Chapter 3: Please Don't Ask Me That
I set the photograph down on Bennett's bed.
My hand was steadier than I expected.
The rest of me was not.
"Take Bennett to the kitchen," I said.
"Get him a snack.
Something with a lot of steps."
Lauren looked at me.
"Go," I said.
She stood slowly, like her legs weren't sure they wanted to hold her.
She took Bennett's hand and led him out without a word.
He looked back at me once from the doorway.
I gave him a small nod.
He disappeared around the corner.
I sat down on the edge of his bed.
The photograph was face-up in front of me.
My husband, Daniel.
Standing on a front porch I had never seen, in a neighborhood I didn't recognize.
The woman beside him was maybe thirty-five.
Dark hair pulled back.
She wasn't looking at the camera.
She was looking at him.
The little girl between them — holding his hand — had his eyes.
I could see it even in the photograph.
The same shape.
The same color.
I don't know how long I sat there.
Lauren appeared in the doorway.
"Bennett's eating," she said quietly.
"Close the door."
She did.
"Sit down, Lauren."
She sat in the small chair by Bennett's desk.
The one shaped like a race car.
She looked ridiculous in it and neither of us acknowledged that.
"How long," I said.
"Please—"
"How long have you known about this woman?"
Lauren's hands pressed flat against her knees.
"Eight months."
The number landed like something physical.
"Eight months." I repeated it back to her the way you repeat something when your brain refuses to absorb it.
"Eight months."
"I found out by accident.
I wasn't looking for anything.
I borrowed Daniel's laptop to print a boarding pass and a folder was open on the desktop." She stopped.
"I should have told you immediately.
I know that.
I've known that every single day since."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because you were happy." Her voice broke on the last word.
"You were the happiest I'd seen you in years.
You'd just gotten the promotion.
Bennett was doing so well in school.
You kept saying things were finally good.
And I—" She pressed her fingers against her mouth.
"I kept thinking maybe I was wrong.
Maybe there was an explanation."
"There is no explanation for a child, Lauren."
She didn't answer.
"That little girl." I picked up the photograph again.
"How old is she?"
"I don't know exactly."
"Guess."
"Four.
Maybe five."
Bennett was seven.
I set the photograph back down.
"So while I was pregnant," I said.
"While I was pregnant with our son, he was already—"
"I don't know the timeline.
I don't know when it started."
"But you know her name."
Lauren went very still.
"You've had eight months," I said.
"You know her name."
A long pause.
"Carrie."
"Last name."
"Novak." She said it like it cost her something.
"Her name is Carrie Novak.
She lives about forty minutes from here.
I looked her up.
I'm sorry.
I couldn't stop myself."
Forty minutes.
He could have been there and back before dinner.
"Does he know you know?" I asked.
"No."
"Does anyone else know?"
"No.
Just me.
And now you."
I stood up.
My legs worked fine.
That surprised me.
"Where is Daniel right now?"
"He said he had a late client meeting.
He texted me this afternoon to say he'd be home by nine."
I looked at the clock on Bennett's wall.
The one shaped like a soccer ball.
Six forty-seven.
"All right," I said.
"What are you going to do?"
I picked up the photograph and slid it into my back pocket.
"Right now I'm going to go sit with my son and watch whatever cartoon he wants." I moved toward the door.
"And then I'm going to wait for Daniel to come home."
Lauren stood up.
"And then?"
May you like
I looked back at her over my shoulder.
"And then I'm going to find out exactly how long he thought he could keep this from me."
