As I walked into the restaurant, I spotted Jason and Hannah at the corner table, their dark heads together, deep in conversation. The sight of them made me stop and catch my breath. How many restaurant dinners had we shared, the three of us, since Hannah was a baby in her carrier? I could still picture her as a little girl, thin and pale, with big brown eyes. What a picky eater she’d been, and then later, what a junk-food junkie. As much of a struggle as it had been to raise her, with Jason gone so much and everything on me, I’d give my right arm to have those days back. I’d loved being a wife, and a mom. Now our little family was shattered.
I had a piece of paper in my handbag that was sure to make everything worse. It would take what Jason had started and make it permanent. I didn’t want to use it, but he’d left me no choice. He’d cheated and lied. He’d drained the bank accounts and left me destitute. Now—if what Hannah told me was right—he was planning to skip town. As much as part of me still loved him, it was time to face facts.
I sighed and started toward them. Jason and Hannah looked up simultaneously, with identical dismayed expressions, and I saw that my first impression of a cozy tête-à-tête had been mistaken. In her first weeks of college, Hannah should be glowing and full of adventure. Instead she looked pale and worried, her skin acting up, her hair stringy. And Jason, beside her, looked haggard, like he’d lost ten pounds in the few days since I’d seen him.
“Caroline.”
“Mom, I said this wasn’t a good idea.”
“I wish I didn’t have to barge in like this, but your father left me no choice. He—”
“Can we please leave Hannah out of this?” Jason said. “She doesn’t need to hear the ugly details.”
“Don’t blame me. Hannah told me you’re planning to leave the country. And you won’t return my calls. Where’s the money, Jason?”
In spite of my best intentions, my voice rose. People were turning to look. A waiter stepped up behind me with a chair. Jason waved him off.
“She’s not staying.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Mom, Dad, please,” Hannah said, red-faced with embarrassment.
She was looking around the restaurant, obviously worried that someone from her school might be in attendance to witness her family drama. I felt terrible that her parents’ problems were hurting her at this important moment in her life. But, come on. I was the victim here. If Jason didn’t put the money back immediately, I’d have to start pawning jewelry in order to eat. Hannah wouldn’t wish that for me.
Jason stood up. “Caroline, come outside. Hannah, your mother and I need to talk.”
Jason took my elbow and steered me toward the exit. My cheeks were burning. I hated scenes, and I never meant to shame my daughter. But I refused to let him mistreat me with impunity. I had my payback planned. Out in the parking lot, I reached into my handbag and pulled out a manila envelope.
“You’ve been served,” I said, and thrust it at his chest.
The lawyer Lynn recommended had done quick work, drafting a divorce complaint and a court order in the space of an hour to stop Jason from stealing any more of my—our—money. It might be too little, too late. What he’d taken, I might never see again. But the divorce papers at least made me feel that I was sticking up for myself. They included every salacious detail I could think of to make Jason look bad. The Russian woman. The lies about his business trips—let his partners suck on that. How he’d left his devoted wife destitute after twenty years of marriage. I’d humiliate him in front of the world, like he’d done to me. It didn’t feel good, but nothing felt good since I’d discovered his betrayal.
“What is this?” he said.
“Divorce papers. My lawyer’s filing the complaint in court tomorrow. It has all the dirt about you and that Russian woman, and your so-called business trips. I know you’re lying about where you go. Everybody will know that now. They’ll see what a rat you are, Jason.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Maybe not for you.”
My voice rang out in the silence of the dark, empty parking lot. A misty rain had been falling all evening. The chill got in my bones, making me shiver. I longed for an apology. I’d settle for shock, or even anger. Instead, Jason looked dejected, and his unhappiness gave me no satisfaction.
“It’ll be hard on Hannah,” he said.
“I don’t want to do this. But you told me you would take care of me, then you took all the money, and you’re planning to flee the country. How am I supposed to react?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
In the light from the streetlamp, I gazed at his familiar face, and my heart flooded with regret. I didn’t want revenge. All I wanted was for the past week never to have happened, for our marriage to be warm and cozy, for Jason to be my rock, like he’d always been.
