While he’s finishing up, I fetch two Heinekens from the kitchen and carry them out onto the terrace, falling into one of the chairs in a patch of late-afternoon sunshine. I inhale the scent of freshly cut grass and taste the tang of beer on my tongue, watching Corban push the lawn mower back and forth across my grass as if it weighed nothing.
He really is a fine specimen of a man. Lean and dark and slick with sweat, his muscles bulked up under his skin. Maybe that’s why Will didn’t introduce us, because he was afraid of the competition. He must have seen how girls fell all over themselves for Corban at the gym. Maybe Will was afraid I would do the same.
I think of my husband, and my heart gives a happy flutter at the same time the hurt comes flooding back, razor-sharp and every bit just as heavy as before. The reminder sweeps heat through my veins. Will chose money over me, over us. Good. Anger is good. Because hurt will make me cry, and once I start, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.
Corban reaches the end of the lawn, flips a switch, and the backyard plunges into silence.
I pick up the second bottle, wag it in the air. “A beer for your troubles.”
“Thanks.” Corban pulls a T-shirt from his back pocket and uses it to wipe his face, walking across the newly cut grass. “There’s nothing better than a cold beer after mowing. Nothing.” He takes it from my hand with a grateful nod, taps the neck against mine. “Cheers.”
We both take a long pull from our bottles. Corban sinks into the chair next to me.
“So,” I say, “does mowing my lawn fall in the category of looking out for me?”
“Yup, and while I’m here, I might as well take care of anything else you need done. A room that needs painting, maybe, or a drain that’s stopped up. I can clean gutters, too. And when’s the last time you had the oil changed in your car?”
I feel a twinge at the memory of that rainy morning twelve days ago, when Will asked me the same thing as we spooned in bed, but I swallow everything down, along with another sip of beer. “You’re just the complete handyman package, aren’t you?”
A self-deprecating smile slides up one side of his face. “It’s one of the few pros of growing up with ADD. You learn to do a lot of things when you can’t sit still for longer than thirty seconds. Plus, my father wasn’t around to take care of things. I was the oldest of five kids, and Mom needed all the help she could get.”
My psychologist’s training kicks in before I can stop myself. “That’s a lot of responsibility for a kid.”
He gives me a one-shouldered shrug. “I didn’t mind. I kind of liked bossing the other kids around. Not that my sisters ever listened. Still don’t. They’re stubborn as mules, just like our mom.” His easy smile says he loves them for it.
“Why didn’t Will ever introduce us? I mean, he obviously talked a lot about me to you, but he kept your friendship a secret from me. Why do you think he did that?”
If Corban is surprised at my sudden change of subject, he doesn’t show it. He leans back in his chair and blows out a long breath.
“I’ve asked myself that question at least a million times. Will wasn’t exactly a spontaneous guy, so I’m sure he had a long list of well-thought-out reasons, but for the life of me, I can’t come up with any explanation but one. Maybe our friendship wasn’t as good as I assumed it was. I mean, I thought we were tight, but maybe I was wrong.”
“And yet you still came all the way over here to mow the widow’s yard.”
“It wasn’t that far. My house is barely outside the perimeter.”
I know Corban is joking, trying to make light of whatever moral obligation brought him here from the Atlanta suburbs, but his tone carries an edge that tells me the subject is anything but jovial. He’s hurt, snubbed by the fact my husband kept their friendship from me, which in my book makes it even more admirable that he came here today.
“Thank you, Corban. You didn’t have to do any of this, but I really appreciate you looking out for me.”
“I’m glad to. Because, honestly, now that I know what I know...” He glances over, and something flashes across his face, something that makes him look sheepish. “I’m wondering if maybe the problem was me.”
I settle my beer onto a stone coaster. “What do you mean?”
“I already told you I thought Will was acting funny. I saw the signs, and I registered them, but I never reacted, not once. Not even when he made me make that promise to watch out for you. Let’s be honest. You don’t ask a friend to take care of your wife if you’re not worried something’s about to happen. But not once did I ever sit him down and say, Hey, man, what’s going on with you? Do you need a hand?” He lifts both shoulders high, then lets them drop. “Looks like I was the shitty friend in this equation, not Will.”
I take a long draw from my bottle, but the cold liquid does nothing to budge the sudden lump in my throat. Corban may have been a shitty friend, but what does that make me? What kind of wife doesn’t notice when her husband is in so much trouble that the only way out is by faking his own death? An even shittier one. The answer makes me dizzy and unstable, like I’ve suddenly become unmoored. I plant my feet onto the cement pavers and my palms on the hard seat under me, searching for contact with the earth.
Corban’s confession puts us on the same playing field somehow. When it comes to my husband, we’ve both been betrayed, we’ve both failed. That’s the only excuse I have for what I say next.
“There’s some money missing from Will’s company,” I say, watching a squirrel sway in a neighbor’s branch. I can’t bear to see the surprise I imagine climbing Corban’s face, or even worse—judgment. “A lot of money, actually. Four and a half million and counting, according to his boss. No charges have been filed yet, but it’s only a matter of time. The folks at AppSec seem pretty certain it was Will.”
There’s a long beat of silence. And then another.
I look over, and Corban is watching me with a face so straight it’s deadpan. He holds on to it for another few seconds, and then he presses a palm to his bare stomach and busts out laughing.
“I’m serious, Corban. This isn’t a joke.”
He gives me a come on look. “Will Griffith drove an old jalopy with a hole in the floorboard and a seriously questionable transmission. If he came into some sudden cash, don’t you think he would have splurged on a better ride? Or, hell, I don’t know, bought himself a wallet that wasn’t held together with duct tape?”
“He splurged on jewelry.”
“Please. The only jewelry he ever wore was the wedding ring you bought him. And before you say anything, his watch doesn’t count. I’m pretty sure that thing was made of plastic.”
“For me.” I twist my hand around, and the Cartier winks in the sunshine. “He splurged on jewelry for me.”
Corban’s smile drops like a guillotine. “That ring doesn’t prove a thing. Will didn’t like to spend money on himself, but he would gladly spend it on you. He probably saved up for months, or maybe he financed it. Doesn’t matter. The point is, he had a good job. He did well enough for an occasional splurge.”
“He paid cash.”