Chapter 5: It's Not What You Think
"Then tell me what it is."
He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
He was quiet for long enough that I started counting the seconds.
"I've known Kiersten for two years," he said finally.
"We met through work.
A contractor her firm brought in on the Halford project."
"Two years."
"It wasn't — it didn't start as anything.
We were just colleagues."
"And then?"
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"And then it got complicated."
"Complicated," I repeated.
"I know how that sounds."
"Do you?"
He looked up.
"I never meant for it to go this far.
I want you to know that."
"You have a second phone, Liam.
You paid cash for a hotel room four streets from our house.
You lied to me about where you were." I kept my voice level.
"How far did you think it had gone?"
He didn't answer.
"How long?" I asked.
"Four months.
Since February."
February.
I thought about February.
I thought about his birthday in February, the dinner I had planned, the weekend away I had booked.
I thought about how happy he had seemed.
"Were you with her on your birthday weekend?" I asked.
"No." He said it quickly.
"No, that was — no."
"But you were texting her."
Silence.
"Were you with her on your birthday weekend, Liam?"
He closed his eyes.
"The Saturday.
Just for a few hours.
You were at your sister's."
I had gone to my sister's to pick up a gift for him.
A framed photo of the two of us from our honeymoon that she had restored and reprinted.
It was still in my closet, wrapped, waiting for the right moment.
"I want you to leave," I said.
"Please.
Just let me explain—"
"I understand everything you've explained." I stood up.
"I want you to pack a bag and leave tonight."
"This is our house—"
"Pack a bag," I said again.
"Or I will call your mother and tell her exactly why I'm asking you to go, and you can have that conversation with her instead."
He stood.
He looked at me for a long moment — searching, I think, for some opening, some softness he could use.
He didn't find one.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I know you are."
"I love you.
I need you to know that."
"Pack your bag, Liam."
He went upstairs.
I stood in the living room and listened to the sounds of drawers opening, a zipper, his footsteps crossing the bedroom floor.
The dog came and pressed against my leg.
I put my hand on her head.
Twenty minutes later he came back downstairs with a duffel bag over his shoulder.
He stopped in the doorway.
"Can we talk tomorrow?
When things are calmer?"
"I'll let you know," I said.
He nodded.
He looked like he wanted to say something else.
He didn't.
The front door closed.
I stood there for a moment.
Then I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and sat down at the table.
My phone buzzed.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
May you like
*I think we need to talk.
This is Kiersten.*
