Chapter 7: The Card She Played
I walked back into the kitchen.
"Say it," I said.
"Whatever you think you have.
Say it."
Carol straightened in her chair.
The softness was gone now.
This was a different version of her — one I was realizing I should have recognized sooner.
"Richard had an affair," she said.
"Two years ago.
A woman from his office named Sandra.
It lasted four months."
The room was very quiet.
"I know because Sandra told me herself," Carol continued.
"She came to one of the book club meetings — do you remember?
The one in October, the year you were away visiting your sister.
Sandra was a friend of Margot's.
She'd had too much wine and she told three of us what had been happening." Carol's chin lifted slightly.
"I never told you.
I was protecting you."
"You were collecting it," I said.
"The same way you collected everything else."
Something flickered across her face.
"I'm telling you now," she said, "because I want you to understand that your marriage isn't as clean as you think it is.
Before you go to the police and burn everything down, maybe you should have a conversation with your husband."
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I walked to the front door and opened it.
Richard was already coming up the path.
He'd seen something through the window — my posture, the length of time, something — and he'd gotten out of the car.
He stopped when he saw my face.
"Martha—"
"Sandra," I said.
His face changed.
"Come inside," I said.
He came in.
Carol was still at the kitchen table, arms crossed, watching us both with the expression of someone who believes they've just won.
I closed the door.
"Tell me about Sandra," I said to Richard.
"Right now.
In front of her."
Richard looked at Carol.
Then back at me.
"It was two years ago," he said.
"It lasted about three months.
I ended it.
I have regretted it every day since." He didn't look away from me.
"I was going to tell you.
I've been trying to find the right moment for two years and there hasn't been one and that's not an excuse, it's just the truth."
The kitchen was very still.
"Did you know she knew?" I said, nodding toward Carol.
"No.
I had no idea."
I turned back to Carol.
"So you've been holding that for two years," I said.
"Waiting."
"I was protecting—"
"You were holding a weapon," I said.
"That's what you do.
You collect things and you hold them until you need them." I picked up the transaction record from the table.
"This is what you did with my identity.
And that—" I looked at her steadily — "is what you just did with my marriage."
Carol's arms uncrossed.
For the first time, she looked uncertain.
"I'm still going to the police tomorrow," I said.
"And whatever happens between Richard and me is between Richard and me.
It has nothing to do with what you did."
I walked to the door again.
"Martha." Carol's voice had lost its edge.
What was left underneath was something smaller.
"Please.
I'll lose the house.
I'll lose everything."
I turned around one last time.
"You lost me," I said.
"That should have been the thing you were afraid of losing."
I opened the door and walked out.
Richard followed me.
Neither of us spoke until we reached the car.
He opened the passenger door.
I got in.
He walked around and sat behind the wheel and didn't start the engine.
"Martha," he said.
"Not tonight," I said.
May you like
"Drive me home."
He drove me home.
