Chapter 8: The Morning He Found Out
Patricia filed on a Thursday.
She had advised me to be out of the house when the papers were served, and so I was at Diane's kitchen table with my daughter, who was eating toast and watching something on a tablet and had no idea that thirty minutes away, a process server was knocking on our front door.
Eric called four minutes after the serving time Patricia had estimated.
I let it ring.
He called again.
I let it ring again.
The third time, Diane looked at me across the table and said, "You don't have to answer."
"I know," I said.
I answered.
"What is this?" His voice was controlled.
Tight.
The voice he used when he was furious and trying not to show it.
"What did you do?"
"I filed for divorce," I said.
"Patricia Holt is my attorney.
All communication should go through her."
"You filed without even talking to me.
Without one conversation—"
"We had a conversation," I said.
"Last Friday.
In the kitchen.
You told me Laura was a colleague."
"She is—"
"Eric." I kept my voice level.
My daughter looked up from her tablet.
I smiled at her and pointed toward the living room, and she picked up her toast and went.
"The Harrington Hotel.
Monday through Thursday of last week.
Room 214.
The charge is on the card."
Silence.
"I also know about the forty thousand dollars," I said.
More silence.
A different kind.
"That money is for—"
"Patricia knows about it too," I said.
"The judge will know about it.
That's all I wanted to tell you."
"You're making a mistake," he said.
His voice had shifted.
Softer now.
The other voice — the one that had always made me feel like I was overreacting.
"I know things look bad right now, but you're not seeing the full picture.
There are things I can explain.
If you would just let me come over and talk—"
"No," I said.
"Just one conversation.
For our daughter's sake—"
"Don't," I said.
The word came out quiet and final.
"Don't use her."
A pause.
"I can make this very difficult for you," he said.
The soft voice was gone.
"I know you'll try," I said.
"That's why I have Patricia."
I ended the call.
Diane was looking at me from across the table.
She had heard enough.
"Are you all right?" she said.
I set the phone down.
Outside her window, her neighbor's kids were riding bikes on the sidewalk.
The sky was the pale blue of early spring.
"I think so," I said.
She reached across the table and put her hand over mine.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
*This is Laura.
I think we should talk.
I'm not who you think I am.*
I stared at the screen.
Diane leaned over and read it.
"What does that mean?" she said.
May you like
I had no idea.
But I had a feeling that whatever Laura Voss wanted to tell me was going to change the shape of this story one more time.
