Chapter 18
“About what?”
“Did Dad leave you anything else? Any instructions? Any additional agreements?”
“Why?”
“Because Martin says there's a separate document in the company's archive that hasn't been reviewed.”
My attention sharpened.
“What document?”
“I don't know. That's why I'm asking you.”
I said nothing.
Carter continued.
“The board is reviewing the company's historical transactions. They found a reference to a letter from Dad, and now everyone's acting as though there's something else I should know.”
“Perhaps you should ask Martin.”
“I did. He said he can't discuss privileged material without authorization.”
“Then you have your answer.”
“Evelyn, please.”
The word startled me.
In our marriage, Carter had rarely said please unless he was speaking to a waiter or a client he wanted to impress.
Now it sounded almost unfamiliar.
“I know I treated you badly,” he continued. “I know the divorce was ugly. But this is about Dad's company. If there's something that could affect it, I have a right to know.”
“You have a right to ask the appropriate people through the proper process.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
He went quiet.
Then he asked, “Did Dad think I was a bad husband?”
I looked out the window.
There were several answers I could have given him.
I could have quoted the letter.
I could have described the way Richard had watched his son dismiss my work, or how he had warned Carter that confidence without humility was dangerous.
Instead, I told him the truth.
“I think your father hoped you would become a better one.”
Carter didn't respond.
For a few seconds, I could hear nothing but his breathing.
Then he whispered, “I wish he'd told me.”
“He probably thought you would eventually understand.”
“And you?”
I closed my eyes.
“I thought that too.”
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Finally, Carter said, “I'm sorry.”
This time, the words sounded different from the apology at the awards reception.
There was no audience.
No opportunity to repair his reputation.
No settlement to negotiate.
Just a man confronting the possibility that he had disappointed the two people who had believed in him most.
“I hope you mean that,” I said.
“I do.”
“Then do something with it.”
I ended the call.
I didn't feel triumphant.
I felt tired.
But it was a different kind of tiredness from the one I had carried through my marriage.