Chapter 6: Phoenix
My mom reached into the bag beside her chair and set a photograph on the table.
It was printed on plain paper, slightly grainy, the way things look when they've been screenshotted from a phone and printed in a hurry.
But the image was clear enough.
A restaurant patio.
Two people at a corner table.
The woman was unmistakably Brenda, younger-looking somehow, laughing at something the man across from her had said.
The man was young.
Dark-haired.
His hand was on hers on the table.
Brenda looked at the photograph for exactly two seconds.
Then she looked away.
"Carol sent that to me," my mom said.
"Two years ago.
Along with three others I didn't bring today, because I didn't think I'd need them."
"This is a gross invasion of my privacy," Brenda said.
Her voice was tight and controlled.
"His name is Derek," my mom said.
"He was twenty-nine when this was taken.
He trained at the gym you joined the year before this photo.
The trip to Phoenix was the second time you'd traveled to see him.
The first was a long weekend in Scottsdale that your husband believes was a spa trip with your friend Janet."
The kitchen was completely silent.
Lucas was looking at the photograph.
He hadn't touched it.
He was just looking at it the way you look at something that confirms what you already suspected but hoped wasn't true.
"Mom," he said quietly.
"Is this real."
Brenda's chin came up.
"That photograph could be from anywhere.
It proves nothing."
"It proves you were in Phoenix," my mom said.
"Carol has the hotel records.
She kept them because Derek asked her to.
He was proud of it, apparently.
Young men sometimes are."
"Carol is a liar and a gossip —"
"She's a woman whose son had an affair with a married woman and thought it was something to brag about." My mom's voice didn't rise.
"She was embarrassed.
She told me because she needed to tell someone.
I kept it private for two years.
You know what changed my mind."
Brenda turned to Lucas.
The wounded expression was back, but it was working harder now.
"Lucas, you cannot seriously believe —"
"Did you go to Phoenix?" he asked.
"I told you.
It was a women's retreat —"
"Did you go to Phoenix with Derek."
The name in his mouth stopped her.
She looked at the photograph again.
Then at the door.
Then at her hands.
"It was a mistake," she said.
"It was one mistake and it was years ago and it has nothing to do with any of this."
"It has everything to do with this," I said.
She looked at me sharply.
"You have spent four years making me feel like I wasn't good enough for your son.
Like I was a disappointment.
Like I was lucky he chose me." My voice was steady.
"And the whole time, you were the one keeping a secret that would have destroyed your own marriage.
You were the one who wasn't good enough.
And you couldn't stand that I didn't know it."
The room held its breath.
Brenda's face was doing something complicated.
The performance was slipping.
Underneath it was something I hadn't seen before — not cruelty, not calculation, but something rawer.
Something that looked almost like shame.
"I made a mistake," she said again.
Quieter this time.
"Does Dad know?" Lucas asked.
A long pause.
"No."
"Are you still in contact with him?"
Another pause.
Longer.
"No.
It ended.
It ended a long time ago."
Lucas nodded slowly.
He picked up the photograph.
Looked at it for a moment.
Set it back down.
"I'm going to need some time," he said.
"Lucas —"
"I'm not ending anything.
I'm not making any decisions right now.
I just need some time to think." He stood up.
"I think you should go home, Mom.
I'll call you."
Brenda looked at him for a long moment.
Something moved across her face — the beginning of an argument, the beginning of a plea.
Then it collapsed.
She picked up her bag.
She left the roses on the table.
At the door, she turned back once.
"I do love you," she said.
"Both of you.
I know that doesn't fix anything."
She walked out.
Lucas stood at the kitchen window and watched her car back out of the driveway.
My mom quietly gathered the photograph and put it back in her bag.
May you like
I sat at the table with my hands wrapped around my coffee cup and felt the baby move — a slow, rolling shift, like a question being asked from the inside.
Then Lucas said, "I have to tell my dad."
