Chapter 10 #3
Annie let the silence stretch. She wanted him to sit in the discomfort without her rescuing him from it. Outside, dusk gathered over the yard, softening the maple tree, the porch rail, the street beyond.
Nathan cleared his throat. “The hotel manager is suspended. The police have the footage. Tricia says Brooke’s voicemail helps, though I know that’s a terrible way to talk about what she said.”
“It is.”
“I won’t put the ring back on when they release it,” he said. “Not unless you ask me to.”
Annie looked at her own hand again. The ring there felt heavier than it had that morning. Nathan’s ring had become evidence. Maybe that was fitting. Their marriage was evidence too, marked and handled and interpreted by strangers, but still theirs underneath all the fingerprints.
“Okay,” she said, and hung up before the conversation could soften.
The next morning, Brooke was arrested for violating the no-contact order.
Annie learned from Tricia at 7:40 a.m., while standing in the kitchen with coffee going cold in her hand. The charges were preliminary and narrow, but Tricia’s voice carried quiet satisfaction when she said the ring, the hotel footage, and the voicemail had done real damage.
Nathan texted five minutes later. Tricia told me. I don’t know what I feel.
Annie looked at the message for a long time.
She could imagine the old Nathan calling Brooke in some alternate version of the morning, letting her explain herself, letting her cry, letting her turn his guilt into shelter.
That man was not who texted her now. This man sat alone with feelings he did not know how to name and did not ask Annie to name them for him.
She typed back: That’s understandable.
At work, Maggie met her in the lobby with two coffees and a face that dared anyone to comment on Annie’s bruise.
“You know you’re my assistant, not my bodyguard,” Annie said, taking one of the cups.
“Today I wear many hats,” Maggie said. “One of them delivers coffee.”
They rode the elevator up together. In Annie’s office, flowers waited on her desk. For one awful second, she thought they were from Brooke. Then she saw the card. Erin. Annie opened it.
I am sorry for every room where I believed the wrong voice first. I hope these are not the wrong flowers. Nathan said peonies.
Annie touched one soft, ridiculous bloom with her fingertip. Peonies. Her favorite. She set the card beside her computer and began the workday.
Mid-morning, Tricia called again. Brooke had made bail.
The no-contact conditions were stricter now, and if she contacted Annie, Nathan, Erin, Maggie, or approached the house or office, Annie was to report it immediately.
Tricia also warned there would still be a hearing on Brooke’s claims against Nathan, and that Brooke’s team intended to paint the situation as a marital breakdown Nathan was trying to escape by blaming his oldest friend.
“I’ll be there,” Annie said.
“Nathan will be there too,” Tricia told her. “You do not have to sit with him.”
Annie looked at Erin’s peonies. Their petals opened recklessly, lush and soft and ridiculous, just as she had once told Nathan flowers should be. “I know.”
After work, Annie went home. The house was dark when she entered, but the security panel greeted her with a soft chime. Front door opened. Annie Grisham. She made dinner, ate half, and printed the hearing notice Tricia had sent. While she was clearing her plate, Nathan texted.
I’ll see you at court tomorrow. I will not approach you unless you want me to.
Annie wrote back: You can sit with me if Tricia thinks it helps.
His answer came after a minute: I would like that. Only if you do.
Annie stared at the words, then set the phone down.
She walked into the foyer and looked at the place on the mat where Brooke had left Nathan’s ring.
There was no mark there, no visible wound in the house.
That seemed wrong. Then again, most of the damage Brooke had done had left no visible mark until Annie learned how to read it.
She picked up the phone again and typed: I do.
The next morning, she wore the black dress she used for donor meetings where men underestimated her and regretted it by lunch. She pulled her hair back, drove herself to the courthouse, and found Nathan waiting outside with Tricia. He wore a charcoal suit and no wedding ring.
Annie noticed. He noticed her noticing.
Neither of them spoke about it.
Tricia led them through security and into the courtroom.
Brooke sat at the opposite table with her attorney, Martin Halpert behind her, pale and furious.
Brooke looked smaller in person than she had on screens and porches and nightmares.
Still polished. Still beautiful. Contained now by rules she had not written.
When Annie entered, Brooke turned. Their eyes met. For the first time, Brooke did not smile triumphantly.
Nathan pulled out Annie’s chair. He sat beside her, close enough that his sleeve brushed hers, not touching beyond that. The judge entered shortly afterward, and the hearing began.