Chapter Ten
Everything looks the same, smells the same, too. Like Lemon Pledge and file folders, Diana thinks as she stands in the foyer of Tom’s old law firm, her hand on the brass doorknob.
The name on the sign behind reception is different, though. No more “Hobart and Morgan”—the firm is now “Hobart and Associates.” Jonathan and the firm’s employees bought out Tom soon after his diagnosis.
A young woman Diana doesn’t recognize sits at reception. “May I help you?” she asks as Diana surveys the room. A cordless headset hooks onto the left side of her head, and her fingers clatter along the keys as she speaks.
“I have an appointment with Jonathan Hobart. I’m—”
“Diana!” Jonathan strides into the lobby and envelops her in a hug. Her face presses against his itchy blue suit jacket. “How are you? The kids? Everyone wants to say hello. We’ll do the greetings after?”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Are you hungry or thirsty? How about a cappuccino?”
Jonathan makes arrangements with the receptionist, whose name Diana never gets, and steers her to his office. His phone rings as he closes his door. “Sorry, I have to take this. Won’t take long.”
Diana hasn’t seen Jonathan in months; he looks good—thinner, more fit—though his hair is grayer at the temples.
His office hasn’t changed: Empty coffee cups line the windowsill, paperwork is piled on the floor by his desk, and lawbooks blanket the table in the corner.
On a bookshelf near the door are an award from the bar association and photos of Lily and their kids.
The original “Hobart and Morgan” sign sits on the top shelf, next to a framed photo of Jonathan and Tom cutting the ribbon for the building’s grand opening.
Diana takes it down for a closer look. She and Lily stand on the other side of their husbands; Duncan perches on Diana’s hip, and Lily, largely pregnant with their second daughter, holds their toddler’s hand.
How young they were. How long ago this all feels.
How much time has passed since Diana last spoke with Lily.
Lily and Diana were once close, a connection born of Jonathan and Tom’s friendship and, later, their business partnership. Perhaps each woman subconsciously cultivated their relationship to keep harmony between the men in those years when starting the law firm called for long hours and sacrifice.
Their friendship had the added benefit of grounding Diana during the upheaval caused by Duncan’s arrival.
Amid the exhaustion of early motherhood, Diana and Lily regularly met up to push their children in clunky strollers along Alcott’s bike path or to sit together at Sully’s, the café in Alcott center.
Together, overcaffeinated and sleep-deprived, they shared breastfeeding tips and whispered about the women who came in wearing kitten heels, with perfect makeup and impeccable blowouts.
Diana envied how rested they looked, a sign they had time for themselves, a luxury that had disappeared for her with Duncan’s birth.
Lily, on the other hand, focused on their clothing and accessories, identifying the high-end brands each woman wore and calculating the cost of their ensembles.
Diana recalled those days as confusing; she was overjoyed with being a mother, yet she resented the loss of some essential part of herself, as if she’d sacrificed her own identity for her son.
With Lily, Diana found the companionship she needed, and she looked forward to sharing the different phases of parenthood with her.
When Tom was diagnosed, however, Lily and Jonathan drifted from the center of Tom and Diana’s friend group to its fringes.
Consumed with Tom’s needs, it took Diana a while to notice, and at first, she was stung they’d pulled away.
Yet she wasn’t shocked. People were afraid of Diana and Tom, as if spending time in their presence put them at higher risk for losing their own spouse or receiving a terminal diagnosis.
It didn’t change after Tom died either; people acted as if widowhood were communicable, or as if Diana were radioactive, exposed to too much pain and therefore dangerous.
Six months after Tom’s funeral, in the hope of reconnecting, Diana called Lily. The coffee date that followed was memorable for its awkwardness. Lily jabbered away about a recent shopping trip to New York City and didn’t ask once how Diana and the kids were managing without Tom.
“I miss him all the time,” Jonathan says, coming up next to her. “But I’m happy to see you, Diana. What brings you here today?”
Diana puts the photo back on the shelf and turns to Jonathan. “I need your help.”
Twenty minutes later, she sips her cappuccino as Jonathan reads Tom’s letter for the fourth time. “You found this where?” Jonathan asks. His lunch sits on the desk, untouched.
