The Marriage Lie(27)

She slides a plate in front of me with a serving so massive it hangs over the edges, enough food for three people. She gives me an encouraging grin, and I try not to wince when the smell hits my nose, meat and potatoes and butter. But she’s still standing there, so I swallow down my nausea and pick up a bite with my fork.

“Who was that man you were talking to at the memorial? That black guy built like a bouncer,” Dave says as I’m lifting the bite to my mouth.

I want to kiss him. Yes, he’s asking partly out of curiosity, but he’s mostly trying to distract our hovering mother. His strategy works. As soon as she shoots him a questioning look, I slide the food from my fork.

“His name is Corban. He’s a friend of Will’s from the gym. A good friend, apparently.”

Dave is the only one who catches my meaning behind that last word. “You didn’t know this before today?”

“No. He also informed me Will was offered a new job at one of AppSec’s biggest competitors.” I pause, a familiar weight pressing down on my chest. “In their Seattle office.”

Every head at the table swings to me.

“The two of you were moving?” Mom says, sinking into the chair across from me. “Since when?”

“Since never. Will and I never discussed it. I only learned of the job offer this afternoon, from Corban.”

“Will didn’t tell you he got a new job?” Dave’s voice has a snap in it, a defensive edge I’ve heard many times, but never once directed at Will.

It sharpens the edge in mine, as well. “I don’t know that the offer was ever actually finalized. In fact, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that’s why he didn’t tell me. Will knew a cross-country move would have been a hard sell, and he didn’t want to start the discussion with me until he knew for sure. The point is, this job gives him a compelling reason to be on that plane, as well as a reason not to tell me where he was going. This job was his something else.”

Dave and James exchange a look.

“Somebody want to tell me what y’all are talking about?” Dad says from the other end of the table, his gaze bouncing around, from me to Dave to James, then back to me.

I give our parents a quick recap of my search through Will’s closet, and how it turned up nothing but lint. “But if I’m right, if Will really was holding off on telling me about the new job, it would explain why we didn’t find anything in his pockets. He didn’t want me to come across a business card or receipt and wonder what was up.”

Mom shakes her head. “Still, it’s not like Will to be so sneaky. Why would he apply for a job without telling you?”

“He wouldn’t. I’ll bet you money he was approached for it through LinkedIn or by a headhunter. Either way, ESP’s head of HR will be able to tell me. I’m calling her first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Why?” Mom says. I give her a confused look, and she quickly amends. “What I mean is, her answer won’t change anything. There are more pressing matters you should be concerned about right now.”

“Your mother’s right,” Dad says. “There’s a funeral to plan and a ton of paperwork to be done. The banks will probably work faster if we swing by in person.”

“No, Stephen, I meant grieving. Iris needs to concentrate on the grieving process.” She turns back to me, reaching over the table for my hand. “Job or no new job, sweetheart, Will got on that plane. He’ll still be gone. And as unpleasant as it is, you need to work through your pain now, not push it aside to deal with later. You know this better than anyone.”

Her words burn in the corners of my eyes. Logically, I know they’re true. But I also know Will’s lies are chasing me. I feel their sour breath in my neck and their oily hands on my shoulder blades, shoving me forward, pushing me in a search of the whys. Maybe Mom’s right. Maybe my need to map out Will’s last moments is a defense mechanism to delay having to deal with the pain. But still. I can’t move forward until I fill in the most pressing blanks.

What else do I not know about my husband?

What else did he not tell me?

How many more lies?

Mom gives my hand a squeeze. “I’m just worried about you, sweetie. That’s all.”

“Thanks.” Her concern sends up another surge of tears, one that this time I can’t blink away. “I’m a little worried about me, too.”

*

Later that night, after the kitchen is clean and Mom and Dad have headed upstairs for bed, I carry my laptop over to the couch and pull up Will’s Facebook page.

My husband was not a big fan of social media. “Why bother?” he’d always say. “It’s just a place for people to brag and lie about their lives. Like I’m supposed to believe the biggest asshole from high school is now dating a supermodel? Sorry, but I call bullshit.” But like pretty much everybody else on the planet, Will had a Facebook page; he just largely ignored it.

Dave plops down beside me on the couch, throwing his bare feet up on the coffee table and shoving aside a flower arrangement with his toe. Now I know why so many obituaries include the line in lieu of flowers... They’re literally everywhere, solemn springtime arrangements lined up across every horizontal surface, spilling over kitchen counters and mantelpieces, clogging the air with their heady scent.