A Curve in the Road(38)

My eyebrows pull together in a frown. “Better off dead? Wait a second . . . was he suicidal?”

She sobs. “I don’t know! Part of me wonders if he was coming to see me because he’d changed his mind, or maybe he was coming here to threaten me in person, to make sure I’d keep quiet. Now I’ll never know for sure. And neither will you.”

I stand up because I can’t listen to any more. I don’t want to be in the same room with the woman who was sleeping with my husband and tried to keep him from me in his final days. Does she truly believe that I beat her in the end? That I feel victorious because Alan wanted to devote himself to Zack and me and not her? I didn’t even know that I was a player in this game until this very moment.

She follows me to the door, where I grab my jacket and shove my arms into the sleeves.

“Wait, Abbie,” she says. “Please, don’t go.”

“Why not? I got what I came for. You told me everything I need to know. There’s no point in beating a dead horse.” I look around for my purse.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you,” Paula says, sounding a little less drunk now, “but Alan made me promise never to tell you, and after the accident, I felt so guilty . . . that it was my fault he was on the road that night. And then I figured . . . what would be the point in telling you? It couldn’t change anything, and you’d only be in more pain.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come to the funeral,” I reply. “You should have stayed away.”

But would I have preferred to live the rest of my life in ignorance? I honestly don’t know the answer to that question. Maybe I would have.

“Despite how this must seem to you,” Paula continues, “you should know that Alan loved you.”

I hold up a hand. “Please. Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m serious,” she replies, sounding desperate. “I was the one who was jealous of you, because I knew he’d never choose me. He didn’t want to break up your family. It was always that way. He was very clear about it.”

I find my purse and shake my head at her. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

I walk out the door, but she won’t stop. She’s like a tenacious terrier, following me down the hall to the elevator.

I press the button, the doors open, and I step on. “Please don’t contact me again. We’re done now.” The doors shut between us.

A moment later, seated in my mother’s car, I insert the key into the ignition with trembling hands and start the engine. My tires skid on the pavement as I pull away.

I make it less than a block from the apartment building before I pull over because I need to have a meltdown. I squeeze my eyes shut and pound the steering wheel multiple times with my fist.

God in heaven. Alan had cancer. And on the day that he died, he may have been trying to put an end to his affair. Or maybe his life . . .

But why didn’t he call me right away when he found out about his diagnosis? I’m a doctor. Did he not think I could handle it? Maybe I could have helped him somehow. There might have been hope, a better prognosis . . .

I force myself to sit back and take a few breaths.

Why should I even care whether Alan had a terminal disease? He’d been cheating on me for three years. Maybe longer. There could have been others before Paula. And if he was suicidal, was he just being a coward because he didn’t want to face me when the truth came out?

I squeeze my fists around the steering wheel, flex my fingers, and look up at the roof of the car. I need to let this anger flow out of me, because I can’t go home and see Zack like this, with poison in my veins.

After a moment, I dig into my purse for my cell phone. I dial my sister’s number, and I’m relieved when she answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Carla. It’s me.”

“Finally,” she replies. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. What happened?”

I bite my bottom lip and fight back the tears. Alan doesn’t deserve them.

“Paula told me that she and Alan had been having an affair for the past three years and that Alan found out he had cancer on the Friday before he died.”

“What?” Carla replies. “Are you serious?”

I continue on, explaining everything I know. “He didn’t have long to live, and that’s why he was drunk on Sunday—because Paula was pressuring him to leave me, and I guess he couldn’t deal with any of it.” I pause. “He might even have been suicidal, but I doubt we’ll ever know for sure.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “Oh my God.”

“But that was no excuse for him to get behind the wheel when he was drunk,” I continue. “He could have killed other people. I can’t feel sorry for him, Carla. Not after all this. He deserved what he got.”

I regret my words the instant they pass my lips, and I cup my forehead in my palm. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. I’m just really upset right now.”

“Of course you are,” she gently replies. “And you have every right to be. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I were in your shoes and found out that Braden was keeping secrets like that from me.”

I sit in the car, in the glow from the dashboard lights, tapping my thumb against the steering wheel and staring straight ahead—not really seeing anything beyond the glass.