“In a Leap Day time capsule from 2012.” He’s asked her this question multiple times, and she’s curious if this is an established lawyerly technique: Ask the same question over and over until the answer changes, or until the answer is finally believed.
“It’s his handwriting, but it doesn’t sound like him.” Jonathan hands the letter to her and sits back, his arms crossed. “This isn’t what I thought you wanted to talk about.”
“What did you think I wanted?”
“The building. I thought maybe you wanted to sell.”
Tom divested himself of the firm before he died but retained their co-ownership of the building.
Jonathan and Lily own 50 percent; Tom and Diana—now Diana—own the other 50 percent.
The rent checks from the building’s other tenants are a stable source of income, especially since she’s a single parent.
“Keep the building for the short term,” Tom said when they reviewed their finances before he entered hospice.
“Someday, you might want to sell. Make sure you get a good deal.”
Diana places her drink on the edge of Jonathan’s desk. “That’s not why I’m here. I need advice about this letter.”
“Right.”
She waits for him to say more, but he seems stuck, the silver-tongued attorney at a loss.
After an awkward silence, Jonathan picks up his salad, the plastic container squeaking as he wrenches it open. “What are your questions for me?”
“Did you know about this?”
“Did I know Tom committed a crime when he was eighteen?” Jonathan asks, swallowing a mouthful of lettuce.
“You were his best friend.”
“You were his wife. I’m assuming, from the way the letter is written, you were oblivious to this as well.”
Diana flinches.
“Shit, Diana, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” Jonathan pushes away his salad, and the fork falls to the floor. “I don’t know about any of this, including these people he mentions. The ones he says might come looking for you. Are you okay?”
“Nothing happened at college? Nothing out of the ordinary?” Tom and Jonathan met freshmen year, thrown together by the randomness of roommate assignments.
They instantly became the best of friends, living together all the way through law school.
“When you and Tom met, he was eighteen. Maybe he’s referring to your first year of college? ”
Jonathan stares up at the ceiling, squinting at the lavish crown molding lining the room. To Diana, it looks as if he’s diving into his memories, holding each one up for a closer look.
“I don’t remember Tom acting secretive about his past or anything that happened in college,” he says slowly. “I never witnessed him doing anything illegal. He was never out of control. He was adamant about staying away from drugs, even pot. I have no idea what this letter means.”
Diana believes him. “I have more questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“You’re my lawyer? I probably should have asked you this first. We signed an agreement to that effect years ago. It’s current? I’m still protected by attorney-client privilege?”
“Yes, yes.” Jonathan responds to her question as if the answer is obvious. He leans down to pick up the plastic fork, throwing it in the trash. “Next?”
“Can my family be held responsible for this crime?”
“You can’t be held responsible for something your dead husband did more than thirty years ago.
” Diana cringes at Jonathan’s bluntness.
He winces and mumbles an apology. “No matter what the crime was, unless, of course, you were involved in it in some way. Which is not the case here. It’s possible Tom’s estate could be sued, but I’d need more information about the crime, including what it was and where it took place. ”
“Do I have a responsibility to turn this letter over to the police?”
“Which police? Where?” Jonathan returns to his salad, taking a new fork from his desk.
“Since you found the letter in your home, you can file a report with the Alcott police. Two possible outcomes could occur. First, your report would be relegated to the bottom of a very busy to-do pile, where it would remain indefinitely. How can they follow up on a crime that happened so long ago in an unknown place, even with Tom’s claim people might be coming for you?
They don’t have the resources to investigate something so vague. ”
Diana can almost hear the squeal of that car pulling away from her house in the middle of the night. She pushes away the sound and focuses on Jonathan. “What’s the other possibility?” she asks.
“Your report could end up in the police blotter in The Alcott Chronicle. Other media, or even those true crime fans, could get interested, and you’d have to contend with people snooping around your life, Tom’s life. You don’t want that. Not for you, not for the kids.”
“I don’t want this to become public. I don’t even know what this is.” She gestures to the page. “Maybe he remembered wrong? Maybe he dreamed this? Maybe it didn’t happen?”
“Maybe.”
Another question comes to her, one she didn’t think of until now. “Is there anything about Tom’s work here at the firm that might be relevant? Anything that could somehow be connected to this letter?”
