Chapter 5
He looked annoyed when he saw me.
“What are you doing awake?”
“Waiting for you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
That sentence stayed with me.
At the time, I thought he meant it kindly.
Later I realized it was a warning.
You didn’t have to wait.
Eventually, I stopped.
But not yet.
For months, I kept trying.
“What time did you leave Mark’s?”
“Late.”
“Who was there?”
“The usual people.”
“Why didn’t you answer my text?”
“My phone was in my jacket.”
“How did you get home?”
“I drove.”
“You were drinking.”
“I had two beers.”
“Then why do you smell like wine?”
“Jesus, Claire.”
Every question became evidence against me.
I was jealous.
Controlling.
Suspicious.
Insecure.
Unhappy.
Daniel developed a remarkable ability to turn his disappearances into flaws in my personality.
The first real crack came from something absurdly small.
A receipt.
I was cleaning out Daniel’s jeans before putting them in the wash when I found a folded restaurant receipt.
Not a hotel bill.
Not jewelry.
Not anything dramatic.
Dinner.
Two entrées.
Two glasses of wine.
A shared dessert.
Saturday, 9:14 p.m.
The restaurant was in Dublin, twenty minutes from our house.
Daniel had told me he was playing poker at Mark’s in Westerville.
I stood in the laundry room reading that receipt three times.
Then I photographed it.
I did not confront him immediately.
That surprised me.
Maybe I already knew what would happen.
He would have an explanation.
A client.
A coworker.
A friend.
Someone stopped by.
Someone needed advice.
Someone’s wife joined them.
I waited until Sunday.
He came downstairs around nine, rubbing his face.
I was pouring coffee.
“Did you go anywhere after Mark’s last night?”
Daniel paused.
“No.”
That pause mattered more than the answer.
“You stayed there all night?”
“Until I came home.”
I put the receipt on the counter.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
And because I knew him, I saw the exact instant he began building a lie.
“Oh. That.”
I remember thinking how strange those two words were.
As if the receipt had reminded him of something insignificant.
“That was earlier.”
“You told me you went straight to Mark’s.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot dinner?”
“Claire, it was work-related.”
“With who?”
A beat too long.
“Rachel.”
I knew Rachel Morgan.
Not well.
She worked in vendor relations for one of the manufacturers Daniel’s company used.
I had met her twice at company events.