Chapter 11 #2
Abby reached for the other croissant and broke it in half, placing one piece on Evan’s side of the plate. He had not touched the food since sitting down.
“Eat,” she said as she pushed it toward him. “You’re allowed to be the one someone checks on.”
He looked at the croissant and then at her. The surprise in his expression made Abby wonder how often Makayla’s complaints had prevented anyone from noticing what Evan carried.
“Thank you,” he said as he picked it up with his uninjured hand. He ate several bites before returning his attention to the folder.
They continued. Several dates revealed that Hudson and Makayla used Abby and Evan as alibis, sometimes without bothering to make sure the stories matched.
One Friday in November, Hudson told Abby he was watching a playoff game at Evan’s house. Makayla told Evan that she was staying with Abby because the anniversary of their grandmother’s death had left Abby too upset to be alone.
Abby checked her calendar. “I was at a work dinner until ten.”
“I was in Chicago.” Evan read the messages again. “My flight landed the next morning.”
They looked at each other across the table. For one absurd evening, Abby had supposedly been grieving with Makayla while Evan entertained Hudson in a house Evan was hundreds of miles away from.
“We were very busy for two people who weren’t there,” Abby said as she looked up from the calendar. “I don’t know how either of us found the time.”
Evan’s mouth moved before he could stop it. A brief laugh escaped him, quiet and disbelieving, and Abby felt one rise in response.
The laughter lasted only seconds. It ended with Abby covering her eyes as amusement collapsed beneath the reason for it, but the release left her breathing more easily.
“They weren’t even careful,” she said as she lowered her hands. “They counted on us never comparing notes.”
“Why would we?” Evan folded the message printout and returned it to the folder. “You trusted your fiancé. I trusted mine.”
Abby took another sip of tea. It had cooled while they worked, but she no longer needed the heat to steady her.
By the time they reached the final six months, the affair had become more expensive and more openly contemptuous. Hudson had paid Makayla’s credit-card balance twice, covered a repair on her car, and transferred money after several arguments about when he would leave Abby.
“She kept asking for a date,” Evan said as he read the messages. “He kept giving her a reason to wait.”
“The merger. His mother’s birthday. Our venue deposit.” Abby followed the sequence. “He proposed to me between the first two promises that he would leave.”
“Did he ever give her a specific date?” Evan asked as he leaned closer to read the exchange. “Every promise here seems to move.”
“No.” Abby turned another page. “Every deadline belonged to someone else, so he could blame them when it moved.”
Makayla’s replies shifted between anger and apology. Whenever she accused Hudson of using her, he responded with money, jewelry, or a reservation somewhere expensive.
“She thought the gifts proved he was investing in their future,” Abby said as she studied the transfers. “He was paying to delay the next argument.”
Evan’s expression tightened.
“Did you know how afraid she was of being poor again?” Abby asked as she turned toward him. “She talked about it with me.”
“Yes.” Evan looked toward the window before answering. “I paid off her student loans when the company received its first outside investment. She cried for three hours because no one in her family had ever been free of debt.”
Abby remembered Makayla describing the payment as an overdue contribution from a man who expected her to tolerate his absences. The resentment in the story had eclipsed the size of the gift.
“She told me you controlled the money,” Abby said carefully. “She said she had to ask before buying anything expensive.”
Evan’s face went still. “We had separate accounts. I deposited money into a joint household account, and she chose how we used it.”
“I’m sorry.” Abby watched his face close around the correction.
“Stop apologizing for believing someone we both trusted.” Evan closed the folder and rested his injured hand on top of it. “If we keep doing that, we’ll spend more time punishing ourselves than uncovering what they’ve done.”
Abby looked down at the notebook. They had filled twelve pages, and every line invited another memory, another question, another reason to return to the beginning and search more carefully.
“How much evidence is enough?” she asked.
“Enough for what?” Evan asked as he studied her.
“Enough to stop wondering whether there’s an explanation that changes anything. That makes me able to understand it.” Abby ran one fingertip along the edge of the paper. “I know what they did. I know it was happening before both proposals. I know they used us to hide it.”
Evan followed her gaze to the notebook. “There are more messages than we can read today.”
“There will always be more.” Abby closed the cover. “I don’t want the rest of my life to become an investigation into the life I thought I had.”
He considered that before nodding. “We preserve everything and give copies to the attorneys. After that, we only look if we need information for a specific reason.”
“No searching because we’re awake at three in the morning.” Abby pressed her palm against the notebook’s cover. “Nothing useful happens at that hour.”
“No checking whether a memory was real every time one of them contacts us.” Evan agreed and placed the external drive inside the folder. “We already know enough to decide what happens next.”
The agreement felt fragile, but Abby wanted it. She slid the notebook into her purse rather than throwing it away; refusing to search did not require pretending the evidence had never existed.
Evan returned the iPad to the canvas bag.
They gathered their cups and carried them to the service counter. Outside, the afternoon had warmed enough to melt the last gray traces of sleet along the curb.
Evan stopped beside Abby’s car. His office stood three blocks away, but he had walked her to the parking lot.
“Thank you for meeting me,” Abby said as she unlocked the door. “I know today wasn’t easy.”
“It would have been worse alone.” Evan held the canvas bag against his uninjured side. “Thank you for asking.”
Abby wanted to ask if they would see each other again, but didn’t. The impulse embarrassed her because the work that brought them together was finished, and their own friendship had only formed due to the relationships with the people they were trying to leave behind.
“I’ll send you the photographs of what I found at the apartment,” she said instead. “Then we should have everything.”
“All right.” Evan stepped back from the car. “Drive safely.”
Abby watched him cross the street toward his office. He turned to check whether she was still there, giving a small wave, and she waited until he disappeared through the glass doors before starting the engine.
Two days passed without a message from Evan. Abby canceled the caterer, returned three unopened wedding gifts, and spent an afternoon viewing apartments that she rejected before she crossed their thresholds.
On the third evening, she sat on Sadie’s guest-room floor sorting clothes into drawers when her phone vibrated. Evan’s name appeared on the screen for the first time since the café.
Have you eaten today? Evan had written.
Abby looked at the half-unpacked box beside her. She had consumed coffee, two crackers, and the corner of a sandwich Sadie left in the refrigerator, though none of it felt substantial enough to call a meal.
Not properly, she admitted. Have you?
His answer came almost immediately. No.
Abby leaned back against the bed and felt the first faint easing of a pressure she had not noticed building during the silence. She read his answer once more before typing.
There’s a diner near Sadie’s that stays open late, she wrote. We could eat without discussing them. Evan took nearly a minute to answer, and then his reply appeared: I’d like that.