Jonathan spears a cherry tomato with his fork and brings it up to his mouth. He holds it there for a second or two before dropping it back into the salad. “Why are you asking that?” His voice is strained, and she’s immediately suspicious.
“It’s a reasonable question.”
“No, it’s not. All client matters are confidential. You asked me about attorney-client privilege, after all. Regardless, there’s nothing you need to know.”
“If there’s nothing I need to know, why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset,” Jonathan replies.
Diana crosses her legs at her ankles and waits.
After a few minutes of poking his fork through his lettuce, Jonathan says, “After we bought out Tom, I had the accountants examine the books. It’s a best practice when there’s an ownership change.
” Abandoning his food, he peers out the window.
“They came across a series of odd withdrawals Tom made over the years. I’m not sure why they weren’t caught at the time.
Maybe because he oversaw the books while I hustled for new business?
Some of it, maybe half, was returned to the firm’s account.
There’s no explanation about where the rest of it went. ”
“How much money are we talking about?” Most of their earnings went back into Tom’s law school debt and their mortgage. Diana often joked that the only excessive expense in their budget was basketball gear for Duncan.
“I shouldn’t have said anything about this. It’s in the past.”
“How much, Jonathan?”
He sighs. “A little over $60,000.”
“$60,000? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Jonathan says grimly.
First the letter, now this missing money. She expected Jonathan to have answers, not more secrets. “I know nothing about that,” Diana says, gripping the arms of the chair. “I can look through our bank account when I get home. I would have noticed an unexplained $60,000, though.”
“This money could have been for the firm. It was withdrawn in varying amounts over several years, and like I said, some of it—about $30,000—was returned. The records are unclear, which is why I didn’t bring it up sooner.”
“You’re mad about it.” She sees Jonathan’s anger in the set of his jaw and the blunt rhythm of his words.
“I’m confused, and I don’t like to be confused about my business.” Jonathan pauses. “I’ve decided if the money wasn’t for the firm, it was for something else, something important to Tom.”
As they talk, sunshine streams in through the window behind Jonathan’s desk, temporarily blinding Diana. She’s enveloped in the light, as if it is a living being she can touch. For a moment, Diana believes Tom is there with them, reaching out to her. What is he trying to say?
Jonathan clears his throat, and Diana remembers again that Tom is gone.
“Let me make a copy of this letter,” Jonathan says. “I’ll do a little research, though I advise you not to worry about this. Let sleeping dogs lie, as they say.”
Diana smooths the letter across her lap.
As she traces Tom’s signature with the pointer finger on her right hand, she runs her left thumb over her engagement ring and the wedding band with their initials engraved inside.
Telling Jonathan about the letter is one thing, but giving him a copy?
She loses control of this if she does that.
“Diana.” Jonathan’s voice is silken and cajoling. “This letter doesn’t match up with the man who was my best friend. I know—I knew—that Tom. He was a good man. Calm, steady. I never once saw him lose his temper. This letter doesn’t change who he was to me. Nor should it change who he was to you.”
Diana thought she’d accept whatever Jonathan recommended she do, like she had every time Tom offered advice. Something—her own instincts?—holds her back.
Jonathan rests his elbows on the glossy walnut top of his desk, his fingers reaching out toward Diana. “You came here for help. Let me help you.”
“Okay,” she says, and passes him the letter. She is unsure whether this is the right decision. Then again, what is the correct response to any of this?
“I’ll keep this confidential, of course.
” Jonathan places the letter in the feeder of the printer next to his desk, and the machine slowly chirps and sputters as a copy appears in the output tray.
Jonathan hands Diana the original and slides the copy into a folder on his desk.
“This was years ago,” he says. “Try to put it out of your mind.”
Diana stands up. “Thanks for your time. Can you tell the rest of the staff I said hello? I have a meeting back at the office and have to get going.”
Jonathan smiles, as if he senses her lie.
“How much do I owe you for the consult?” Diana says, pulling on her coat.
“Come on, you’re family. The family price tag is a hug. How about that?” Jonathan steps around the desk and puts his arms around her.
She stands in his embrace, inhaling Jonathan’s wool and coffee scent, her eyes closed tight. How she wishes he were Tom.