Chapter 4 - The Number I Didn't Recognize
I looked at that message for a long time.
My first instinct was to block it. One disaster a day felt like plenty. I'd had my quota. More than.
But that word — more — lodged itself under my ribs and wouldn't move.
I typed back: Who is this?
The dots appeared. Stopped. Started again.
My name is Janet. I'm Melissa's sister. I know how this looks. I'm sorry to come at you this way. But Melissa doesn't know I'm messaging you, and I think you have a right to know what's actually been going on.
I read it twice.
How did you get my number? I wrote.
Off Grant's phone. Melissa had it for a stretch and I copied your contact before she lost access. I've been going back and forth about reaching out for two months.
I set the phone face-down on the table. The little green light on the monitor blinked, steady as a heartbeat.
I picked it back up.
What do you mean, more?
The answer took four minutes. I watched the clock on the microwave the whole time.
Melissa isn't the first. There was a woman before her — Renata. That ended about a year before Melissa started. And there's money. Accounts Grant set up that I don't think you know about. Melissa brought them up once when she was upset. She said he told her the money was for "starting over." I don't know exactly what that means. But I figured you should.
My hand went completely still on the wood.
Why are you telling me this? I typed. If Melissa's your sister—
Because Melissa thinks he's leaving you for her. He's been telling her that for eight months. I've watched her rebuild her whole life around it. A pause. I don't think he's going anywhere. I think he's been lying to both of you. And you both deserve better than a man like that.
I didn't write back right away. I got up, filled a glass at the sink, drank half of it standing there in the dark, and looked out at the backyard where a few hours earlier my girls had been lined up in their pink dresses waiting for Bianca to count to three.
I went back to the table.
Can we meet? I typed.
Yes, Janet wrote back. I was hoping you'd say that.
We settled on a coffee shop called the Kettle & Crumb, over in Millbrook, two towns from us. Three days out. Somewhere neither of us would run into anyone we knew.
I put the phone down and finally let myself cry. Not loud. Not falling apart. Just quiet, with my palms flat on the table and my head bowed, at my own kitchen table.
When it passed, I wiped my face and went to check the girls. All three asleep. My oldest had kicked her blanket onto the floor. I picked it up and tucked it back over her. She stirred and didn't wake.
I stood in the doorway a minute, looking at the three of them in the dark. Then I went back to the kitchen, opened my laptop, and typed family law attorney into the search bar.
I didn't call anyone that night. But I copied a number onto a slip of paper and folded it into my wallet.
Grant came home at eleven. I heard his key, then his steps in the hall. He stopped outside the kitchen.
"You're still up," he said.
"Yes."
He stood in the doorway looking wrung out, like he was waiting for me to start something.
I closed the laptop. "The girls are asleep. You can take the guest room."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. "Okay," he said quietly, and went down the hall. The guest room door clicked shut.
May you like
I sat there another hour. Then I lay down on my side of the bed and watched the ceiling go gray with morning.
Three days until Janet. And a strong feeling that whatever she had to say was going to rearrange everything I thought I already understood.
