Chapter 37
Maybe, Maybe Someday
Cecily
I went to see the divorce lawyer in the weeks when Tom was living in the businessman’s hotel downtown. I wanted to know how it could go, what my rights were, how the money would be worked out. Sara suggested I go to a shark, a barracuda, one of the lawyers who sees your ex as so much chum in the water. She regretted she hadn’t done that, wishing she’d made Bill twist and turn legally, given how he’s treated her. But I knew myself. I didn’t have predator instincts. I didn’t want to see Tom twist and turn and have to twist and turn along with him. I didn’t want to go to court—the thought of it terrified me—and so I knew that if we did this, if I did this, and we were going to be over, officially, then it would have to be some kind of mediated solution.
Just sitting there in a lawyer’s office felt so alien to me, even though she handled the meeting with a practiced hand. She had a box of Kleenex ready and a yellow legal pad to fill up with my familiar story. How many variations of the same thing had she heard? Hundreds? A thousand? It was dizzying to think about. Tom and I weren’t just some statistic. We were each other’s history, a family, parents. Whatever she wrote down about us would never be the whole story, even if she could predict every detail. Was this how we were supposed to end? In court documents that would bear only our initials so they remained private? Our children referred to as C. and H.? Our furniture appraised and divided equally?
But what alternative did I have? Let Tom off the hook? Let him move back in and sleep next to him for the rest of my life knowing what I knew? Could I forgive him, did I even want to make the effort? What chance did we have when I couldn’t trust anything he said?
The questions in my head were louder than the answers the lawyer was providing to the ones I asked out loud.
I met Tom for lunch after the meeting. It was the first time I’d seen him since he’d left, the first time we’d spoken in person. When we’d made the appointment, I wasn’t even sure I could go through with it. Walking into the restaurant, I felt dizzy. Then I spotted Tom, and I relaxed. He was sitting near the window, a drink on the table, and he looked like shit. His face was puffy, and he needed a haircut. He’d put on weight, and the buttons on his shirt were straining a bit. It made him more approachable to see him so obviously miserable. I’d been imagining him reveling in his newfound freedom. Instead, it looked as if he’d spent the last two weeks drinking and stress eating.
He rose as I came to the table, then kissed me quickly on the cheek.
“Hi. You look great.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank you for meeting me.”
We sat down. A waiter came over with a glass of white wine. Even though it was barely past noon, I was grateful for the drink.
“What do you want, Tom?” I blurted.
He looked startled but determined; his eyes fixed on mine. “I want to come home.”
“Just like that?”
“I miss you. I miss the kids. I know I fucked up, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make things better. Counseling. Sleeping in the basement. Whatever you need me to do.”
“Is there a time machine in the basement I don’t know about?”
“I wish there were, Lily. I wish I could go back and change everything about this.”
“You just wish you hadn’t gotten caught.”
“That’s not true. I swear.”
“How can I trust you?”
“I want to regain your trust. So whatever conditions you want to impose. Whatever you want to know, just ask and I’ll tell you.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to me. “I’ll give you the passcode, and you can check it whenever you want.”
I dropped it on the table. I felt dirty just holding it. “Are . . . are your texts with her still on this?”
“I deleted them. I deleted everything.”
“So I can’t know everything, then.”
He went pale. “I’ll tell you whatever you want if you want me to, though there isn’t that much to tell. But maybe . . . I know you, Lily. You don’t want to know the details. You’ll just turn them over and over in your mind and wonder if I’ve told you everything. I betrayed you and our family. I’m so ashamed of having done that—you have no idea. But let me bear the burden of it, okay? The details aren’t what’s going to heal us.”
Tom started to cry.
“Please stop,” I said.
“I’m sorry.” He wiped at his eyes with his napkin.
“Don’t make me feel sorry for you.”
“I don’t want that. I don’t want that at all. Please, Cecily, can we please just try? I’m on my knees here.”
“Maybe you should be.”
He pushed his chair back.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting down on my knees.”
“What?” I looked around. Half the restaurant was watching us. “People are looking.”
“I don’t care.”
“I care, you idiot.”
He stopped, got back in his chair. “I wanted to show you how serious I am.”
“Okay, I get it. You’re serious.”
“Will you give me a chance? Please?”
I thought back to what the lawyer told me. That coming to see her didn’t have to mean my marriage was over. That there was nothing final about talking to her, that information never hurt anyone. I should be absolutely sure about what I wanted before I made the decision to file papers. And that was the problem; I wasn’t absolutely sure about anything. All this was so new and shocking and unexpected. I hadn’t even thought my marriage was in trouble before I read that text. Maybe that made me an idiot, but it also meant that if I wanted, maybe there was something left for me to save.
“I can give you a chance.”
I work my shift in a daze, checking my phone constantly to make sure Kaitlyn stays put and to see if there’s any news from Teo. It rings only once, but it’s my mom.
“Hi, Mom.”
I signal to a waiter to take my place at the podium, walking down the hall to the bathroom, where it’s quieter.
