Chapter 1
The two white mugs hadn't been touched. Red stripe around each rim, steam gone flat, salt shaker between them next to the napkin dispenser. Outside the big diner window the road shone wet under a gray morning and a green highway sign read Harrisburg 32 Miles. The neon DINER buzzed red against the glass. She sat centered in the red vinyl booth with his arm draped along the back behind her, her long brown hair falling over the strap of her red dress. Her left hand rested near her mug. The wedding ring caught the chrome edge of the table.
She'd said it plain and then he'd answered for her, and the contradiction sat there like the cold mugs. She was pregnant and it wasn't mine, and she was sitting beside him while I sat across from them both like I was the outsider asking for a favor. The American flag hung by the Small Town Stronger Together poster and the GOOD FOOD STRONG PEOPLE sign glowed through the wet glass. A truck hissed past on the highway. Marcus smiled.
My name is Ryan and that morning I drove to meet my wife where she said she'd be.
It was just after seven thirty. The waitress had already come and gone. The booth smelled like coffee and cleaner. I watched Marcus's arm on the booth back, his light gray shirt under his dark jacket, the way he leaned toward her like he had a right to shield her. She looked at me with that composed face she used when she wanted me to stay calm for both of us.
"I'm pregnant with his child," she said. "Be smart, Ryan, don't embarrass yourself."
The words landed exactly like that, one after the other, hers then his. I didn't answer right away. I breathed and looked at the chrome edge of the table, at my own hands.
"Fine, but first listen," I said. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. I reached into my blazer, felt the weight of the black smartphone, and pulled it out. The case was warm from my pocket. I set it face-up in the center of the table with my right hand and slid it half an inch toward them. My hand stayed there. The table was cold.
She watched the phone appear like it was a glass about to tip.
"Ryan, don't do this here," she said.
One short plea, barely above the hum of the coolers.
Marcus's smile thinned. He shifted, his arm coming off the booth back.
I kept my palm on the phone. The screen was dark. I hadn't pressed play.
May you like
"Ask Marcus what he said at 1:52," I said.
Her mouth opened, just a quick inhale, then tightened. She didn't look at the phone anymore. She turned her head and stared at him. Marcus's brow furrowed, his mouth slightly open like he was already working on the next sentence, but no sound came. The light in the diner dimmed a fraction as a cloud moved past the windows. The waitress stopped two tables over, pot in hand, looking at us. My thumb hovered over the side button.
