Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Rain
For several seconds, I thought I'd misheard her.
The coffee shop kept moving around us.
Someone laughed near the counter. Milk hissed beneath a steamer wand. A man in a red coat shook rain from his umbrella by the door.
Normal sounds.
Normal people.
And across from me sat the woman whose face had spent seven years on my husband's body.
"Our what?" I asked.
Mara's eyes filled with something I couldn't identify.
"His daughter."
I stared.
"Evan doesn't have a daughter."
Her face crumpled.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"Oh, God."
I leaned forward. "What daughter?"
Mara looked around the room.
"Claire, maybe we shouldn't do this here."
"You started it here."
"I didn't start anything."
"You just told me my husband has a child."
"Had."
One word.
That was worse.
"What do you mean, had?"
She closed her eyes briefly.
When she opened them, she looked older.
"My daughter died."
My mouth went dry.
"Your daughter."
"And Evan's."
I stood so quickly my chair scraped across the floor.
Several people looked over.
Mara reached toward me but stopped before touching my arm.
"Please."
"No."
"Claire—"
"No. You don't get to say my name like you know me."
"I don't know you."
"You know my husband."
"Yes."
"How?"
She looked toward the window.
Rain streamed down the glass.
"We were together a long time ago."
"How long?"
"Almost four years."
Four years.
Four years wasn't a drunken weekend.
Four years wasn't some girl he'd dated for a month and forgotten.
"How serious?"
Mara's lips parted.
I already knew I wasn't going to like the answer.
"We were engaged."
I laughed.
I actually laughed.
It was an ugly little sound that made the couple at the next table glance over.
"My husband had a fiancée."
"Yes."
"And a daughter."
Mara nodded.
"And he never mentioned either of you."
"I'm beginning to understand that."
I sat again because my legs felt unreliable.
"When?"
"Claire..."
"When?"
She hesitated.
"We met when I was twenty. Evan was nineteen."
I did the math automatically.
Nearly twenty years ago.
"We had Lily when I was twenty-three."
Lily.
A name.
Suddenly the lie had a name.
"What happened to her?"
Mara's gaze dropped.
"That's not mine to tell."
"You just told me she existed."
"I thought you knew."
"Clearly, I didn't."
She rubbed her thumb against the cardboard sleeve around her coffee.
"I haven't spoken to Evan properly in years."
"Properly?"
Mara looked up.
Damn.
I'd heard it too.
"What does properly mean?"
"Nothing."
"Apparently I've been married to a man where 'nothing' means quite a lot."
She flinched.
For a strange second, I felt sorry for her.
Then anger swallowed it.
"Have you seen him?"
Mara didn't answer.
"Recently?"
"Claire, you need to talk to Evan."
"Have. You. Seen. Him?"
"Twice."
The room tilted.
"When?"
"Once in April. Once about three weeks ago."
Three weeks.
Three weeks ago Evan had told me he was staying late at a job site because an inspector had rescheduled.
I remembered dinner wrapped in foil.
Roscoe waiting near the door.
Evan coming home at almost ten.
He'd smelled like rain.
"Where?"
"We met at a diner outside town."
"Why?"
Mara pressed her hands together.
"My mother died in March."
I said nothing.
"I was cleaning out her house. I found some things that belonged to Lily."
That name again.
"I didn't know what to do with them. Some belonged to Evan too."
"So you called him."
"Yes."
"How did you have his number?"
"I didn't. I found his company online."
Of course.
Bennett Residential Construction.
Evan's dream from our third date had become real two years earlier. His phone number was on trucks, signs, invoices, the company website.
"Did he know you were back in Cedar Falls?"
"Yes."
"Did he know you came here?"
"Not today."
"Does he know where you live?"
"No."
"Did you sleep with him?"
Mara's face hardened.
"No."
"Did you kiss him?"
"No."
"Did you want to?"
"No."
"Did he?"
"Ask your husband."
That answer struck harder than a denial.
I grabbed my purse.
Mara stood too.
"Claire."
I turned.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For today."
"Not good enough."
"I mean it."
"So did he lie because you asked him to?"
"No."
"Because you were having an affair?"
"No."
"Because you wanted him back?"
"No."
"Then why?"
Her eyes flicked toward the tattoo hidden under the sleeve of my memory.
"You really don't know anything."
I hated the pity in her voice.
"Stop saying that."
"I'm not judging you."
"Then tell me."
She shook her head.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because the last time Evan and I tried to decide who was allowed to tell the story of what happened to Lily, we destroyed each other."
My anger stumbled.
"What happened?"
Her chin trembled.
"Talk to him."
"Mara—"
"Ask him why he was driving."
Cold moved through me.
"What?"
"That's all I'm saying."
"Mara."
But she was already collecting her bag.
I caught her wrist.
She looked down at my hand.
I released her immediately.
