Confessions on the 7:45(18)

Hugh wouldn’t even look in their direction, a sullen boy deprived of his plaything. He rested his head in his hand, put a foot up on the coffee table. Cleared his throat. The silence expanded, swelled to fill the room. Anne could even hear the very faintest sound of a siren, through the thick glass, far away. She thought about denying the whole thing. But instead she just stayed quiet. Pop always said: It’s better to say nothing. Silence is golden.

Anne dropped her forehead into her hand, as though she was in a state of despair.

“If you are.” Kate’s voice was oddly gentle, almost compassionate. “The two of you. Madly, deeply, can’t go on without each other. Feel free to go now. I won’t stand in the way of true love.”

Anne wondered, would he leap up? Declare his love, take her hand and storm the two of them out. Even though she hadn’t wanted that, didn’t want it, she wished he would, just so that she could see what Kate’s reaction might be. But no. He shifted in his seat, crossed the leg that had lagged on the coffee table over the other and looked out the window.

Coward.

Pop always said it and it was true: Cash is king. Kate wore the crown very well.

“So, the question is, Anne,” Kate went on into the quiet, her voice now firm, practical. “What do you want?”

That was an interesting thing to ask. It really did cut through all the bullshit. There would be no emotion here, just as it was in the boardroom. Kate was famous for saying, Let’s cut through it, can we? We’re burning daylight.

Anne looked up at Kate now, and felt a hard, familiar twist of envy. No, it was darker than that, whatever the feeling was. It was the feeling that made her want to key beautiful cars, or slash priceless art, or make happy people cry.

Their eyes met. Anne felt nothing. Not fear, not anger, not regret, not disappointment, not even shame. All things that might be appropriate here, that other people might feel. It was Kate who looked away first. They always did.

“What do you want,” Kate said to her folded hands, “to walk away from your job, whatever it is you were doing with my husband, and to sign a nondisclosure agreement for this incident and its resolution?”

The room shimmered a little and Anne had this feeling she’d had before. As if she’d lifted out of her body, was floating above and looking down at herself, at the imperious Kate, and the defeated and slouching Hugh. She wondered how the scene had played out last night. Not that it mattered. He was never going to leave his wife, his cushy job, their children, the world of wealthy friends and successful colleagues he inhabited.

Well. Let’s cut through it, can we?

It was that easy. She named her price. It was a high one, but there was no negotiation. She was given the business card of their lawyer, told that there was an appointment tomorrow at 9:00, that she should not miss it under any circumstances.

“And that concludes our business,” said Kate. “Allow me to show you out.”

Anne took the long walk back down the hall, feeling eyes on her, and packed her things; just what she’d carried in that morning in her bag. She’d never had any personal items on her desk—no framed pictures, or pretty knickknacks.

Hugh stayed in Kate’s office, as Kate discreetly escorted Anne from the building.

On the street, in the unforgiving light of the bright winter sun, Anne could see the fine lines on the older woman’s face. The skin on her neck was crepey. Anne observed just the very slightest shake in her hands. So, she was human. Not like Anne, who still felt nothing except some vague satisfaction. It wasn’t quite the payout for which she’d hoped. But it would do.

“Let’s never see each other again,” said Kate, still holding the door handle. She couldn’t step away from the fortress, could she? In a street fight, she could never best Anne and they both knew it.

Anne nodded, tried to look chastened but couldn’t keep the corner of her mouth from turning up in a smile. The other woman had already disappeared back into the lobby, the darkness swallowing her thin frame.

It was true. Kate would never see Anne again. Because when she came, she’d come from behind. And Kate? She would never know what hit her.

  During the long train ride home, Anne dissected the job—what she’d done right, what she’d done wrong. By the time she got in the car that she had parked at the isolated station, she had a clear list of mistakes, and areas for improvement. Her biggest errors were poor planning—she’d actually started the job wanting to work. She’d fallen into the other thing. So, there hadn’t been enough recon. Then, she’d let things drag on too long. The truth was that she enjoyed Hugh, the luxuries of being his mistress. She’d lost control of the situation. Still, the score was good. A bit messy. But Pop would be happy enough with the outcome.

She drove, out into the woods, down the long winding drive that led to the house. The sky was a bruised purple-gray, the trees winter-black, some snow still clinging to the ground, to the branches. She hated winter, the quiet of it, the emptiness, the waiting of it. Hugh had promised her sunshine and cocktails, a tropical escape. She could feel the warm salt water on her skin, taste the tang of a fruity drink. She’d have let him take her away. It was all part of it, let it ride until it ran out.

The house sat low and dark, nestled into the trees, as she brought the car to a stop and killed the engine. She sat in the gloaming, let all traces of Anne fall away. Then she exited the vehicle and walked up the stairs to the porch, unlocking and pushing in the front door.