Chapter 3
I looked at the nine payments again.
Suddenly, I wasn't crying.
I was furious.
Caleb came home at six fifteen.
He kissed Sophie's forehead.
Asked about her science project.
Opened the refrigerator.
And behaved like a man who believed normal routines could eventually erase abnormal behavior.
After Sophie went upstairs, he approached me in the living room.
“Can we have a normal evening?”
I closed my book.
“What would a normal evening look like?”
He sighed.
“Claire, please.”
“Would it involve pretending I don't know about Laura?”
“No.”
“Pretending you haven't lied to me?”
“That's not fair.”
I studied him.
Then I asked, “Is Pine Ridge nice this time of year?”
His entire body went still.
Not dramatically.
Not like something from a movie.
His shoulders simply stopped moving.
“What?”
“Pine Ridge.”
He swallowed.
“Why?”
I tilted my head.
“Does it have a lake?”
Caleb stared at me for several seconds.
Then he said, “I knew you were going through our accounts.”
I hadn't told him I was.
And he hadn't denied the connection.
“I was reviewing our finances,” I answered.
“You're trying to destroy this marriage.”
That sentence did something strange to me.
It made everything clear.
Caleb had taken another woman to a cabin, lied about his whereabouts, and possibly spent thousands of dollars from our household account.
But in his version of events, I was the person destroying our marriage by discovering it.
I stood.
“No, Caleb. I'm finding out what happened to it.”
He followed me into the kitchen.
“The cabin wasn't what you think.”
I stopped.
“Then tell me what it was.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“It was an investment.”
I waited.
“A rental property. A friend of mine had an opportunity, and I thought it might make sense financially.”
“Who was the friend?”
He hesitated.
“Laura knew the owner.”
There it was.
Another correction.
Another piece of information I hadn't possessed.
I asked, “Did Laura stay there with you?”
Caleb looked at the floor.
“Yes.”
“Twice?”
He nodded.
“Just twice.”
I considered the statements.
Nine months of payments.
Two visits.
Something didn't fit.
But instead of arguing, I asked one more question.
“Did you buy it?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
He looked offended.
“Claire, I would never buy property without telling you.”
I nodded.
Then I said, “I hope that's true.”
The following morning, Rebecca called.
She had reviewed the documents I sent.
“Claire, those payments are worth investigating,” she said. “But don't assume they prove ownership. We need records.”