"Please."
There was something different in my voice now.
Not anger.
Fear.
"What happened to his daughter?"
Mara stood very still.
Then she reached into her purse and removed her phone.
"I'll give you my number."
I nearly laughed again.
"Why would I want it?"
"Because after you talk to him, you'll have questions."
"I have questions now."
"I know."
She typed her number into my phone.
Before leaving, she looked at me one last time.
"Claire?"
"What?"
"Whatever you're imagining about Evan and me right now, you're wrong."
"That's comforting."
"I'm not saying he's innocent."
She swallowed.
"I'm saying what he did to you and what happened to us are two different things."
Then she disappeared into the rain.
I drove home without remembering the trip.
Evan's truck wasn't in the driveway.
Good.
I wasn't ready.
Then I realized I didn't know what ready meant anymore.
Roscoe greeted me at the door with his usual ridiculous enthusiasm. I knelt and buried my face against his neck.
"Hey, buddy."
My voice broke.
He licked my cheek.
I stayed there longer than necessary.
The house looked exactly as it had that morning.
Our wedding photograph over the fireplace.
Evan's boots by the mudroom.
His coffee mug in the dishwasher.
Seven years of evidence that I knew this man.
I suddenly trusted none of it.
At 5:43, his truck pulled into the driveway.
I watched from the kitchen window.
He stepped out carrying a grocery bag.
For one insane moment, I wondered if there might be another wife somewhere watching him carry groceries into another house.
He came through the door.
"Hey, beautiful."
He kissed my cheek.
I almost recoiled.
Almost.
Instead I smelled sawdust and cold air.
"Got those cinnamon rolls you like."
"Thanks."
He studied me.
"You okay?"
"Headache."
"Want me to make dinner?"
"No."
"Sure?"
"I'm sure."
He accepted it.
That made me angrier.
I wanted him to see something was wrong.
I wanted him to confess without being asked.
Instead, Evan changed clothes, fed Roscoe, and spent twenty minutes telling me about a subcontractor who had installed three windows backward.
I watched his mouth move.
This was my husband.
My liar.
After dinner, he showered.
When he came downstairs, he wore a gray T-shirt.
The tattoo was exposed.
Mara at twenty-something.
I stared.
Evan noticed.
His hand instinctively covered part of his forearm.
That tiny movement was enough.
"You still talk to Tyler?"
He frowned.
"What?"
"The guy who did your tattoo."
"Tyler?"
"Yeah."
"Sometimes. Why?"
"Does he still tattoo?"
"I think so."
"Maybe it's time."
"For what?"
"To cover her."
Evan's entire body changed.
Barely.
But now I knew to watch.
His shoulders rose.
His fingers curled.
"Claire, we've talked about this."
"We have."
"I thought you let it go."
"I did."
"Then why now?"
I shrugged.
"No reason."
His eyes stayed on mine.
"What would you cover it with?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"A tree?"
"Maybe."
"Compass?"
"Sure."
"Lilies?"
The silence was immediate.
Evan went pale.
There it was.
Not suspicion.
Not coincidence.
Truth.
"Lilies?" he repeated.
"Pretty flowers."
His throat moved.
"Why lilies?"
I stared into the face of the man I'd slept beside for seven years.
"I saw some today."
He looked away.
That was all.
I could have confronted him then.
Instead, I waited.
Because Mara had given me one other thing without meaning to.
A warning.
Ask him why he was driving.
I needed to know what question I was asking before I let him build another answer.
That night Evan fell asleep beside me.
I didn't.
Around two in the morning, I slipped downstairs.
Evan kept important documents in a cabinet in his office.
Tax records.
Insurance.
Business licenses.
Our mortgage.
I searched everything.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something strange.
When we'd renovated this house five years earlier, Evan had refused to replace the old built-in shelves in the office.
"Good wood," he'd said.
I ran my fingers along them.
The bottom shelf shifted.
My pulse jumped.
I lifted it.
Beneath the board was a shallow compartment.
Inside was a small metal box.
No lock.
My hands shook as I opened it.
There were photographs.
A hospital bracelet.
A tiny pink knitted hat.
And an envelope.
Across the front, written in a woman's handwriting, were six words:
EVAN — I CAN'T KEEP THIS ANYMORE.
I pulled out the first photograph.
Evan looked twenty-three.
Mara stood beside him.
They were smiling.
Between them was a baby girl with dark hair.
On Evan's left forearm was the same tattoo.
Mara's face.
On the back someone had written:
Lily's first birthday. Our whole world.
I sat on the office floor.
Then I noticed the date.
Lily's first birthday had been June 11.
The newspaper clipping beneath the photograph was dated June 19.
Eight days later.
The headline was short.
INFANT KILLED IN ROUTE 17 CRASH.
May you like
And beside it was a photograph of Evan's truck.
---
