Wherever She Goes(55)

“Thank you.”

He’s about to speak again when his phone rings. He checks the screen. Hits Ignore.

“I’d like to talk to you later,” he says. “More about what’s going on. And I would rather you didn’t go back to your apartment without me. Well, without someone, but I’d prefer it to be someone who knows what’s going on, and I’m guessing that’s just me?”

“It is.”

“We’ll discuss—” His phone buzzes with a text. He flicks it to vibrate without checking the message. “We’ll discuss . . . nighttime arrangements then. If you’d be okay coming back here for dinner . . .”

“Yes!” Charlotte says. “Mommy come dinner.”

“I will,” I say, then add quickly for Charlotte, “This one time.”

“Good, Charlie can watch a movie while we talk. What time are you done—?” Paul says.

His phone vibrates.

“I think someone’s trying to get hold of you,” I say.

“Just work. I’ll call back in the car.”

“Over Bluetooth, I hope.”

His eyes crease in a smile. “Yes, over Bluetooth. Now, if you wouldn’t mind getting Charlie ready, I’ll tidy up here.”

Charlotte’s dressed and only needs to brush her teeth, so when I come back, he’s still clearing the breakfast dishes.

“I’ll tackle those,” I say. “You go on to work.”

I’m brushing past him to clear the table when his phone vibrates again. I see that it’s Gayle. He stuffs it into his pocket. I hesitate, debating. Then I say, “I would like you to let Gayle know that I was here last night.”

His brows rise.

I put the mugs into the dishwasher. “I’d rather you told her and explained than have her find out later. I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”

“You’re not—”

“Please? Humor me? I just . . . I want you to be happy.”

He nods abruptly and mumbles something. Then he calls for Charlotte to grab Matt and tells me he’ll see me tonight, and they’re gone.



I’m at work, and I’m happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time. More at peace than I’ve been in a very long time. Paul knows my secrets. All of them. And we have moved past it. Not to marital reconciliation. I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hold out hope for that. This morning, when we’d been in bed together and I realized who was calling, yes, I hoped he might say it didn’t matter . . . and let us finish what we started. I’d entertained the fantasy of him admitting it was over with Gayle, and he wanted to try again with me. That only lasted a moment. If it did happen, I’d have worried it was temporary, lust clouding his judgment. If there’s any hope of reconciliation, it won’t come today or even tomorrow. I can’t push either. He is the wronged party, and that choice must be his.

I am happy because we’ve achieved something less life-changing but even more important. Personal reconciliation. He knows my secrets, and yes, they have hurt him. Yet that hasn’t marked the beginning of an icy-cold post-separation wasteland, where I can no longer reach him, no longer talk to him, no longer co-parent with him. We’re returning to equilibrium, and if that’s the best I can hope for, then I’ll take it.

I think Paul was right. Zima’s goon was testing me last night. Menacing me in hopes of proving—or disproving—my story about a missing child. No one wants there to be a missing child. It’s inconvenient. If I’m the only person who says there was one, and I’ve retracted my claim, then the thug can go back to Denis Zima and say, “That chick was wrong.”

You don’t have a son, Denis. There’s nothing to see here. Let’s move along.

We’re short-staffed at the library today, so I’m doing mom-and-tot story time, which I love. I’m good at it, too—I do all the voices, and I’m definitely not afraid to be silly. I’m hoping that if I impress Ingrid, I’ll get to do more programming, especially with little ones. Now that Paul knows about my past, there’s nothing to stop me from going back to school part-time. Get a degree in library science. I’d also like to throw my tech skills into the mix. Play to my strengths and my interests, after so many years of hiding them.

God, that feels good. I don’t know if I ever truly realized the weight of those secrets. Once it’s lifted, the possibilities roll out before me like a red carpet. I can get my degree and a proper librarian job. I can use my inheritance money to buy a condo. I can openly negotiate child custody with Paul, now that I don’t have to worry about him digging into my past.

I can breathe again. That’s what it feels like. I can finally breathe.

I’m helping the little ones check out their post-story-time books when my phone buzzes. It’s under the counter, and I glance at it while the screen is lit up. It’s an incoming text from a number I don’t recognize. I’ll admit to a jolt of fear when I see that, as a million horrible scenarios run through my mind. Life is going too well this morning, and the universe will surely stomp out my joy with a text from Zima or his goon.

I whip through the checkouts. Then I surreptitiously unlock my phone. The text is a video with a still of Charlotte climbing a slide. I smile. Paul must have given Mrs. Mueller my number.