Chapter 8: What Patricia Knew
I put Patricia on speaker without hesitating.
Gary leaned in close.
"What did she tell you?" he asked.
"Gary." Patricia's voice softened for just a moment.
"I'm sorry you're hearing this on your anniversary trip.
I truly am." Then it steadied.
"She called me at six this morning.
She was upset — not because things had gone wrong, but because she said they hadn't gone far enough.
She said she'd shown you the photos and you hadn't reacted the way she'd hoped."
"What did she hope for?" Gary asked.
"She wanted you to be angry.
She wanted a fight.
She wanted you to start doubting your wife badly enough that when you got home, you'd be open to — " Patricia stopped.
"She used the word 'reconsidering.'"
"Reconsidering what?"
"Your marriage."
The wind off the ocean was cold.
I hadn't noticed it until that moment.
"She wants Gary to leave me," I said.
"She has wanted that for a long time," Patricia said.
"I've told her for years that she was wrong.
That you were a good wife and a good mother and that her problem was never with you specifically — it was with anyone Gary chose.
But she wouldn't hear it." A pause.
"This morning she told me she was going to contact a lawyer when she got home."
Gary straightened.
"A lawyer for what?"
"She said she has evidence of — and I'm using her words — 'ongoing deception' in your marriage.
She said she was going to present it to you formally.
She mentioned something about a postnuptial agreement.
She seemed to believe that if she could get you to sign something, or threaten enough, she could force a separation."
"She has no evidence of anything," Gary said.
"Because there's nothing to find."
"I know that," Patricia said.
"I've always known that.
But Donna has spent so long building this story in her head that she believes it completely.
That's what makes her dangerous — she's not lying to you.
She genuinely believes she's saving you."
Gary pressed his fingers to his eyes.
"Patricia," I said.
"Why are you telling us this?"
A long pause.
"Because I have grandchildren I love.
And you are their mother.
And what Donna is doing is wrong." Her voice was firm and tired at the same time.
"And because someone in this family needed to say so out loud."
We thanked her.
She made Gary promise to call her when we were home.
Then she hung up.
Gary and I stood on the deck for a while without speaking.
The ship was moving steadily.
Somewhere below us, Donna was in her cabin, and I thought about what she was probably doing — reorganizing her folder, drafting a message to a lawyer, planning the next move.
"She's not going to stop," I said.
"No."
"So we have to decide what we do when we get home."
Gary nodded slowly.
"I want to talk to her.
Properly.
Not on a ship where she can knock on our door at midnight.
At home, with time, with Derek there if she'll agree to it."
"And if she won't agree?"
"Then I talk to her alone." He looked at me.
"But I want you to know something first.
Whatever she brings to a lawyer, whatever she claims to have — I'm not interested.
I know who I married.
I know what our life is.
And I'm done letting her make you feel like a guest in your own family."
I didn't say anything for a moment.
"Say that to her," I said finally.
"Not to me.
I already know it.
She needs to hear it from you."
He nodded.
"I will."
We went back inside.
Got coffee.
Sat on the small balcony of our cabin and watched the water and didn't talk about Donna for the rest of the afternoon.
We talked about our kids.
About the restaurant we wanted to try when we got home.
About whether our youngest was ready to start swimming lessons.
It was the anniversary we had planned.
It was just one day late.
That evening, there was a knock at our cabin door.
Soft this time.
Almost hesitant.
Gary opened it.
Donna stood in the corridor.
No folder.
No box.
No robe.
She was dressed properly, and her hands were at her sides, and she looked, for the first time on the entire trip, like she wasn't sure what to say.
May you like
"I'd like to talk," she said.
"If you'll let me."