“Honey, I’m so glad you answered. I haven’t heard from you for days.”
“I texted you this morning.”
“A text. That’s not communication. And I thought you were coming over on Halloween?”
Halloween. That feels like weeks ago.
“I’m sorry. We got distracted. Was it hard?”
“It was fun, actually. Your dad would’ve been proud of me.”
“I’m sure he would. I know I am.”
“So, where have you been?”
“Cecily?”
I turn around. The waiter who replaced me is standing there, looking anxious.
“Mom, can I call you back later? It’s busy here.”
“Of course. But, Cecily?”
“Yes?”
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
I hang up, staring at the phone. Does my mother know what’s going on? How could she? No, it’s just momtuition; I have it myself sometimes with the kids. I put the phone away and go back to work.
Finally, around five, Teo texts me that they’re ready, and I suggest they meet me at six thirty. I call Cassie and ask her to take Henry out to dinner and a movie so we can have the house to ourselves. Cassie asks if Kevin can go with them, and I agree. If I could send Henry as a chaperone on all her dates, I would.
Teo’s car pulls up at the same time as mine. I don’t know what I was expecting his investigator to look like—some variant of Humphrey Bogart, perhaps—but Joe Connor is a short, small man with round glasses and a bald head, no fedora in sight. Being unassuming is probably a good thing in his line of work.
I direct them where to put their hats and coats and go to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I feel chilled to the bone, though the house is warm. Teo and Joe sit at the kitchen island while I hover.
“What did you find?”
Joe pulls a blue file out of his bag like the one Teo had the other day. He opens it. An arrest photo of Franny is sitting on top. I take the piece of paper: Eileen Warner, eighteen, arrested on suspicion of murder.
“Murder? She’s a murderer?”
“They never laid charges.”
“Who was she accused of killing?”
“Her parents.”
“Jesus.”
“Her sister turned her in. Said she’d seen her tampering with the car the day before the accident that killed them. The brakes failed, and they drove into a ditch.”
I feel even colder. “How come she got off?”
“They couldn’t find any signs of tampering with the brakes, and there was a long history of animosity between Eileen and her sister. No evidence of a crime plus unreliable witness means no prosecution.”
“But did she do it?”
Joe swings his head back and forth. “She might’ve done. I spoke to her sister. She’s convincing. Says that she and Eileen actually got along all right growing up. But then Eileen started hanging with the wrong crowd, ended up in some kind of juvenile detention program, mixed up in drugs and petty larceny. When she got out of the program, she was very angry with her parents. Telling them they’d ruined her life and whatnot. Then Sherrie saw her working on the car, and the next day her parents are dead.”
“Is there . . . Should we be reporting this to someone?”
“Probably no point in that. I didn’t find any more proof than what the police had at the time. Absent a confession, it’s highly unlikely they’d reopen the investigation.”
“Well, what about that? Why don’t we get her to confess?”
Joe takes off his glasses and polishes them with the end of his shirt. “You’ve been watching too much TV.”
“I have?”
“If you think I’m going to be able to get her to confess in a way that will stand up in court, you surely have.”
“There’s no point in getting a confession that can’t be used,” Teo says. “And we could end up the ones in trouble. Besides, that wasn’t the point of all this. We wanted to find enough to persuade her to leave Joshua, right? This, and the other things we’ve found, should do the trick.”
“What else did you find?”
“The name change,” Joe says. “And her sister says she wasn’t adopted. I looked into it, and she’s right. No adoption records anywhere in Wisconsin by her parents. And they lived there since before Eileen was born.”
“Couldn’t they have come to Illinois to adopt?”
“They could’ve, but I checked the records here, too.”
“Aren’t those records sealed?”
“Some are and some aren’t.”
He looks blasé. If I press him about where he got his information, I’m sure he’ll give me some variation of “I have my methods.”
“Why are you surprised?” Teo says. “You were the one who told me that she wasn’t Kaitlyn’s daughter.”
“I know, it’s just . . . My source isn’t the most reliable person.”
“How so?”
“Let’s leave it at that, okay?”
Joe looks curious. Too curious.
“Right, Teo? We had a deal.”
“We do—don’t worry. Joe’s not going to go investigating without getting paid, right, buddy?”
“True enough.”
“So how do we do this?” I ask. “How do we convince her to leave? She’s not even returning my calls or texts right now, and I’m not sure where she is.”
“She’s back with Mr. Ring,” Joe says. “They reconciled apparently.”
I feel stunned, though I’m not sure why. Joshua doesn’t know what I know. They got into a fight because he was hurt about Kaitlyn and Tom.
“Well,” I say. “That makes it easier, I guess. Poor Joshua.”
“I thought I’d ask her to come in for a final interview,” Teo says. “Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“Is she talking to you?”
“Nope.”
“So how do we make that happen?”
Teo hesitates. “What if you speak to Joshua?”
“And say what? Your fiancée’s a complete fraud, and Teo would like to confront her with the information so you have a better ending for your documentary?”
Teo smiles. “You’ll make it sound much better than that. Besides, you’re going to have to speak to him about it at some point, aren’t you?”
