“Yes,” he said softly but swiftly. “They were. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” I said. It was an overstatement—I didn’t know anything for sure—but I didn’t want Tom to feel guilty.
I could hear him draw a deep breath, then say my name on a weary exhale. It sounded like a plea.
“Yes?” I said in response.
“I don’t know you very well,” he said slowly, as if very carefully choosing his words. “But you deserve better than this.”
“I know,” I managed to reply. “Thank you, Tom.”
Right after we said goodbye and hung up, I realized that I’d forgotten to mention Lyla and Finch and my strong suspicion that they had gone out the night before. I told myself I needed to call him back. But I couldn’t make myself do it. I was just too disappointed in Finch. In my life.
Instead I called my best friend and told her I needed to see her. That I was having a crisis. She asked no questions, simply saying she’d be home all day, waiting for me.
I then went to check on Finch. I’d heard him come in the night before, around midnight. I went upstairs now, lightly knocking on his door. When he didn’t answer, I opened it. He was sound asleep and lightly snoring, the covers tucked up under his chin. I walked over to his bedside and put my hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently, then harder, until his eyes opened and his mouth closed.
“Yeah, Mom?” he said, squinting groggily up at me.
“Hi. I just wanted to let you know I’m headed home. To Bristol. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow. But Dad will be here in a few hours.”
“Is everything okay? With Nana and Gramps?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, comforted that he’d shown himself capable of concern. “I just feel like I need to go home.”
“Okay,” he said, blinking.
“Do you want to come with me?” I asked, knowing he would not. His lack of interest in his grandparents these days made me sad, but right now it was obviously low on the list of things to be sad about.
“I have a lot of homework….” he replied, his eyelids fluttering and closing again.
I stared at his face for a few seconds before reaching out to lightly shake his arm.
“Yeah, Mom?” he said, his eyes still closed.
“How was the concert?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said. “Fun.”
“Good…I’m glad….It was so nice that Beau could get those tickets,” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“And it was just the two of you? Or did you go with other people?”
“Just the two of us.”
“Okay…well. Remember your father’s coming home today,” I said, feeling sick on so many levels. It was the way divorced people talked. Your father rather than Dad.
“Yeah. You already said that, Mom.”
“Does he know you went to the concert?” I asked, giving him one final chance.
“Nope,” he said, finally opening his eyes so he could lie right to my face. “I haven’t talked to him.”
Strike three, I thought, walking out of his room.
* * *
—
I ARRIVED IN downtown Bristol shortly after two o’clock, going first to Julie’s house, a small cottage that she and Adam had lived in forever. As I got out of my car, I spotted her on one of two rocking chairs on the wraparound front porch they’d recently painted. I’d selected the color for her—Benjamin Moore Tranquil Blue.
“Hey there,” I called out with a little wave. “I love your porch. It looks so pretty!”
She waved back at me, still rocking in her chair. “Thanks to you!”
I climbed the porch stairs as she stood and held out her arms, then pulled me into a long, tight hug. It was comforting, as was the familiar scent she’d been wearing since high school—Chanel No. 5, which she’d once joked was the only Chanel she’d ever own.
“Have you lost weight? You feel tiny,” I asked, backing up to look at her. Other than brisk walks and swims at the Y, Julie never worked out, and she was built like a delicate bird. Sort of the opposite of her personality. “Tinier than usual, I should say.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, pulling at the waistband of her khaki shorts and glancing down to check the space between the fabric and her stomach. “I don’t have a scale, so I’m not really sure.”
“You don’t have a scale?” I said, thinking I weighed myself at least twice a day, mostly out of mindless habit but also due to general vigilance. My being thin was so important to Kirk—and so it had become that way to me, too.
“Nope. Not since I caught the girls weighing themselves,” she said as we each took a rocking chair. “I didn’t think much about it until Reece declared herself the winner because she was a pound lighter than Paige.” She shook her head as she snapped her fingers, making a crisp sound. “I nipped that in the bud.”
“God, you’re so good about that stuff,” I said, wondering if it was ever tough for Paige, who had inherited more of Adam’s stocky build; Reece looked just like her mother. I was ashamed of having the thought and saw it as another sign that I’d been focusing on the wrong things. I felt sure it wasn’t something Julie had ever worried about. Her lack of shallowness, coupled with feelings of self-acceptance, transferred to everyone close to her, most of all her daughters. “It’s a good thing I had a boy. I’d have screwed up a girl even worse….”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” she said but conspicuously did not deny that I’d screwed up Finch. I told myself this wasn’t the time to get defensive. I needed to have a thick skin. After all, if I’d wanted someone to help me take the easy way out, I would have called Melanie.
“Anyway,” I said.
“Yes. Anyway…would you like some lunch? I made some chicken salad.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m not really hungry right now.”
“Something to drink? Coffee? Sweet tea? A glass of rosé?”
Although I actually could have used some caffeine, I didn’t want to interrupt the moment. I wanted us to stay exactly where we were, for as long as possible. “No, thanks,” I said. “Where are Adam and the girls?”
“They’re running errands….I gave them a very long list.”
I smiled and thanked her, knowing she’d done this for my sake, probably changing her own plans for the day, too.
“Of course. No problem,” she said. “So tell me, what’s going on? I assume this is about Finch?”
“Yes and no,” I said, then caught her up on everything. Our visit to Tom and Lyla. Finch’s apology. The tickets to see Luke Bryan. Finch’s lies. Kirk’s lies. All of them.
“Bastard,” Julie said under her breath. “I knew it.”
As she started to get all worked up, I raised my hand and stopped her. “Yeah. But honestly, that’s the least of it,” I said. “It’s more…the kind of husband and father he is. The person he’s become. It’s everything….I think the affair is just a symptom of it all….And I just can’t do it anymore.”
“Meaning?” she said softly.
“Meaning…I think I want a divorce,” I said.
Julie didn’t miss a beat. It was almost as if she’d been waiting for this. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s back up. Did you find something? Texts or receipts?”
“No. Just the pocket dial—and what Tom told me he overheard,” I said. “I know it’s circumstantial, but it’s just a feeling I have. A very strong gut feeling.”
“And there’s a lot to that,” she said. “But I still think you need a PI. I know a guy in Nashville. He’s incredible.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need proof. I know what he’s doing.”
“Yes, but we still should have it. Tennessee’s a fault-based state.”
“Which means?”
“Which means adultery is a factor in alimony. It’s also leverage. Kirk cares so much about how things look to people.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I said, shaking my head.
“Well, he cares about how things look to some people. That’s why he does his philanthropy bullshit.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But those people give him a pass no matter what…because of his money. They love him for his money.”