Chapter 8 - The People Who Helped Him Lie
I turned around slowly.
"What do you mean, blamed?"
Vanessa twisted her hands together.
"Brandon said that once the divorce started, he could make it look as though you were responsible for the financial problems."
Marisol straightened.
"Did he explain how?"
"He said the loan was connected to your accounts. That the paperwork would show you'd approved everything."
My stomach dropped.
"Because he used my name."
Vanessa nodded.
"He told me that if you challenged the money, he'd say you had agreed to the investment and changed your mind because you were angry about the affair."
I felt sick.
That explained his confidence.
Why he'd threatened me after the anniversary dinner.
Why he'd seemed so certain I couldn't win.
He'd apparently convinced himself that documents mattered more than the truth.
Marisol asked Vanessa to provide the complete messages to her own attorney for appropriate disclosure.
Vanessa agreed.
Then she looked at me.
"I know none of this makes what I did better."
"No," I said. "It doesn't."
She swallowed.
"I really am sorry."
I watched her for a moment.
There was a time when I might have needed her apology.
Now I understood that an apology could be sincere and still not repair the damage.
"I don't need you to become my friend, Vanessa."
She looked down.
"I need you to tell the truth."
When I left Marisol's office, rain was falling.
I stood under the awning for several minutes, watching people hurry between parked cars.
Across the street, a young couple walked beneath one umbrella.
The man held it mostly over the woman's head.
She laughed and moved closer.
A month earlier, the sight would have made me smile.
Now it made me wonder what people carried beneath ordinary appearances.
How many couples looked happy from the outside?
How many women had already heard words they couldn't forget?
How many men were living behind masks no one had thought to question?
I drove back to my parents' house feeling strangely empty.
That evening, Patricia called.
I almost ignored the phone.
Brandon's mother had always been kind to me, but she'd also defended him whenever we argued.
If he forgot a birthday, she'd remind me how hard he worked.
If he stayed out too late, she'd say successful men were under enormous pressure.
If I mentioned that I was exhausted, she'd tell me motherhood became easier with practice.
I had spent two years wondering whether I was simply asking too much.
Now I wasn't sure I could endure another excuse.
But Patricia's voice sounded different.
"Claire, could I come by?"
"What about?"
"There's something I need to tell you."
I hesitated.
"Does it concern Brandon?"
"Yes."
"Then you should know I've hired an attorney."
"I know."
She paused.
"But this isn't something I want a lawyer to say for me."
An hour later, she arrived with a small pink blanket she'd knitted for Brooklyn.
I let her into the living room.
Mom remained nearby, quietly folding laundry.
Patricia looked older than she'd looked at the anniversary dinner.
Her makeup was minimal. Her eyes were red.
"Thank you for seeing me."
I sat across from her.
"What do you need to tell me?"
She held the blanket in her lap.
"I haven't been entirely honest with you."
My stomach tightened.
"About what?"
She looked toward Brooklyn, asleep in her bassinet.
"About the night she was taken to the hospital."
I went completely still.
Patricia took a shaky breath.
"That night, Brandon called me earlier in the evening. He asked me to tell you he was tied up with an important client if you tried reaching him."
I stared.
"You knew?"
"I knew he wasn't where he said he was."
"Did you know he was with Vanessa?"
"Not by name. I suspected there was someone else."
I leaned back.
The betrayal felt almost familiar now.
Another person who knew something.
Another person who had decided silence was easier than honesty.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Patricia began crying.
"Because I thought it was a temporary mistake. I thought he'd come to his senses."
I shook my head.
"You thought protecting his reputation was more important than telling me the truth."
She didn't argue.
"Yes."
Mom stopped folding laundry.
For a moment, the only sound was the steady hum of the refrigerator.
Patricia wiped her cheeks.
"When you called me from the hospital, I realized how serious things were."
I stared at her.
"I remember that call."
"I know."
"You told me Brandon was in a meeting."
Her face crumpled.
"Yes."
I looked away.
That night was burned into my memory.
Brooklyn's tiny fingers wrapped around mine.
Her flushed cheeks.
The frightening moment when a nurse called for another set of observations.
And Patricia's reassuring voice on the phone.
He's dealing with a difficult client, Claire. I'm sure he'll call when he can.
I'd believed her.
I'd even apologized for waking her.
Now I felt the weight of that memory settle across my shoulders.
"You let me believe he didn't know what was happening."
Patricia nodded.
"I did."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't know how to tell you my son had chosen not to come."
I couldn't speak.
Patricia leaned forward.
"I need you to understand something. I was wrong. Whatever happens now, I won't lie for him again."
I looked at her.
"Why should I believe you?"
She accepted the question.
"You shouldn't have to believe me just because I say so."
She reached into her handbag and took out her phone.
"That's why I came."
She opened her voicemail archive.
"After you called me from the emergency room, I contacted Brandon. I left messages telling him Brooklyn was sick."
My heart began pounding.
"He returned one of my calls. Later, he left this message when I didn't answer."
She turned the screen toward me.
There was a voicemail from Brandon, timestamped 1:43 a.m. on October second.
I stared at it.
My husband's name glowed beneath the timestamp.
Patricia's voice trembled.
"I kept it because I couldn't forget what he said."
I looked at her.
"Play it."
She hesitated.
"Claire..."
"Please."
Patricia pressed the button.
May you like
And suddenly, Brandon's voice filled the living room.
"Mom, I know Brooklyn's at the hospital. Claire's with the doctors. Tell her I'm stuck with the client. I'm not coming back tonight."
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