Chapter 9: What Lauren Said
I called her back instead of texting.
She answered on the first ring.
"I'm not calling to ask for anything," she said immediately.
"I just — there's something I need to say and I need to say it out loud."
"Say it."
A breath.
"He told me you knew.
About us.
He told me in September that you'd found out and that you two had agreed to separate quietly and that you didn't want anyone to know yet." Her voice was careful, like she was handling something fragile.
"He said you were relieved.
That you'd grown apart and you were both just waiting for the right time."
I sat down on a bench outside my office building.
The cold went through my coat.
"Lauren."
"I know," she said.
"I know now that it wasn't true.
I think I knew it wasn't true and I let myself believe it because it was easier." She stopped.
"That's not an excuse.
I'm not saying it's an excuse."
"When did you figure out he had lied to you?"
"Sunday dinner.
When you walked in and the way he looked at you — he was scared.
Not guilty-scared.
Caught-scared.
And I realized that you had no idea." She paused.
"I called him Sunday night after you left.
I asked him directly.
He admitted it."
"What did he say?"
"He said he had meant to tell you but the timing was never right.
He said he loved us both." Her voice flattened on that last sentence.
"He said he was trying to figure out how to make it work."
"Make what work."
"I don't know.
He wasn't clear.
He never is when he's trying to keep everyone calm." A long pause.
"Evie, I'm not going to be with him.
I want you to know that.
Whatever happens with the baby — and I don't know yet, I really don't — it won't be with him.
I don't want someone who lies like that.
Not to you.
Not to me."
The street was quiet around me.
A taxi went by.
Somewhere above, a window lit up.
"You should have told me," I said.
"When he first came to you.
You should have called me."
"Yes."
"You're my sister."
"Yes." Her voice broke on that word.
Just slightly.
"I know.
I know what I did.
I'm not going to pretend I don't."
I looked up at the sky.
Dark now, fully dark, the city glow turning the clouds orange at the edges.
"Are you okay?" I said.
"Physically.
With the pregnancy."
She was quiet for a moment, like she hadn't expected that question either.
"I'm okay," she said.
"Tired.
A little scared."
"You should tell Mom and Dad yourself.
Before they hear it another way."
"I know.
I'm going to." A pause.
"Will you — are you going to be there when I do?"
"I don't know yet," I said.
"I need some time."
"Okay."
"Lauren." I stood up from the bench.
"I'm not going to pretend this didn't happen.
I'm not going to act like it's fine.
But you're still my sister.
That doesn't just stop."
She didn't say anything for a moment.
When she did, her voice was very quiet.
"Thank you," she said.
"Don't thank me yet.
We have a long way to go."
I hung up.
Stood on the sidewalk.
The anger was still there.
It would be there for a long time.
But underneath it, something else — something I hadn't expected to feel for Lauren yet, maybe not for months — a thin thread of something that was not forgiveness but was the direction of it.
I started walking to my car.
My phone buzzed.
Patricia.
"The freeze went through," she said.
"And I just got a call from Michael's attorney."
"He already has an attorney."
"As of this afternoon, yes.
His attorney called to request a conversation about a possible settlement."
I stopped walking.
"Already."
"The voicemail spooked him.
Or his attorney did, after hearing it." Patricia's voice was measured.
"He wants to talk.
That's not a bad position for you to be in."
"What do we do?"
"We let them come to us," she said.
"We don't rush.
We have the accounts frozen, we have the voicemail, we have the cash from Diane with the dated records, and we have a compliance officer who heard your version of Calloway first." A pause.
"He has very little left to threaten you with."
I stood on the sidewalk in the cold and felt the shape of it clearly for the first time.
He had built what he thought was a trap.
And he had built it out of the same material — the secrets, the money, the leverage — that was now sitting in my attorney's file.
"Tell his attorney we're available Thursday," I said.
"Thursday it is."
I hung up and kept walking.
Thursday.
Two days away.
Long enough to sleep.
Long enough to breathe.
But first — there was one more thing I needed to do tonight.
One conversation I had been putting off since Sunday.
I needed to call my parents.
And I needed to do it before Lauren did, or before Michael did, or before the whole story arrived at their door in someone else's shape.
I got in my car.
Sat for a moment.
Then I dialed.
My mother answered on the second ring, warm and ordinary, the way she always did.
"Evie, sweetheart.
We were just thinking about you."
I closed my eyes.
"Mom," I said.
May you like
"I need to tell you something.
And I need you to just listen until I'm done."
