Chapter 7: The Conversation He Wasn't Ready For
He didn't sit down.
He stood in the doorway with his jacket still on, his graduation gown gone now, and he looked at the prepaid phone on the desk the way a person looks at something they had been certain was hidden.
"Where did you find that?" he asked.
"Does it matter?"
"That's my private property."
"So is the joint account you emptied to buy an apartment with her." I kept my voice even.
"Sit down."
He came into the room but didn't sit.
He stood on the far side of the desk, which put the prepaid phone between us like an exhibit.
"I came back to get some things," he said.
"I wasn't expecting—"
"I know.
That's why I'm still here."
He looked at me for a moment.
Something moved across his face that I couldn't name.
Not guilt exactly.
More like the expression of a man recalculating how much the other person knows.
"How much did Daniel tell you?" he asked.
"Enough."
"Daniel doesn't know everything."
"He knows about Cassandra.
He knows about the apartment.
He knows about the joint account." I paused.
"And I know about the placement."
The recalculating expression stopped.
"What about the placement?" he said carefully.
"Cassandra's father made a financial contribution to the Mercy General foundation.
Timed with your residency approval." I watched his face.
"Do you want to tell me how much he gave, or should I find that out another way?"
Nathan pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.
Not because I had asked him to.
Because his legs had made the decision for him.
"That had nothing to do with my qualifications," he said.
"Maybe not.
But it had everything to do with how you got the position."
"Contributions to hospital foundations happen all the time.
It's not—"
"It's not what?" I said.
"Illegal?
Unethical?
Something the licensing board might want to know about?"
His jaw tightened.
"You wouldn't."
"Nathan." I leaned forward slightly.
"You handed me divorce papers at your graduation.
You used our emergency savings to buy a home with another woman.
You have been lying to me for two years." I let that sit for a moment.
"Tell me exactly what you think I wouldn't do."
He was quiet.
"Here is what I want," I said.
"I want a full accounting of every withdrawal made from the joint account over the last two years.
I want documentation of the apartment purchase.
I want the divorce settlement to reflect the financial contribution I made to your education — tuition, living expenses, every dollar I put in while I was working two jobs." I picked up the envelope from the corner of the desk.
"And I want it handled quickly and cleanly, without a fight, because a fight will require me to explain to the licensing board exactly how your residency placement came to be."
Nathan stared at me.
"You've thought about this," he said.
"I've had several hours."
"Cassandra's father—" He stopped himself.
"Cassandra's father what?"
He shook his head slowly.
"He's not someone you want to make an enemy of."
"Is that a warning?"
"It's a fact."
"So is this." I placed my hand flat on the envelope.
"I have documentation, a recording, and a witness who is willing to speak on my behalf.
What do you have?"
The room was quiet.
Outside, a car passed on the street below.
The small plant on the windowsill caught the last of the evening light.
Nathan reached up and rubbed the back of his neck.
It was a gesture I had seen a thousand times.
He did it when he was tired, when he was studying, when he was trying to think through a problem.
"I'll call my lawyer tonight," he said finally.
"Good.
Mine will be ready tomorrow morning."
He stood.
He picked up the prepaid phone from the desk and put it in his jacket pocket.
I let him take it.
I had already photographed the screen.
He walked to the door of the study, then stopped without turning around.
"For what it's worth," he said, "I didn't plan for it to happen this way."
"Which part?" I asked.
"The affair, or the way you ended it?"
He didn't answer.
He walked down the hallway.
The front door opened and closed.
I sat in the study for a long time after that.
The acceptance letter was still on the wall.
The plant still needed watering on Thursday.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Daniel.
*My sister's name is Ruth.
She says call anytime tonight if you need to.
She means it.*
I looked at the number he had sent.
Then I looked at the acceptance letter one more time.
May you like
I stood up, lifted it carefully off the wall, and placed it face-down on the desk.
Then I called Ruth.
