Chapter 9
Laurel asked to meet me on a Wednesday afternoon.
Her message was careful and badly punctuated.
I know you don't owe me this. There are things Bennett says you know and I'm no longer sure you do. Thirty minutes, anywhere you choose.
I chose a hotel lobby near Elise's office, public enough to keep us civil and anonymous enough that I wouldn't know the staff.
Laurel was already seated when I arrived. She wore a navy suit. Two untouched coffees sat on the low table.
“I didn't know what you drank,” she said.
“Neither did Bennett, apparently.”
One cup smelled of hazelnut vanilla.
She looked down. “That was mine.”
“I know.”
I sat opposite her and placed my phone on the table. “I'm going to take notes.”
“Are you recording me?”
“No.”
“Should I have an attorney?”
“You should ask for one if you're worried. I'm not here to threaten you.”
Her mouth tightened. “You don't like me.”
“You slept with my husband. Dislike is a reasonable consequence.”
“He told me you had an understanding.”
“When?”
“We started working together in November. He said you'd been more like partners than spouses for years, sometimes in separate bedrooms.”
“We had sex four days before he proposed opening the marriage.”
Color rose beneath her makeup.
I didn't enjoy telling her. I didn't regret it either.
“When did your relationship become physical?” I asked.
“February.”
Six months.
The number settled into the empty space between us.
In February, Bennett had taken me out for Valentine's Day and held my hand in the cab home. I wrote Laurel's words because forming the letters kept my hand steady.
“He didn't propose an open marriage until four weeks ago.”
“He told me you were waiting until after your twentieth anniversary to make it official.”
“Our anniversary was in June.”
“I know.” Her eyes met mine. “He said you postponed the trip because you didn't want to face what the marriage had become.”
I had postponed it because the Halston opening moved after a construction delay. Bennett knew that. He'd watched me spend forty minutes on the phone changing our flights.
“Did you come to my house before the night I met you?”
Laurel didn't answer immediately.
“Three times,” she said. “He said you knew.”
“Was he there?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sleep with him there?”
“No. I swear. We had coffee once. We chose his clothes for a dinner. The third time, he wanted to show me where he lived.”
Where he lived.
I thought of the charger, coffee and black hairs. “Why are you telling me now?”
She wrapped both hands around the untouched cup. “Because he became furious when he learned you were seeing someone. He said you were acting out and that this man was taking advantage of you.”
“Does that sound like a husband who believed his wife was free to explore?”
“No.”
She said she'd expected us to separate gradually because our businesses and friends needed untangling. The open marriage would make the transition less cruel.
“To whom?”
“Everyone.”
“Did he tell you he planned to leave me?”
“He said he couldn't imagine his life without me. I thought that meant he was choosing me.”
“Bennett can't imagine his life without several things he has no intention of caring for.”
Laurel absorbed that without defending him.
She opened her phone and forwarded me screenshots. Dates, hotel receipts, affectionate messages and one long exchange in which Bennett described me as fully informed but emotionally dependent.
One photograph showed Bennett smiling in bed at the apartment, dated March 14. That morning he'd kissed me goodbye for a fictional recruitment conference in Boston. I'd packed his case. In Laurel's next photograph, the green tie I chose hung over the lamp.
“Did he take you to Boston?” I asked.
“He said the conference was canceled.”
It took effort not to laugh. “There was no conference.”
“Claire, I didn't know.”
“You knew he was coming from my house.”
She had no answer to that.
I forwarded the photographs to myself. Not because Elise needed more proof. Because I needed the next lonely morning to remember that grief could make a lie look softer than it was.
The phrase made me laugh once, sharply.
“What's funny?” she asked.
“The house is mine. The company is mine. The person who can't buy chicken without me is Bennett.”
She looked almost ill.
“Did you agree to any of it?” she asked.
“No.”
It was the plainest answer I'd given since this began.
Laurel nodded, picked up her bag and stood.
“I'm sorry.”
“You knew he was married.”
“I did.”
“Then be sorry without asking me to make you feel better.”
She flinched, but she didn't argue.
After she left, I forwarded everything to Elise.
Then I called Bennett.
He answered on the first ring. “Claire?”
“You told Laurel we'd opened our marriage in February.”
Silence.
“She misunderstood.”
“I have your messages.”
“Let me come over and explain.”
“No.”
“Claire, don't make a decision while you're angry.”
“I made it while I was drinking coffee.”
I ended the call and texted Elise one more sentence.
File the petition.