direction. How could she be involved in something so wrong?
“None of that matters, Mom. The man is married!” When she freezes, staring at me with wide eyes, I raise my voice and repeat, “He’s married.”
“I know.” Her voice is so low that I’m barely able to pick up the threads of it. “He’s going to leave her.”
