Chapter 6
She was forty-five, divorced, funny in a dry way, and noticeably attentive when Daniel spoke.
At the previous Christmas party, she had touched his sleeve while laughing.
I remembered because Daniel had moved slightly closer to her instead of away.
“Just Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d do this.”
I stared at him.
“Do what?”
“Turn a work dinner into something.”
“You lied about where you were.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You said you went straight to Mark’s.”
“I forgot about dinner because it wasn’t important.”
That was Daniel’s strategy then.
Make the thing small.
Make my reaction large.
Force me to defend why I cared.
Within ten minutes, we were no longer discussing why he had lied.
We were discussing my trust issues.
That Sunday afternoon, Daniel left for a drive.
I cried in the bathroom so Emma would not hear me.
She was home that weekend.
I didn’t know she heard anyway.
Months later, she told me she had been sitting on the upstairs landing.
“I almost came down,” she said.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I knew you would pretend you were fine if you saw me.”
She was right.
I had become very good at protecting everyone from the truth.
Especially Daniel.
When he missed a family dinner, I told Emma work ran late.
When he forgot my sister’s birthday dinner, I said he had a headache.
When he walked in halfway through Thanksgiving dessert after disappearing for three hours, I told my mother he had needed to help a colleague.
Nobody asked me to do that.
Daniel certainly didn’t thank me.
I just believed a good wife protected the marriage while it was struggling.
What I did not understand was that I was protecting the appearance of a marriage Daniel had already stopped protecting himself.
Then came the Saturday he turned off his location.
We had shared locations for years.
Not for surveillance.
Convenience.
Emma had started it when she learned to drive.
Then the three of us kept the family setting on.
That Saturday, Daniel’s location disappeared around seven-fifteen.
When I asked why, he shrugged.
“Probably an update.”
The next Saturday, it happened again.
I said nothing.
The Saturday after that, I checked at eight.
Nothing.
Nine.
Nothing.
Ten.
Nothing.
At eleven-thirty, I called.
No answer.
At midnight, I sent:
Are you coming home?
No response.
At 12:47:
Daniel?
At 1:16: