Chapter 4: The Woman Michael Buried
I read the preview twice.
"She knows I'm here," I said.
"She knows about the letter."
Ethan picked up the phone.
He read the full message without speaking, then set it back down.
"How does she know?" I asked.
"Because Michael told her he was going to write it." His voice was careful.
Measured.
"Years ago, when they were still in contact, he told her that if anything ever happened to him, he had a plan.
He was trying to keep her calm.
Keep her at a distance."
"They were still in contact?"
"On and off.
She'd surface every few years.
He'd manage it.
Then she'd disappear again." He paused.
"The last time was about eighteen months before his diagnosis."
Eighteen months.
I sat with that.
Michael had been managing a ghost from his past for our entire marriage, and I had never once felt the draft.
"Did he love her?" The question came out before I'd decided to ask it.
Ethan didn't hesitate.
"No.
He was afraid of her."
"Why?"
"Because she knew things.
And because she was not above using them."
I looked at the sealed envelope on the bed.
My name in Michael's handwriting.
*Do not open it unless you have no other choice.*
"I need to know what's in this," I said.
"I know."
"But I also need to know what she wants before I open it.
Because once I know what's inside, I can't unknow it."
Ethan nodded slowly.
"That's exactly what Michael said.
Those were almost his exact words."
I stood up and walked to the window.
The backyard was dark.
The porch Ethan had repaired last spring was a pale shape in the moonlight, the new boards still slightly lighter than the old ones.
Michael had started that repair three years before he got sick.
He'd never finished it.
"Call her back," I said.
"Are you sure?"
"Put it on speaker."
Ethan looked at me for a long moment.
Then he picked up the phone and dialed.
She answered on the second ring.
"Ethan." Her voice was smooth.
Unhurried.
The voice of a woman who had been waiting a long time and had made peace with waiting.
"Is she with you?"
"She's here," Ethan said.
"Good." A pause.
"I'm sorry about the timing.
I genuinely am.
But I've been patient for a very long time, and I think we all know this conversation was always going to happen eventually."
"What do you want, Diane?" I said.
A beat of silence.
Then: "Oh.
She's direct.
Michael always said that about you.
He admired it."
"Don't."
"Fair enough." Her tone shifted.
Not colder — more businesslike.
"I want what Michael promised me.
Before he got sick, before all of this, he made me a promise.
He said that when the time was right, he would make things square.
He used that word.
Square."
"He's g0ne," I said.
"Whatever he promised you —"
"Passes to his estate.
Yes.
I know how it works." Another pause.
"I'm not asking for anything unreasonable.
I'm asking for what was mine to begin with."
"You're asking a widow on her wedding night."
"I'm asking at the only time I'm certain you're paying attention."
The coldness of it landed in the room like something dropped from a height.
Ethan's hand tightened around the phone.
"Diane," he said.
"This is not the way to do this."
"I've tried other ways, Ethan.
For twenty-three years I've tried other ways." Her voice stayed level.
"I think she should open the second envelope.
I think she should know exactly who she's dealing with.
And then I think we should all sit down like adults and settle this."
"What's in the envelope?" I asked.
Silence.
"Diane.
What did Michael put in that envelope?"
"Something he should have given you on your first wedding day," she said.
"Not your second."
The call ended.
May you like
The phone screen went dark in Ethan's hand.
I picked up the envelope from the bed, turned it over once, and slid my finger under the seal.
