SOMEHOW KIRK BEATS me home from his office. Dammit, I say under my breath. I pull into my usual spot in front, then run inside before they have time to get their stories straight. Clearly, they are doing exactly that when I walk into Kirk’s office. In midsentence, Finch suddenly stops talking, as they both stare up at me.
“Did I interrupt something?” I say, feeling as sick as I did when I read the email exchange with Bob Tate.
“No,” Kirk says. “Of course not.” He walks toward me, as if to hug me, and says, “Nice to see you, too.”
I take a step back and say, “Kirk, I need you to tell me the truth. For once.”
He blinks, chuckles, then says, “What are you talking about now?”
“You tell me,” I say, then turn my gaze to Finch. “Or our son can tell me.”
“Mom—” Finch begins to say. “I told you the truth.”
“No, Finch,” I say as loudly as I can without actually yelling. “You did not.”
Finch glances furtively at Kirk, who paces back over toward the fireplace and leans on the paneled wall.
“Kirk,” I say. “Do you have anything you want to tell me? Maybe something about those concert tickets?”
“Honey, please—” Kirk says. Because of course he’ll never just confess. Not unless he knows for a fact that he’s been busted; maybe not even then. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Bob Tate…and the four tickets to see Luke Bryan that Beau allegedly paid for?”
Kirk and Finch exchange a fleeting look that causes something inside me to snap. “Stop lying to me! Both of you!” I yell, fighting back tears of desperation and anger. I stare at Kirk, then Finch, then back at Kirk. Only one of them looks the slightest bit contrite, and it isn’t the man I married.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Finch says, running his hands through his hair. “I just wanted to—”
“What you wanted,” I say. “See? That’s just it. It’s always about what you and your father want.”
Finch closes his mouth, then bites his lip. “I’m sorry,” he says again, this time in a whisper.
I cut my eyes to Kirk and say, “How could you do this? To him? To me? To our family?”
“Do what?” he has the audacity to ask me. “Let him go to a concert with a girl he likes?”
I swallow and shake my head. “No. How can you teach him to be this kind of person?”
“Mom,” Finch interjects with a note of desperation that makes him seem a good three years younger than he is. It gives me a pang in my chest that physically hurts.
I raise my brow, waiting.
“I promise you, Mom,” he continues to plead. “I swear to you. I’m not lying about the picture and Polly. I didn’t take the picture. She did.”
“So let me get this straight,” I say, staring at my son. “You were lying the night of the party, and on the Monday after the party in Mr. Quarterman’s office, and the day of the concert when you said Beau got the tickets. But…you aren’t lying now?”
Finch nods and says, “Yeah, Mom. That’s correct.”
“So what changed?” I say, desperately wanting to believe him.
“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking….And…and, Mom, I was trying to do the right thing all along,” he stammers. “I only wanted those tickets so I could show Lyla how I feel about her. And Dad knew that. That’s why he let me go.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Kirk nodding, his son having just made a solid closing argument. I feel both of them staring at me, awaiting my reply.
“Well,” I say. “Do you know that your father tried to bribe Mr. Volpe?”
“Nina,” Kirk says. “That’s enough.”
I shake my head. “No, Kirk! He should know this,” I say, looking at Finch again. “Did you know your father gave Tom Volpe fifteen thousand dollars so that he’d make this Honor Council hearing go away?”
Finch hesitates, just long enough to give himself away. He already knows. He was in on that, too.
“Never mind,” I say, amazed that my disgust could still be growing. “Although, while we’re on the topic, Kirk…Tom gave back your money.”
“That guy’s a loser,” Kirk replies under his breath.
“No, Kirk. Tom Volpe is far from a loser. He’s a good person. And a great father raising a wonderful young woman, who, for some reason, really likes our son!”
“For some reason?” Kirk says. “Wow, Nina. That’s real nice.”
I take a deep breath. “Can we speak privately for a moment?” I ask Kirk.
He nods, then follows me to our bedroom, surprising me with the first thing out of his mouth. “Look, Nina. I’m really sorry—”
“What are you sorry for, Kirk? The bribe? The lies about the concert? Or being unfaithful to me?”
“Unfaithful?!” Kirk says, way overacting with the most shocked, indignant look I’ve ever seen from him. “Why would you say that? What’s gotten into you lately? You’re not acting like yourself at all.”
“I know,” I say. “I haven’t been acting like myself for several years now. Not since I let you turn me into some Belle Meade trophy wife.”
“Trophy wife?” he scoffs. “We’ve been together since college. What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about, Kirk. I’m an accessory. That’s how you see me. Our whole life is so…phony and fake. I’m done with it.”
“Done with what, exactly?” he shouts back at me. “Our beautiful homes? Our trips? Our lifestyle?”
“Yes. All of the above. But mostly? I’m done with you, Kirk. With your fucked-up priorities. Your lies. Your ego and bullshit. The example you’ve set for our son—”
“Our son? You mean how he’s a really good kid who just got accepted to Princeton? That kind of example?”
“Oh, God. Enough of the good kid routine. Please, Kirk. Good kids don’t scheme against their mothers. Good kids don’t lie right in the faces of their headmasters.”
“He did that to cover for Polly. It was…chivalrous.”
“I don’t think so, Kirk,” I say, my doubts finally crystallizing. “I’m not saying Finch took the picture. But there is more to the story than he’s telling us. At least more than he’s telling me. And…and I just can’t be on board with this dynamic any longer….I want a divorce.”
As Kirk stares at me, mouth agape, it occurs to me that there is actually one thing he could say to change my heart, at least a little. He could tell me that I’m right—or at least that he’s sorry. Genuinely, this time.
Instead, he looks right through me and says, “I think you’re making a really big mistake. But if this is what you truly want…then I won’t try to stop you.”
I shake my head and feel tears start to pour down my face. “You know what, Kirk? Teddy…at age nineteen, protested more than this when I broke up with him in college.”
Kirk rolls his eyes and says, “Well. I’m sure you could still get him back if you wanted to.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Because he really loved me….But I don’t want Teddy back. I just want myself back. And my son…if it’s not too late.”
* * *
—
TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, I’ve crossed the river, and am driving through the bungalow-lined streets of what used to be Nashville’s streetcar suburb. I didn’t memorize the Volpes’ address from our last visit, but I remember how to get there—down Ordway and a left on Avondale. When I arrive, I pull past their house and park on the other side of the street. As I’m about to get out of the car, Melanie calls me. Before I can think better of it, I answer.
“Finally!” she says, sounding frantic but relieved. “What the heck is going on?”
“What do you mean?” I say, wondering what exactly she’s referring to, and how much she knows.
“I mean with Polly? I heard that she was the one who took the photo, after all! And then she called Lyla a slut! And vandalized her porch!”
“Where did you hear that?” I ask, marveling once again at how quickly gossip spreads.
“Beau. He just texted from school. Said he heard y’all just had a meeting with Walter? And that Polly and her parents and Tom Volpe were there, too?”
I tell her she is correct.
“Beau also told me that Walter’s questioning kids today. Bringing them in one by one. It sounds like he’s on a rampage. A total witch hunt. I’m panicked that he’s going to suspend more of them for drinking.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe he’s just trying to get to the bottom of what happened. It’s coming down to a he said, she said.”