Where was Michael’s birth certificate?
Only now, after Sarah’s big reveal, was Natalie aware that his wasn’t in the file safe along with the others. That box contained their most important documents: passports, insurance policy information, their respective wills, keys to the safety deposit box, and a thousand dollars in emergency cash.
Had it ever been in the safe? She hadn’t looked at his birth certificate when they obtained their marriage license all those years ago—a town clerk had overseen the document exchange. Did Michael intentionally keep it from her? It was impossible to say who had handed the clerk the documents back then, but conceivably Michael had orchestrated it.
Natalie realized she’d had no occasion to review the official certification of her husband’s birth until an investigator tasked with scouring Michael’s life, his past, had given her one.
Natalie heard Michael’s car in the driveway, and after greeting Addie and Bryce, who sounded far more interested in the TV than they did their father, he strode into her office.
“Love what you’ve done with the place,” he said, with a sardonic grin. “Did you download a homemade confetti recipe off Pinterest?”
Natalie gathered some loose papers into a neat pile, but it didn’t make the slightest difference to the overall mess.
“Back already?” she asked, trying to appear calm.
“Yeah, Home Depot didn’t have what I needed. What on earth are you doing, hon?”
Natalie knew she was handling a bomb, a man with a secret, a threat to her and to her children. She hadn’t demolished her office without formulating an answer to the question she knew Michael would ask.
“I’m looking for your birth certificate.”
Natalie had hoped it was all a big misunderstanding, that Michael would happily clear the air, get the document (wherever it was), prove it wasn’t annotated with a name change, and give her one less reason to distrust him. Now it was clear—that was wishful thinking.
Michael took a threatening step forward. Natalie saw how he kept his body positioned in front of the door to block her only way out.
“What do you want that for?” he asked.
She took note of an icy detachment in his voice.
“I thought it would be a good idea to get our passports renewed,” Natalie said, again grateful that she’d preplanned her story. “Mine is expiring and yours is only good for a couple more years, so I figured we should all get new ones. You took care of that the last time, thought I’d return the favor. But I need our birth certificates for that, and yours isn’t in the safe.”
She rose from the floor to make her way to the hefty blue box on her cluttered desk. The lid was open. Three birth certificates topped the stack of papers within. Natalie fanned them out for Michael’s benefit.
“Where’s yours, Michael?”
She was unable to keep an accusatory edge from her voice.
Michael advanced, the shadow in his expression only deepening.
“I brought it to work a while ago,” he said after a brief hesitation. “Don’t remember when. I needed it to redo my I-9 form and I just forgot about it. Left it in a file drawer there.”
His explanation seemed reasonable. Perhaps he was telling the truth—or perhaps he had this story at the ready to shore up his deception.
“Okay, well, maybe you can bring it home. We should really keep all the important documents together.”
Natalie followed up her suggestion with a tight smile.
“Sure,” Michael said. “And I’ll happily take care of the passport renewals for you. You do enough around here. But you don’t need our birth certificates for that. Figured you’d know that.”
Helpful or evasive? Natalie had her suspicions.
“Guess I forgot,” she said. “You know … maybe instead of going abroad, if that’s what we end up doing, we could take the kids to South Carolina, to Charleston this summer. Let them see where you grew up. I’d like to go. You’ve never taken me.”
Michael’s mouth formed something of a frown.
“Charleston has bad memories for me,” he said with an edge. “I lost my mom and dad there, and high school wasn’t exactly my happiest time. I couldn’t get far enough away from that place. You know that. And yet, here you are, asking to go to Charleston, of all places. What are you after? My birth certificate, my hometown, all these papers—why don’t you tell me what you’re really up to?”
Michael gestured to the mess. His voice carried harsh notes of accusation. Reflexively, Natalie stepped back from him as he approached. Audrey’s lifeless form flashed in and out of her mind.
“What’s this all about?” he said, his voice rising.
She observed how he stood, arms akimbo, hands latched to his hips, eyes narrowed. Lack of sleep made it hard to trust her judgment. How far could she press him before he snapped? Natalie felt compelled to pull back.
“I told you what I’m doing,” she said, rubbing her hands against her pants to wick away the moisture that had collected on her palms. “And thanks for taking care of the passports when you can.”
She closed the lid on the safe and turned the key, then shifted her gaze to the floor so that Michael couldn’t read her eyes. He came over to the desk anyway, where he pressed his palms against the paper-covered surface.
Michael reached a hand out and set it gently on her shoulder, holding her back. His touch was tender and loving. What happened to the menace she’d felt radiating off him moments ago?
“You don’t seem well,” Michael said as he stroked her cheek in a loving way. “I’m concerned about you.”
“I’m fine,” Natalie said, finding it hard to sound convincing.
Michael eyed her skeptically.
“I’m not so sure that’s true,” he said. He cupped her face with his hands, gazing deeply into her eyes. “You look so tired, honey. I’m really worried.”
He didn’t sound sincere.
“How much sleep did you get last night?”
“Don’t…”
Natalie caught herself.
“Don’t what?” asked Michael.
“Try to make this anything more than it is. I just thought about taking a trip, is all.”
“Yeah?” Michael didn’t look remotely convinced. “A trip, a birth certificate, my hometown? I’m getting this strange sense that you don’t trust me, do you, Nat?”
“You know our problems.”
“Problems? More like an obsession of yours, I’d say.”
“It’s not,” Natalie said, stepping away. She didn’t like him standing so close to her.
“Yes, it is,” he replied. “You’re a terrible liar, especially when you’re so exhausted.”
Natalie thought of blood on a kitchen floor, a broken plate nearby. A shudder tore through her as she contemplated when the police would come knocking at her door. She’d done as she intended and put them on his trail. At some point soon, Michael would have to answer for his actions.