Saving Meghan(104)

“And?”

“And I saw some messages on his phone.”

“Oh no…” Mom’s coloring went paler than mine.

“And they were … they were really explicit.”

“Who? Who was it with?”

“Her name is Angi,” Meghan said. “Spelled A-N-G-I, so it’s kind of trendy, nontraditional, maybe she’s young, I don’t know. I told Dad I was going to tell you, and that’s when he hit me, hard across the face. He told me I had no business looking at his phone. He said I didn’t even understand what I was seeing, and that if I told you, it would be the end of our family. He was so angry; I thought he was going to hit me again.”

“That son of a bitch,” Mom said through clenched teeth.

“I read the messages … a bunch of them at least, and I think … I think they’re in love.”

There. That was it. I had nothing more to say.

And—surprise, surprise—I did feel better.





CHAPTER 50





BECKY


Numb.

She had never felt so utterly, completely, devastatingly numb in all her life. Carl was with her, on his phone, talking loudly to his lawyer about Becky’s case. She glanced at him occasionally. It was hard to look for too long. In her mind she kept seeing the open-handed slap against her daughter’s face, heard the hard smack of skin against skin, felt that sting of betrayal as much for Meghan as for herself.

By the time they got settled in the car, the numbness had receded, leaving Becky shaking with anger. Questions came at her like bullets from a gun. Who is she? How long has the affair been going on? Are there others? Is Kelly London one of them? Carl pushed the ignition button on his car. Becky was so upset she had rushed out and forgotten to give the thermos of soup back to Nash. Now it rested at her feet, and she thought about unscrewing the lid and pouring it on Carl’s lap, but that would be a waste.

“Meghan didn’t look well,” Carl said, backing out of the parking space.

“I’ve been saying that for a long time now. Funny how you picked this moment to finally start hearing me.”

“You don’t look so well, either,” Carl said, sending her a sideways glance.

Becky felt her heart rev faster than the car’s engine. “I’m fine,” she lied.

Carl navigated the Mercedes into the flow of traffic. “How about we both go home,” he said, sounding a hopeful note.

Becky gave it some thought. That’s where she needed to go, where she’d be staying now.

“That would be fine,” she told him.

Carl’s smile broadened. He placed his hand on Becky’s leg just above the knee, giving it a gentle squeeze before traveling up a bit higher. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “I’ve missed us. This whole ordeal’s made me realize how much I love you and Meghan, our family. I know we’ve had our problems, but you and Meghan mean everything to me.”

Becky kept tight-lipped. She wanted her first words to be the right ones, to deliver the kind of shock and hurt Meghan must have felt when he’d hit her.

How dare he! How dare he!

On the drive home, Carl talked about her legal case, and what his lawyer thought, and why Andrea Leers was not a good fit, and other things Becky only half heard.

There were reporters camped out in front of the house when they arrived—three news vans and a couple of cars. Carl told them all to go away; there would be no statement. Cameras filmed Carl parking in the garage, which must not have been enough for the evening news because some of the news crews stuck around.

Inside, Carl headed to the living room to close the curtains on other reporters who might wish to pay them a visit. Becky went to the kitchen, where she set the thermos of soup on the granite counter.

“The media are vultures, don’t let them bother you,” Carl said upon rejoining his wife. He reached for Becky’s hand, perhaps thinking of leading her to the bedroom to supplant a bit of pain with pleasure. Becky pulled away from his touch as though it were a hot coal. He looked wounded. Good. She eyed him with disdain.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I know you’re worried about Meghan, but she’s where she needs to be. You and I, we somehow need to get to that better place, too. And we can. If you get the help you need, I believe we can.”

Becky stood in the center of the kitchen, hands on her hips, a fierce look in her eyes. “She told me,” Becky said flatly.

Carl groaned, looking away. “I told you that never happened. I’d never hit her.”

“No, she told me about the phone, the texts, she told me everything—the truth.”

“Becky, none of that—”

“Stop.” Becky held up her hand like a traffic cop. “Just stop. Don’t debase yourself any more than you already have. Who is she, Carl? Angi, right?”

When he made eye contact, Becky thought her husband looked more upset at getting caught than at what he’d done. “It’s not what you think.”

“Please,” Becky said in an exasperated tone. Bitterness rose up in her throat.

“Okay, it is what you think, but it’s over. It happened, and it’s done.”

She had long suspected Carl might have been unfaithful, but her need for stability in one part of her life had made it easy to accept his feeble assurances.