The reality of it all hits me. Because Teo’s right, I’m going to have to speak to Joshua about all of this. This and the other things we left hanging when Franny found those e-mails. But how can I do this to Joshua? He’s had enough loss already. And maybe his and Kaitlyn’s relationship wasn’t great, I could always see that, and she was unhappy, but he’s a great dad and has managed a tough situation well. On the other hand, I can’t let Kaitlyn’s girls be raised by someone like Franny. What I know already is enough, and nothing Joe found makes it any better, even if she didn’t kill her parents.
“Yes, you’re right. But I’m not looking forward to it.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Can I have that file?”
Joe looks at Teo, who shakes his head. “Sorry, ma’am, but this here is my confidential work product. If it goes out of my hands, then I could be compromising myself and the people who helped me get it.”
“How am I supposed to convince Joshua, then? If someone told me this kind of stuff about my husband, I probably wouldn’t believe them unless I had the evidence. Unless I could see for myself that it was true.”
“I have an idea,” Teo says. “But you’re probably not going to like it.”
He tells me what it is, and he’s right. I don’t like it, but it’s going to be effective, I think, kill another two birds, or three in this case.
It’s just sad that there are so many birds that need killing in the first place.
Joe leaves, and I text Joshua and ask him to meet me for coffee—alone, I emphasize. He dithers a bit but then agrees to meet me after the kids are in bed. Franny can watch them, he writes, his way of letting me know she’s back.
“It’s all set,” I say to Teo.
“Good. Thanks for doing that.”
“I haven’t convinced him to do anything yet.”
“I have faith in you.”
I sink onto the couch. “I have no idea why. I’ve been a complete mess the entire time you’ve known me.”
He sits down on the coffee table in front of me. Our knees are almost touching. He looks tired and stressed. This isn’t easy for anyone.
“You’re not a mess,” he says. “You’re great.”
“If you could see the inside of my brain right now, I doubt you’d think that.”
“I’d love to see the inside of your brain.”
“I’ll bet. The better to document me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He’s looking at me so intently, as if he’s become the camera, recording my every move. I cover my face with my hands. I’m so sick of being observed, of being seen. Before, I was invisible, a star only in my own life. We could all use a trip to the past.
“This is the problem with us,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“It’s not just the trust thing we were talking about the other day. It’s this film. It’s always going to be between us.”
“I’ll be finished with it soon.”
“But it won’t be finished with me. It’s going to come out, and for your sake, I hope it’s a big success, but for me, I wish that no one would ever see it.”
“Why did you agree to participate, then?”
“You’re very persuasive.”
“I’m not that persuasive. Come on, I’m not recording this; just tell me.”
I look at my hands. I’m still wearing my wedding ring. I put it back on my finger on the way home from New York and never took it off again. “I felt guilty, I think. Guilty I survived, guilty I got that check. Guilty I wasn’t the grieving widow everyone thought I was. And I had this silly idea that maybe it would bring closure to the whole thing. That once everything was down on tape, I could move on, and everyone else could, too. I could go back to being who I was before.”
“That makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“Of course it does. But you don’t have to feel guilty, Cecily. I’m sure you’re not the only one whose marriage was in trouble and whose spouse died that day.”
He doesn’t know how right he is.
“That’s probably true.”
We stare at each other for a moment until the heat rises in my cheeks.
“You know what I see?” Teo says. “What I’m going to show in my film?”
“What?”
“Someone who never understood how strong she was. Think of all the amazing things you’ve done this year. You’re a symbol to so many people of what survival can look like. How you can turn tragedy into something positive not just for yourself but for others, too.” He leans in as he talks, closing the space between us. “And that’s why I wanted you in my film. You’re the hero, Cecily, whether it feels like it or not.”
“I wish I could see myself that way.”
“What’s holding you back?”
“The truth.”
“What’s the truth?”
I sit up, and now our faces are so close I can smell the coffee Teo’s been drinking.
“I had a crush on you,” I say.
“Had? What happened to it?”
“You know what happened.”
He frowns. “I killed it.”
“You did.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, because my crush is still alive and well.”
He comes closer, and I can feel the kiss before it starts. A real kiss this time, not some hurried thing on a street corner. Soft lips, his tongue in my mouth, his hands on my hips pulling me toward him.
I want this, I want this, I want him. But then I stop.
“We can’t.”
He rests his forehead on mine. “Are you sure?”
“You’re the one who put the brakes on. Nothing’s changed, has it?”
“No.” He kisses my forehead and stands. “I should probably go.”
“I have to meet Joshua soon.”
“Right. Let me know how that goes?”
I stand, and we walk to the front door. “I will.”
He puts on his coat, then strokes the side of my face. “I wish things were different.”
“We all do.”
I open the front door and watch him walk to his car. He gives me a wave as he drives past the house, and I can’t help but wish I’d made a different decision. But then again, do I need another man in my life who has doubts about whether we should be together? I deserve to be someone’s first choice.
I deserve to be someone’s sun.