Chapter 10: What Patricia Said
Patricia Alderson was fifty-one years old.
She had a voice like someone who had learned to choose her words carefully and had been doing it for a long time.
We met at a park near her office.
She was already on a bench when I arrived, hands in her coat pockets, watching the path.
She stood when she saw me.
"Mrs.
Parker."
"Please.
Just call me Rachel."
We sat down together.
She didn't waste time.
"I want to be honest with you," she said.
"What happened between Mark and me was not innocent.
I'm not going to tell you it was a misunderstanding or that I didn't know what I was doing.
I knew he was married.
I knew about Emma." She paused.
"I'm not proud of it."
"How long?"
"About five months.
It ended eight months ago.
I ended it."
"And when you ended it?"
She looked at the path in front of us.
"He didn't take it well.
He called me repeatedly.
He showed up at an event he knew I would be attending.
He told me—" She stopped.
"He told me that I owed him.
That he had taken risks for me and I was being ungrateful."
"Did you feel safe?"
"For a while, no." She said it simply.
"I told my husband."
I looked at her.
"Your husband knows?"
"He knows everything.
It nearly ended our marriage." She was quiet for a moment.
"We've been in counseling for eight months.
It's been hard.
But we're still here." She glanced at me.
"I told him because I was frightened and because I didn't want to carry it alone.
And because he deserved to know."
I thought about Mark in the kitchen two nights ago.
*Are we okay?*
"Patricia.
Mark called you last night."
"I know."
"What did he say?"
"He said you knew my name.
He said I should be careful about what I told you.
He said we needed to get our stories straight." She paused.
"I told him I wasn't going to do that."
"What did he say?"
"He said I was making a mistake.
That if I talked to you, things would get complicated for both of us." She turned to look at me directly.
"I told him things were already complicated.
And then I hung up."
I looked down at my hands.
"I have a consultation with a family law attorney on Thursday."
"Good." She said it without hesitation.
"I have documentation.
Messages, voicemails, call records.
An account from someone who worked with him at the Meridian Group."
"Carrie or Diane?"
I looked at her.
"Both," I said.
She nodded slowly.
"They're good people.
They didn't deserve what happened to them."
"Neither did you."
She was quiet for a moment.
"No," she said.
"But I made choices.
They didn't." She paused.
"Your daughter didn't.
That's what matters most here."
We sat for a while without talking.
A dog ran past on the path.
Somewhere nearby, a child was laughing.
"Can I ask you something?" Patricia said.
"Yes."
"What are you going to do about Emma?
About Sophie?"
I had been thinking about that since the night I found Emma on her bedroom floor.
"I'm going to talk to Linda," I said.
"I think the girls need to know enough of the truth to understand that what happened between them wasn't real.
That Sophie didn't choose to leave.
That Emma didn't do anything wrong."
"Will you tell Emma about Mark?"
"Eventually.
When I know what I'm doing.
When I can tell her in a way that doesn't destroy her image of her father before she's ready."
Patricia nodded.
"You're a good mother," she said quietly.
I didn't know how to answer that.
So I didn't.
We stood up at the same time.
She offered her hand and I shook it.
"If you need me to speak to your attorney," she said, "I will.
My husband has already agreed to it."
"Thank you."
I walked back to my car.
Thursday was two days away.
I had the folder.
I had Diane.
I had Carrie.
I had Linda and Sophie.
I had Patricia and her husband.
I had call records and voicemails and printed messages and an HR file that still existed somewhere in the Meridian Group's system.
And I had eighteen years of knowing exactly when my husband was lying.
May you like
I started the car.
It was time to talk to Rebecca Holt.