“It kills me to put you through this,” he said.
“Then don’t,” I said, my voice thick with unshed tears. “It’s not too late.”
To my intense relief, he opened his arms, and I walked right into them.
When Jason and I returned to the table fifteen minutes later, we were holding hands. He pulled up a chair for me, and I gazed at him over my shoulder as I took a seat. Hannah looked back and forth between us in wonder.
“Looks like you guys had a good talk,” she said, and the hope in her face tugged at my heart. I had hope, too, even if it was last-ditch and desperate.
“Your mother and I made up,” Jason said. “But let’s not talk about it too much, because I don’t want to jinx it. Hand me the menu. I hear they have great carbonara.”
He signaled the waiter. I felt hungry suddenly and realized I hadn’t eaten since the scrambled eggs this morning. Scrambled eggs …
Aidan.
Was that really today? Was it even this lifetime? Thank God that ridiculous fling was over. What a crazy mistake. Now that I was back with my family, where I belonged, I could put it out of my mind and never think of it again.
From behind me, a man’s hand, holding a pitcher, reached to fill my water glass. Something in the hand was so familiar that I held my breath, afraid of what I’d see if I turned around. Could it be? I stared straight ahead.
I saw Jason look up, and his eyes widen.
“You’re the guy from the parking lot,” he said. “You work here?”
“Yes, sir. Can I get you anything else?”
At the sound of Aidan’s voice, I froze. Had he followed me here? I could tell that he was standing right behind me. In a terrible moment of suspended animation, I waited for him to say something that acknowledged our connection. To call me by name. To spill the truth about our affair to my husband, with whom I’d now—I hoped and prayed—reconciled. Instead, he circled to the other side of the table, coming close enough to brush against the back of my chair. I saw that he was wearing a black apron embroidered with the name of the restaurant and carrying a pitcher of ice water. What the hell? Either this was the most bizarre coincidence of all time, or he was masquerading as a waiter. It was the latter; I knew it in my gut. He’d followed me to this restaurant, stolen the apron and the pitcher, and walked up to our table, in some deranged attempt to make contact, to barge into my dinner with my family. I had no idea why. But he could only mean harm.
I watched in horror as Aidan filled first Hannah’s water glass, then Jason’s. He lifted a hand to push back his hair, and I saw that the left side of his forehead had turned a deep purple, marked by a dark red gash where he’d bashed it against the dashboard of my car. Aidan finally met my horror-stricken gaze. And smiled. What did he hope to gain by sneaking up on me like this? I wanted to ask him. I wanted to demand that he leave me and my family alone. But my voice died in my throat. The only thing that mattered right now was saving my marriage. If Jason knew I’d cheated, even though he’d done exactly the same, our fragile reconciliation would be at risk. So, I sat completely still, praying in silent horror that—whatever his intentions—Aidan would leave us without giving me away.
The elderly, white-jacketed waiter returned to check on us. He looked Aidan up and down in confusion.
“Who are you?” he said. “You don’t work here.”
“I’m new,” Aidan said. But he set the water pitcher down on the table and hurried away.
“Uh, folks, could you give me a minute,” the elderly waiter said, and rushed to follow Aidan.
I watched as Aidan ran out the front door of the restaurant. The elderly waiter stopped at the maître d’s station. He and the maître d’ stepped outside, then came back in moments later and engaged in an animated conversation.
“That’s odd, don’t you think?” Jason said, watching them, too.
My voice was rusty with shock, to the point that I had to clear my throat before I could get out a reply.
“What—what do you mean?”
“That guy who brought the water. I don’t believe he works here.”
“Who knows,” I said.
The elderly waiter shrugged, then headed back in our direction.
“Here comes the waiter,” I said. “Forget about that guy. I’m starving. Let’s order.”
Aidan was gone, thank God. But for how long?