The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(12)

I reached out and rested my hand delicately on top of hers. "It's okay. Everything will be fine," I soothed.

She took a deep breath and tried hard to believe me.

I didn't let go of her hand. I kept holding on to it as I inhaled deeply and began speaking. "As we discussed last week when we met ..."

Mrs. Jacobs turned her hand around and clasped it in mine.

I swallowed hard and flashed another warm smile. This was always the most difficult part. Being the bearer of bad news is never easy. "Per your request, I conducted a fidelity inspection on your husband based on an 'intention to cheat.' Meaning that in order to fail he had to show obvious intention to engage in sexual infidelity." I paused and took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, your husband did not pass the inspection."

"No," she whimpered, shaking her head slowly.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no," she repeated softly, begging for me to change my answer. To somehow reverse the past.

It's during these challenging moments, when your heart wants to sink away into the darkness, that I have to stay focused. I always keep my mind on the end result. The goal. Why I'm doing this. You can't live in the moment when your purpose is this big. You can't focus on the painful steps that bring you there. Otherwise you'll lose yourself along the way.

I remove the blindfolds that keep people in the dark. And almost everyone has the same initial reaction to the unfamiliar, blinding light. They scorn it. They want to cut the power and go back to their comfortable darkness. But that's the thing about this unique situation. Once you've seen the light, you can't go back. You'll always know it's there. And the most comforting thought for me is knowing that eventually they'll come to appreciate it. That one day, they'll wake up and realize that life's just too short to live in the dark.

"We used to be happy," she whispered.

"I'm sure you were," I said sincerely, as I reached over to the end table next to me, plucked a Kleenex from the box, and handed it to her. She nodded her appreciation as she took it and wiped her nose.

"I always thought we were different. That we weren't that couple. I mean, I watched all our friends go through divorces, affairs, therapy...you know how it can be in this town....But I just never imagined it would be us. Ever."

"You did the right thing by hiring me, Mrs. Jacobs."

She nodded, clearly unconvinced, and stood up to show me to the front door.

"I know it doesn't feel like it now," I continued. "But it will. Trust me."

She dabbed at her eyes with the wrinkled Kleenex and smiled politely, partly believing it, partly questioning it, partly... just numb.

I reached into my bag and removed a cashier's check that I had calculated on the plane and picked up from the bank on my way to Anne's house. I placed it on the coffee table in front of her.

"I'm going to leave this check here for you. It's the balance of your retainer. The fees and expenses we discussed have been deducted."

She thanked me, and we walked back toward the entry hall. She reached out and sniffled as she opened the large mahogany door for me. I began to walk through it, but then paused and turned around. Anne stood there, studying me, assuming I would speak.

But I didn't speak. I simply reached out my arms and pulled her into an embrace. At first her body stiffened at my unexpected affection, but it only took a brief moment before I felt her melt into me, and she broke into silent sobs on my shoulder. I stroked her hair as I would that of a little girl who had fallen off her bike and scraped her knee. And in that moment, I'm sure she felt like one.

But like any wise mother, with the experience of a lifetime behind her, I knew something she didn't know. That with time, the scrape would heal, the scab would disappear, and the Band-Aid would eventually come off. And sooner or later... she might actually want to go for another ride.

Anne finally pulled away and wiped her eyes again, looking embarrassed and grateful at the same time.

"I'm sorry," she said timidly, laughing at herself.

"Don't be."

As easy as it would be, I never blame myself. There's no reason to. I'm just a messenger. And we all know it doesn't do any good to shoot the messenger.

"You know . . ." I began gently.

She looked into my eyes with anticipation and waited for my next words as if they might be gospel. Something she could take to bed with her at night and wake up with the next morning.

"The human spirit wasn't meant to live in denial. It will always seek the truth."

And just before I turned back to leave, I saw something in her eyes. Something I could take to bed with me at night and wake up with the next morning.

It was a tiny speck of hope, struggling to break free and perform its one mission in life. To heal.

For Anne Jacobs it was the hope that maybe I was right. Maybe she did do the right thing.

And there was nothing more in the world I could ask to leave with.





3

Father of the Bride


TWO DAYS earlier my business line had rung while I was in the middle of watching an episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition on TiVo. It's my favorite show on the air because it always manages to put me in a good mood. Zo? says that's why they call it "feel-good programming." But for me, the reasons are much more deeply rooted than just wanting to feel good.