“What do you want, Tom?” I blurted.
He looked startled but determined; his eyes fixed on mine. “I want to come home.”
“Just like that?”
“I miss you. I miss the kids. I know I fucked up, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make things better. Counseling. Sleeping in the basement. Whatever you need me to do.”
“Is there a time machine in the basement I don’t know about?”
“I wish there were, Lily. I wish I could go back and change everything about this.”
“You just wish you hadn’t gotten caught.”
“That’s not true. I swear.”
“How can I trust you?”
“I want to regain your trust. So whatever conditions you want to impose. Whatever you want to know, just ask and I’ll tell you.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to me. “I’ll give you the pass code, and you can check it whenever you want.”
I dropped it on the table. I felt dirty just holding it. “Are . . . Are your texts with her still on this?”
“I deleted them. I deleted everything.”
“So I can’t know everything, then.”
He went pale. “I’ll tell you whatever you want if you want me to, though there isn’t that much to tell. But maybe . . . I know you, Lily. You don’t want to know the details. You’ll just turn them over and over in your mind and wonder if I’ve told you everything. I betrayed you and our family. I’m so ashamed of having done that—you have no idea. But let me bear the burden of it, okay? The details aren’t what’s going to heal us.”
Tom started to cry.
“Please stop,” I said.
“I’m sorry.” He wiped at his eyes with his napkin.
“Don’t make me feel sorry for you.”
“I don’t want that. I don’t want that at all. Please, Cecily, can we please just try? I’m on my knees here.”
“Maybe you should be.”
He pushed his chair back.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting down on my knees.”
“What?” I looked around. Half the restaurant was watching us. “People are looking.”
“I don’t care.”
“I care, you idiot.”
He stopped, got back in his chair. “I wanted to show you how serious I am.”
“Okay, I get it. You’re serious.”
“Will you give me a chance? Please?”
I thought back to what the lawyer told me. That coming to see her didn’t have to mean my marriage was over. That there was nothing final about talking to her, that information never hurt anyone. I should be absolutely sure about what I wanted before I made the decision to file papers. And that was the problem; I wasn’t absolutely sure about anything. All this was so new and shocking and unexpected. I hadn’t even thought my marriage was in trouble before I read that text. Maybe that made me an idiot, but it also meant that if I wanted, maybe there was something left for me to save.
“I can give you a chance.”
• • •
I work my shift in a daze, checking my phone constantly to make sure Kaitlyn stays put and to see if there’s any news from Teo. It rings only once, but it’s my mom.
“Hi, Mom.”
I signal to a waiter to take my place at the podium, walking down the hall to the bathroom, where it’s quieter.
“Honey, I’m so glad you answered. I haven’t heard from you for days.”
“I texted you this morning.”
“A text. That’s not communication. And I thought you were coming over on Halloween?”
Halloween. That feels like weeks ago.
“I’m sorry. We got distracted. Was it hard?”
“It was fun, actually. Your dad would’ve been proud of me.”
“I’m sure he would. I know I am.”
“So, where have you been?”
“Cecily?”
I turn around. The waiter who replaced me is standing there, looking anxious.
“Mom, can I call you back later? It’s busy here.”
“Of course. But, Cecily?”
“Yes?”
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
I hang up, staring at the phone. Does my mother know what’s going on? How could she? No, it’s just momtuition; I have it myself sometimes with the kids. I put the phone away and go back to work.
Finally, around five, Teo texts me that they’re ready, and I suggest they meet me at six thirty. I call Cassie and ask her to take Henry out to dinner and a movie so we can have the house to ourselves. Cassie asks if Kevin can go with them, and I agree. If I could send Henry as a chaperone on all her dates, I would.
Teo’s car pulls up at the same time as mine. I don’t know what I was expecting his investigator to look like—some variant of Humphrey Bogart, perhaps—but Joe Connor is a short, small man with round glasses and a bald head, no fedora in sight. Being unassuming is probably a good thing in his line of work.
I direct them where to put their hats and coats and go to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I feel chilled to the bone, though the house is warm. Teo and Joe sit at the kitchen island while I hover.
“What did you find?”
Joe pulls a blue file out of his bag like the one Teo had the other day. He opens it. An arrest photo of Franny is sitting on top. I take the piece of paper: Eileen Warner, eighteen, arrested on suspicion of murder.
“Murder? She’s a murderer?”
“They never laid charges.”
“Who was she accused of killing?”
“Her parents.”
“Jesus.”
“Her sister turned her in. Said she’d seen her tampering with the car the day before the accident that killed them. The brakes failed, and they drove into a ditch.”
I feel even colder. “How come she got off?”
“They couldn’t find any signs of tampering with the brakes, and there was a long history of animosity between Eileen and her sister. No evidence of a crime plus unreliable witness means no prosecution.”
“But did she do it?”
Joe swings his head back and forth. “She might’ve done. I spoke to her sister. She’s convincing. Says that she and Eileen actually got along all right growing up. But then Eileen started hanging with the wrong crowd, ended up in some
