Chapter 7: What Diane Knew
Pam and I stared at the message for a long moment.
"How does she have your number?" I asked.
"She doesn't.
This came through your Facebook.
She messaged your profile and it forwarded to my number because I'm listed as your emergency contact on the page." Pam set the phone down.
"You gave me admin access last year."
I looked at the message again.
*Something Owen didn't tell you.*
"It could be manipulation," Pam said.
"She could be trying to insert herself."
"It could be," I said.
"Or Owen left something out."
We looked at each other.
"If I don't respond," I said, "and there is something real, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering."
"And if you do respond and it's nothing, you've opened a door to someone who is not stable."
"I know." I picked up Pam's phone.
"But I need to know what she thinks she has."
I typed: *This is Valerie.
Not Pam.
What do you need to say?*
The reply came in under a minute.
*I'm sorry for what happened yesterday.
I should never have agreed to go.
I want you to know I'm not trying to take anything from you.
But there's something Owen has been hiding that isn't about me.
It's about you.
About your marriage.
I think you deserve to know before you decide anything.*
Pam read over my shoulder.
"Vague enough to mean anything."
"Or specific enough that she doesn't want to put it in writing." I typed: *Say it here or don't say it at all.*
A longer pause this time.
Then: *He has a second phone.
Has had one for about a year.
I only know because he called me from it once by accident — he meant to call his mother.
When I asked him about it later he said it was a work phone.
But I checked the number.
It's not registered to his company.*
My hand was very still on the screen.
Pam said nothing.
I typed: *Why are you telling me this?*
*Because I spent three years loving someone who kept things from me and it destroyed me.
I don't want that for you.
Whatever you decide about your marriage, you should decide it with the truth.*
I set the phone down.
"A second phone," Pam said.
"For about a year." I did the math again, the way I'd been doing math all morning.
A year ago, Noah hadn't existed yet.
A year ago, I was pregnant and exhausted and trusting.
"It might be nothing," Pam said.
But her voice didn't carry it.
"It might be." I stood up.
"His gym bag is still in the hall closet.
He never takes it to his mother's."
Pam followed me to the hallway.
The bag was there, unzipped from the last time he'd used it.
I went through it methodically.
Water bottle.
Headphones.
A worn padlock.
A folded receipt from a petrol station three towns over, dated two months ago, on a Tuesday afternoon when Owen had told me he was working late.
At the bottom of the bag, tucked inside a folded towel.
A phone.
Black.
Cheap.
A brand I didn't recognize.
I turned it over in my hand.
The screen was locked, but the lock was a four-digit PIN, not a fingerprint.
I tried Noah's birthday.
It didn't open.
I tried our wedding anniversary.
It didn't open.
I tried the date of Owen's mother's birthday, which he remembered better than most things.
The screen unlocked.
Pam made a sound beside me.
The most recent messages were at the top.
Not from Diane.
Not from anyone I recognized.
From a contact saved only as a letter.
*R.*
The last message from R, sent eleven days ago: *I miss you.
When can I see you again?*
May you like
Owen's reply, sent eleven days ago, at 11:47 PM, when I had been upstairs feeding our son: *Soon.
I just need more time.*
