The Lies That Bind(81)

“How could you do this to me? To us?” I say, my voice breaking. “We thought you were dead. There were posters. Amy hung posters all over the city. We went to the hospitals….For God’s sake, there was an obituary. I helped your wife with your obituary!”

“I can explain,” Grant says, palms up and out, as if trying to disarm me. “Please. Just…let me explain.”

    I shake my head, now sobbing, my shock morphing into anger. “What explanation can there possibly be? You let people who love you grieve! Why? To get out of making a decision?”

He shakes his head and says, “It wasn’t like that. That’s not why I came here.”

“Then why?” I say, my face wet with tears.

Grant swallows, then takes several deep breaths through his nose, his chest rising and falling. “Will you listen? Will you try to listen?”

I manage a small nod as he clears his throat and starts speaking. “Byron and I came home from Europe on the tenth of September, as you know,” he says, his voice low. “The plan was to come here, since we’d moved out of his place in Hoboken at the start of the summer. But it was too late when we landed—too late for a long drive—so I checked him in to the Ramada Inn at JFK. I told him I’d come back to get him in the morning, and we’d drive up here.” He pauses, staring into my eyes. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” I say, crossing my arms tight across my chest, thinking there’s no possible way that this story is going to exculpate him from all the lies. Especially at the rate he’s going.

“So then I took a cab home….”

“You mean home to your wife, who you never told me about?”

Grant drops his head into his hands. A few seconds pass before he looks back up at me. “Will you please listen to the rest?”

I stare at him, then shrug, waiting.

“So I went home to drop some stuff off…and I briefly talked to Amy.”

“Right. Your wife,” I say.

“Yes. My wife,” he says. “My wife who I planned on divorcing.”

“Likely story,” I say under my breath. For some reason, I believe this less now than I did when I thought he was dead.

“It’s the truth,” he says. As if the truth means anything to him.

When I don’t reply, he continues. “So I left Brooklyn and came directly to you. That’s all I wanted, Cecily. To see you. And I was going to tell you everything—”

    “Define everything,” I say.

“That I was married. That I’d lied to you. That I wanted to make things right so we could be together for real.”

“Be together for real?” I say, thinking of what we did the last time I saw him. “I thought we were together for real that night.”

“You know what I mean,” Grant says. “I wanted us to be together as a couple, without any secrets or lies….That’s what I wanted…and I was going to tell you all of this. But you were sick and it was so late…I figured it could wait another day or two—once I got my brother settled and lined up with a nurse. So I left your house around four in the morning, and I went straight to work.”

“At four in the morning?”

Grant nods and says, “Yes. I just needed to pick up a few things. But while I was there, I confirmed that…I was going to be in some trouble…imminent trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

He sighs, runs his hand through his hair, and says, “I can’t tell you that….But I did something illegal….”

“Oh my God,” I say, wondering when the shock waves will stop. “What did you do?”

“I can’t tell you that,” he says again. “All I can tell you is I had to go. I had to leave. I had to help my brother. I had things to do first. He needed me….So I took another cab back to the airport hotel, picked up my brother, and came here. Where he wanted to die.”

His voice cracks, and he takes several deep breaths before continuing. “So while we’re in the cab up to the cabin, we hear what’s happening…on the radio….We hear that a plane hit the Trade Center…and then another plane….We hear that the towers are burning and falling…but we just keep going….We just keep going….” He stares into space for a few seconds, his eyes glazed, before looking back at me. “And then—we’re dropped off here. And I realize…I realize that I’m off the grid…I have an out—”

    “An out?” I say. “An out on what, exactly?”

“Everything…the trouble I was in…” His voice trails off as we lock eyes.

“Everything. Yes. Including us,” I say.

Grant shakes his head and says, “No, Cecily. Not us. Never us. I didn’t want out of our relationship. That’s not what I was thinking.”

“But you made that choice,” I say, teary again. “By not contacting me.”

“I couldn’t contact you,” he says. “Not without involving you in…in my trouble….The feds were looking for me, but I knew if I disappeared that day it would be assumed I was in the tower when it fell.”

“You could have found a way….” I say. “To let me know you weren’t dead. You could have had your brother tell me!”