Chapter 4: The Call Aaron Didn't Make
I didn't sleep.
I lay in bed and listened to the house.
The kitchen light stayed on until past midnight — I could see the thin line of it under my bedroom door.
At some point I heard Janice on the phone, her voice low and clipped, the words too muffled to make out.
Then silence.
Then the light went off.
At six in the morning I came downstairs.
The dining room had been cleared.
The platters were stacked by the sink, the food put away or thrown out, the tablecloth folded.
She had cleaned up.
I didn't know what to make of that.
I made coffee and sat at the kitchen table and waited.
Janice came down at half past seven.
She was dressed, hair done, the version of herself she showed the world.
She stopped when she saw me.
"I need to talk to you," I said.
"I have to get to the office."
"It's Saturday."
She pulled out a chair and sat down.
Not because she wanted to.
Because she had run out of exits.
I kept my voice level.
"Aaron didn't know about the dinner party, did he."
It wasn't a question.
I had called him four times the night before.
He finally answered at eleven, groggy and confused, calling from his hotel room.
He hadn't known.
Janice had told him I'd agreed to move my birthday to the following weekend.
He'd believed her.
"I handled the scheduling," Janice said.
"You told my son I agreed to something I never agreed to."
"I told him it was sorted."
"That's not the same thing."
She wrapped both hands around the coffee mug I hadn't offered her.
"You were going to have eight people over.
I had a professional obligation.
Someone had to make a decision."
"Someone did," I said.
"You did.
Without asking me.
Without telling Aaron the truth.
And then you threw away my birthday cake and served my food to your colleagues and told them you made it yourself."
The mug came down on the table.
"I have worked for that promotion for two years.
Two years.
Do you understand what that means?
What I've given up?"
"I understand you lied to your husband."
"I managed a scheduling conflict."
"Janice." I looked at her directly.
"Aaron called me back this morning.
Early.
Before you came downstairs."
Something shifted in her face.
"He'd had time to think," I said.
"He had some questions.
About the timeline.
About when you knew your boss was coming.
About why you didn't tell him."
"What did you say to him?"
"I told him what happened.
All of it."
She stood up.
The chair scraped back hard.
"You had no right—"
"He's my son."
"He's my husband, and you went behind my back—"
"You went behind both our backs." I kept my voice steady.
"You lied to him, Janice.
Not to protect him.
To make sure he wouldn't stop you."
She was breathing fast now.
Her composure — that careful, polished surface she wore — had developed a crack right down the center, and I could see something underneath it that I hadn't expected.
Not anger.
Fear.
"What else did Aaron say?" she asked.
Her voice had changed.
"He said he was catching an earlier flight."
She picked up her phone from the counter.
Checked it.
Put it back down.
"He also said," I continued, "that this wasn't the first time you'd told him something was sorted when it wasn't."
Janice went very still.
"He mentioned a trip last Christmas.
And something about his mother's medical appointment in March." I watched her.
"He said he'd been letting things go.
That he hadn't wanted to make trouble.
But last night, when he had time to sit with it — he said something felt different this time."
"He doesn't understand the pressure I'm under."
"Maybe not.
But he's coming home to talk about it."
She grabbed her bag from the hook.
"I need to go."
"Janice."
She stopped at the kitchen doorway but didn't turn around.
"Whatever is on that phone," I said.
"Whatever your boss's message said last night — Aaron is going to ask you about it.
And this time, I don't think he'll let it go."
She walked out without answering.
I heard the front door close.
I sat at the kitchen table with my coffee and looked at the empty chair across from me.
May you like
Aaron's flight landed at two.
He hadn't told Janice which one.
