Then she turned and stared down the hall into James’s office. It was just the same as it had been the last time she looked inside this morning. The same generic desk, the same dust on the bookcase, and the same locked filing cabinet, the only place she hadn’t yet searched.
Sometimes she wondered if she would’ve been better off never knowing she had a reason to search at all. For if the door hadn’t been left unlocked and open just a few months ago, in the fall, if she hadn’t gone inside to dust, maybe she would have never seen it. Their whole lives could have gone by and she might never have found out. Would she have been better for it?
For she hadn’t even suspected. Yes, they had gone through periods of distance. Yes, there were certain points in his life when James seemed inconsistent, resentful, frustrated. They certainly didn’t agree on how to raise their children. But she kept herself busy through their rough patches, and so did he, and lately, with the kids grown up, things had become better between them.
But that day she’d noticed dust on his new, modern desk while she held a feather duster. She innocently cleaned the glass top of his desk and then his bookcase, marveling at the items on the shelves. This was the first time she’d been inside the room for years, probably since James had replaced her grandfather’s desk with this new furniture. James had cleaned out all of her grandfather’s knickknacks, too—the old sculpture of the gray whale, the small tan-colored globe, the jade paperweight—and added some items of his own: a Lucite plaque congratulating him for helping launch an IPO in 1999, those busts of Laurel and Hardy he oddly found so funny. On the third shelf, she noticed a velvet box; stamped on the lid was the name of a jewelry store that had been out of business for ten years. Sylvie picked up the box and turned it over. Then she opened it.
Inside was a bracelet made of white gold, chunky and modern. A feeling swept through her; she knew right away. The bracelet was an odd choice, surely selected to suit someone’s taste. Someone who wasn’t her.
She brought it to him at dinner, holding it by its clasp, afraid to touch it fully. She laid it next to his dinner plate and waited. His eyes rested on it. She watched for telltale signs—paling skin, a shaking hand, darting eyes. James simply looked angry. His whole face tightened.
“You went into my office?” he finally said.
“Who did you buy this for?” she asked.
“You went into my office?” he repeated.
She blinked, aggravated. “Yes! I went into your office! Is this why you keep the door locked? Because … this was in there? Who is this for?”
“I told you not to go into my office.”
She stared at him, astonished. She pointed at the box. “You bought this at Goebel’s. They closed ten years ago.”
He said nothing.
“Was this for someone else? Someone ten years ago?”
“Sylvie,” he said. And then he hung his head. “It wasn’t like that.”
Her mouth fell open. Then what was it like? “Tell me her name,” she demanded, starting to shake.
“It wasn’t—”
“Tell me her name,” she screamed. “Do you still see her? Do you still think about her? What’s she doing now? Is it someone I know?” And then, “Why would you do this? What reason did I ever give you?”
“Sylvie,” he pleaded. “Please leave it.”
She mined her memories for clues. Ten years ago. Eleven. Twelve. Both kids had been in high school. Charles was getting good grades, dating Bronwyn, and he had all those nice friends. Even Scott seemed steadier, doing so well in wrestling, only an occasional detention here and there. Okay, so things with James weren’t at their most romantic. She was harried with all the work she did for Swithin, and he’d just switched to his current employer. Sometimes they were so tired they fell asleep without really talking; sometimes he came home after she was in bed. He’d eaten a lot of dinners with clients, heavy meals with a lot of meat and wine. He’d purchased a membership in a health club right around that time, too, saying that all the other guys at the office went and it was a good place to make connections. Could that have been a cover-up for something more sinister? Was health club a code for … for what? He’d taken lots of business trips back then, but she couldn’t recall where. She thought of the time she’d called her father’s hotel in New York. Are you looking for Teddy? the woman in his room had asked. She had a thick city accent, a husky smoker’s rasp.
Sylvie dug her nails into the kitchen table. “Tell me her name.”
A little sound escaped from the back of James’s throat. “I can’t.”