Chapter 7
“Claire,” he said quietly, “can we please talk?”
I looked at Michael.
He seemed to understand that this time, I needed to decide for myself.
“I'll be at the bar,” he said, rising.
I caught his hand briefly.
“Thank you.”
Michael squeezed my fingers.
Then he looked at Daniel.
“For what it's worth, you should probably be careful about assuming things.”
Daniel watched him walk away.
“Who is he?”
I let out a slow breath.
“Sit down.”
He did.
And that, by itself, was remarkable.
For most of our marriage, Daniel had set the terms of difficult conversations. He chose the time, the place, and the questions.
Now he sat across from me in a hotel lobby, waiting.
“Daniel, why did you call Sophie?”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“I was worried.”
“About what?”
“You were here with a man I didn't recognize.”
“And?”
“And I wanted to know you were safe.”
I stared at him.
“Do you genuinely expect me to believe that?”
His expression hardened.
“I don't understand why you're being so hostile.”
“I'm not being hostile. I'm asking you to explain why you involved our daughter in your jealousy.”
“I'm not jealous.”
“Then why are we having this conversation?”
He looked away.
Beyond him, the fireplace reflected against the polished stone floor.
I remembered another evening, years earlier, when Daniel had brought me to the Hawthorne for our fifteenth anniversary.
He'd ordered champagne. He'd held my hand across the table. He'd promised we'd take a trip to Italy once the children were older.
We never took that trip.
There had always been something more important.
Work.
A renovation.
A tuition payment.
Some crisis involving his parents.
And when the children finally grew up, Daniel had found another reason not to spend time alone with me.
Rachel.
“I don't know what you want from me,” I said.
His eyes came back to mine.
“I want to know what's going on.”
“What's going on is that we're separated. You live with another woman. I'm having coffee with an old friend.”
He blinked.
“An old friend?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
I studied him for a moment.
“Old enough to remember me before I became your wife.”
Something flickered across his face.
“Claire—”
“His name is Michael Lawson.”
Daniel stared.
Then his expression changed.
“Lawson?”
“Yes.”
“From your hometown?”
“Buckeye Lake.”
He leaned back.
“The Michael you used to talk about?”
“The very same.”