Chapter 8: The Night He Found Out He Didn't
He was served on a Tuesday.
I was at Carol's with the babies when Patricia called to tell me it had been done.
I was sitting on Carol's kitchen floor with all three of them on a play mat in front of me, and when I hung up I just sat there watching them bat at the hanging toys for a while.
Carol came in from the other room.
She looked at my face.
"It's done?" she asked.
"It's done."
She sat down on the floor beside me.
We didn't say anything for a minute.
"He's going to call," I said.
"I know."
"Patricia said not to answer."
"Then don't answer."
My phone rang eleven minutes later.
Richard.
I set it face-down on the mat.
It rang four more times over the next hour.
Then a text: *We need to talk.
Please.*
Then: *I know you've been to a lawyer.
Just talk to me first.*
Then: *You're making a mistake.
You don't have the full picture.*
I showed Carol the last one.
"The full picture," she said.
"Apparently."
She handed the phone back without another word.
He showed up at Carol's house at seven o'clock.
I saw his car from the upstairs window.
Carol answered the door.
"She doesn't want to see you right now, Richard."
"Carol, please.
I just need five minutes."
"You need to call her lawyer."
"I'm not talking to a lawyer.
I want to talk to my wife."
Carol's voice stayed even.
"She's your wife who you lied to for over a year while she was carrying your children.
You'll talk to her lawyer."
A long silence from the doorstep.
Then: "Can you at least tell her I'm sorry?"
"You can tell her that yourself.
Through the appropriate channels."
The door closed.
I heard his car sit in the driveway for another ten minutes before it pulled away.
That night, after the babies were down, Carol poured two glasses of wine and we sat at her kitchen table.
"He said he didn't have the full picture," I said.
"What does that even mean?"
"I think it means he wanted a chance to explain before I knew everything.
To get his version in first."
"But you already knew everything."
"He didn't know that."
Carol turned her glass slowly.
"What do you think he would have said?
If you'd let him talk?"
I thought about it.
"That it wasn't as serious as it looked.
That Vanessa had misunderstood.
That the account was for something else — a surprise, an investment, something for the family." I paused.
"He's very good at making things sound reasonable."
"He is," Carol said.
"He always was."
We sat with that for a moment.
"David called again," I said.
"He wants to know if he can do anything."
"What did you tell him?"
"I said I'd let him know." I looked at my glass.
"He said he's willing to provide a statement.
About what he saw two years ago."
Carol raised her eyebrows.
"That's significant."
"Patricia thinks so too."
Outside, the neighborhood was quiet.
The baby monitor on the counter showed all three lights green — all three of them asleep, all at once, which still felt like a miracle every time.
I looked at the monitor for a moment.
"He was good with them," I said.
"He is good with them.
That part wasn't fake."
"No," Carol said.
"It probably wasn't."
"That's the hardest part.
Not the lying.
The fact that some of it was real."
Carol didn't try to fix that.
May you like
She just refilled my glass and left the sentence where it was.
That was the right thing to do.
