Chapter 5 - A Proposal

On Sunday morning, I returned to my house with Ada and an overnight bag large enough to admit that two nights had been a lie.

Marcus opened the door before I used my key.

He had shaved. He wore the blue sweater I liked. Coffee waited on the kitchen island in my favorite cup.

“Can we have one private conversation?” he asked.

“Ada is staying.”

His eyes moved to her.

“This is my home.”

“Mine too,” I said.

He stepped aside.

The house smelled of lemon cleaner. Someone had washed the dishes, folded the blanket on the couch, and arranged the mail into a careful square.

I wondered how many crimes against a marriage could be made to resemble housekeeping.

Upstairs, I packed clothes, my passport, medication, and the sketchbook my father had given me when I passed my licensing exams. I almost left the sketchbook.

Then I put it in the bag.

In the bathroom, his toothbrush leaned against mine in a chipped ceramic cup. I had made the cup at a class he attended because I wanted us to try something neither of us could already do well.

He had been terrible at pottery. We had laughed until the instructor moved us to separate wheels.

That afternoon had been real. I hated him for making me question it anyway.

I took my toothbrush and left the cup.

On the mirror, a note in my handwriting reminded him to book the car inspection. I peeled it off, folded it, and put it in the wastebasket.

One less task waiting for me.

Ada appeared briefly in the doorway.

“Need another bag?”

I shook my head. She stepped back without asking what I was looking at, and I was grateful for a kindness that did not require me to explain myself before receiving it.

Marcus waited outside the bedroom.

“I never stopped loving you.”

I opened another drawer.

“Don’t make me carry that sentence too.”

“I know how it looks.”

“You know what you did. That’s different.”

He leaned against the doorframe, a familiar pose from mornings when we argued about whether the bathroom needed a second sink.

“Your mother was lonely.”

I turned.

“Finish that thought carefully.”

He rubbed his jaw.

“I’m saying things got complicated.”

“Appointments are complicated. Betraying me required choices.”

Ada stood at the far end of the hall. She was close enough to hear, far enough to let me have my own voice.

“Did you sign the guaranty?” I asked.

“The system applied your signature.”

“Did you cause it to be applied?”

“You agreed we needed better financing.”

“Did I agree to guarantee two million four hundred thousand dollars?”

He looked toward Ada.

“I’m not discussing business with your lawyer hovering.”

“Then discuss it with mine in writing.”

I zipped the bag.

Downstairs, the coffee had formed a dark ring around the inside of the cup.

Marcus followed us into the kitchen.

“The company can’t survive if you freeze everything.”

“Nobody is stopping necessary repairs or payroll,” Ada said. “Nia is arranging controlled access and independent review.”

“You don’t understand the cash flow.”

“I understand $186,400,” I said.

For a second, his face lost its practiced softness.

“That figure doesn’t mean what you think.”

“Then send the invoices.”

“I worked without proper compensation for years.”

“You were paid a salary.”

“Below market.”

“So you made up the difference through Alder?”

He folded his arms.

I recognized the movement. Whenever an argument approached something he could not deny, he made himself look like the person being judged unfairly.

“You always had your father’s money behind you,” he said. “You don’t know what that does to a marriage.”

“You could have left.”

“And started from nothing?”

The words escaped before he could dress them.

I watched him understand what I had heard.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“It’s the clearest thing you’ve said.”

My bag stood beside the island. I reached for it, but he placed a blue folder on top.

“This is a proposal.”

Ada asked him to email it to her office.

“It’s simple,” he said. “We keep the family matters private. Complete the refinancing. Then arrange a clean separation. Nobody loses the properties.”

“Except the person guaranteeing the loan,” I said.

“You’d be protected.”

“By you?”

He did not answer.

I moved the folder aside without opening it.

At the front door, I noticed a photograph was missing from the wall. Our anniversary picture, taken in the mountains, had hung beside the thermostat.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“It fell.”

There was no broken glass in the trash basket beneath the entry table.

Maybe he had cleaned it up. Maybe he had put it in a drawer. I was tired of living among details that required investigation.

“Don’t dispose of my belongings,” I said.

His voice changed as I crossed the threshold.

“Ask your mother why your father chose you.”

I stopped with one foot on the porch.

Ada looked at me, letting me decide whether to turn.

“He left me shares. He didn’t choose a favorite.”

Marcus gave a small, unpleasant smile.

“That’s what they told you.”

“If you have something relevant, give it to your attorney,” Ada said.

“She should know what she’s protecting.”

“I’m protecting myself,” I said.

But on the drive away, the brass key in my pocket pressed against my thigh.

I could feel it at every red light.

Ada asked whether I wanted breakfast.

“I want to go to the maintenance office.”

She considered that.

“We’ll arrange access properly. Company records, a witness, copies preserved. No taking someone’s personal papers because they upset us.”

“They’re my father’s files.”

“Then first we establish whose records they are now.”

I nodded, hating how necessary patience had become.

At the next light, Marcus sent one final message.

It contained a photograph of a document bearing my father’s signature.

Above it was a heading I had never seen.

Ellis Place Relocation Fund.

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Beneath it was my name, followed by two words.

Project liaison.