Chapter 5
I didn't go home right away. I drove north on 15 with the wipers on low, past the feed store and the Dollar General and the church with the Small Town Stronger Together sign same as the one in the diner. The road was gray and wet and every car threw up a wake.
Her Crosstrek had gone south. I went the other way to give myself the hour and to hear it without her watching me hear it.
At the pull-off near the creek by the county line, I parked and cut the engine. Rain drummed on the cab. I took out the black phone and opened the voice memo. The file was 3:14 long. I had only played the first thirty seconds in the diner.
I hit play.
Her voice first, thin: "I told you I'm pregnant. You need to stop calling me."
Marcus, easy, smiling voice: "You're overthinking this. You know Jeff likes me. You make this weird, you make work weird."
Her: "Don't do that. Don't make it about my job."
Him, laugh: "I'm not. I'm saying be smart. You tell Ryan now, you blow up your marriage for nothing. You think the clinic keeps you after that kind of drama? Small town, babe."
I stared through the windshield at the creek, my jaw tight. My hand was shaking and I locked it around the wheel.
Then at 1:47, his tone dropped.
"Listen," he said. "You keep your mouth shut and I'll make sure Jeff puts you on the county contract. You go crying to Ryan, I tell Jeff you chased me at his party. Who do you think he believes? Me or the girl who needs the hours?"
Silence for two seconds. Her breathing.
"You think you're the first?" he said at 1:58. "Ask Jenna at the front desk how that went."
The file kept going. Her: "Leave me alone." Him: "Be smart, don't embarrass yourself." Then my voice from the diner table, far and thin through the speaker: "Fine, but first listen."
I stopped it at 2:10. I sat there with rain on the windows and the phone hot in my hand. At 1:52 he hadn't just bluffed. He'd threatened her job and her name in the same sentence. He'd lined up a witness.
I played 1:47 to 2:05 again and hit save copy and sent it to my email and to the old Gmail drive I hadn't used in a year. My thumb hovered over delete. I didn't.
I thought about ten weeks ago. She'd come home late from Jeff's party smelling like wine and said nothing happened, just dancing. I'd believed her because I wanted to. Now his voice was in my truck saying she was the girl who needs the hours.
I started the truck and turned around toward home. The highway was still wet, still gray. I drove the speed limit and kept both hands on the wheel. At the light before our street, I called the clinic's main line and asked for Jenna. A woman answered, said Jenna was at lunch.
"Can I leave a message for the office manager?" I said. "Just need to confirm Marcus Halpern is the supplier rep for Tuesdays."
"We don't give out staff info," she said, clipped.
"I'm Ryan— my wife works there," I said. "Just confirming."
A pause. "He's our vendor rep, yes. Tuesdays and Thursdays."
May you like
I thanked her and hung up. That was enough. He wasn't some stranger. He was in her building twice a week, with Jeff's ear and the county contract in his pocket.
By the time I pulled onto our block, the hour was almost up. Her Crosstrek was in the driveway, lights on inside our little rental house. I sat at the curb and listened to the rain and let the recording sit in my chest like a weight I couldn't put down yet.
