Chapter 6: What Patricia Chose
She didn't call that night.
She didn't call the next morning either.
I waited.
I made coffee.
I took Max to school.
I came home and sat down at the kitchen table with my phone face-up and I waited some more.
Jason had gone to work early.
He'd left a note on the counter — not a folded piece of paper with an address and four words.
Just a Post-it.
*Home by six.
I'll cook.* He'd drawn a small, terrible sketch of what I think was meant to be a pan of eggs.
I kept it.
At half past ten, my phone rang.
Patricia.
I let it ring once more before I answered.
"Claire." Her voice was composed.
It was always composed.
"I wanted to call and explain myself."
"All right."
"Last night was—I handled it poorly.
I should have encouraged Jason to speak to you sooner."
"Yes."
A pause.
She had expected more resistance.
The agreement had disarmed her slightly.
"He was protecting something," she said.
"He does that.
He always has.
When he's frightened, he builds.
He doesn't talk, he acts.
I've watched him do it his whole life."
"I understand that about him," I said.
"I've been married to him for eleven years."
"Of course."
"What I don't understand," I said, "is why you watched him believe his marriage was ending and chose not to say a single word to me."
Silence.
"Patricia.
I am not difficult to talk to.
I have never been difficult to talk to.
You have had eleven years to decide whether I am someone worth trusting, and you have never once tried."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?"
"I didn't think it was my place to involve myself in—"
"You were already involved." My voice was level.
"The moment you knew what Jason believed and said nothing, you were involved.
The moment Max was carrying that note, you were involved." I paused.
"Did you know about the note?"
A longer silence this time.
"I suggested he have something prepared.
In case."
I set my cup down.
"You suggested it."
"I thought—if you did find out before the dinner, there should be some way to—"
"To what?
Manage me?"
"To give him time to explain."
"By handing the explanation to a seven-year-old."
"That was not what I intended."
"But it's what happened." I stood up and walked to the window.
The garden was grey and still.
"Patricia, I want to ask you something and I want an honest answer."
"All right."
"Have you always believed I would leave him?"
The pause was the answer.
"You have," I said.
"From the beginning."
"I worried," she said carefully.
"You were very independent when you married.
You had your own career, your own plans.
I wasn't sure you wanted the same things he did."
"Did you ever ask me what I wanted?"
Nothing.
"Did you ever sit down with me — once, in eleven years — and ask me what I wanted for my life?
For my marriage?
For Max?"
"I didn't think—"
"No," I said.
"You didn't." I turned away from the window.
"You decided.
And then you spent eleven years watching from that decision, waiting for it to be confirmed."
"Claire—"
"I'm not angry," I said.
And I meant it.
The anger had been there the night before, sharp and immediate.
This was something quieter and more final.
"I'm telling you what's true.
Because I think it needs to be said out loud between us.
Once."
Patricia was quiet for a long time.
When she spoke again, her voice had changed.
Not much.
But enough.
"I didn't know how to trust someone who didn't need anything from me," she said.
"Jason's wives — I always imagined they'd need me.
And you never did."
I stood very still.
"That's not a character flaw," I said.
"I know." A breath.
"I think I made it one anyway."
Outside, a bird landed on the garden wall and sat there for a moment, considering something, then flew away.
"I'd like to try," Patricia said.
"If you're willing."
I thought about Max's hand on his chest.
*It felt heavy.*
"Come for dinner on Sunday," I said.
"Jason's cooking."
A pause.
"I'll bring dessert," she said.
"All right."
I hung up.
May you like
I stood at the window a little longer.
Then I went upstairs, took the red dress off the foot of the bed, and hung it back in the wardrobe where it belonged.
