Emily doesn't believe that. Are you sure? When's the last time you had a real conversation with your daughter? When's the last time she asked you for advice or told you about her problems?
I thought about Emily's behavior over the past few months. The distance, the careful neutrality, the way she seemed to be walking on eggshells around me. I'd attributed it to normal college age independence. But maybe there was more to it.
She's going to testify that you threatened Megan, Nathan continued. That you've been acting erratically, drinking more, showing signs of instability. Megan's coached her on what to say and how to say it. The betrayal hit me like a physical blow.
My own daughter, turned against me by a woman who was supposed to love and protect our family. Why are you telling me this? Because I know what it's like to be manipulated by her. Because I don't want to see another family destroyed by her games.
And because I'm hoping you'll remember this conversation when you're deciding whether to help me or let her destroy us both. Nathan left money on the table and walked out of the diner, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a decision that could determine the rest of my life. Lisa appeared at my booth a few minutes later, sliding into the seat Nathan had vacated. Well, she asked, he wants to make a deal, his testimony, in exchange for immunity from the business espionage charges.
Do you trust him? I don't trust anyone anymore. Lisa studied my face in the harsh fluorescent light. What did he tell you about Emily?
How did you know he said something about Emily? Because that's what I would do if I wanted to manipulate you into making an emotional decision. Target the thing you care about most. She was right.
Of course, Nathan's revelation about Emily could be true, or it could be another manipulation designed to push me into an alliance I'd regret. What do you think I should do? I asked. I think you should go home and talk to your daughter.
Find out where she really stands before you make any deals with anyone. And if Nathan's telling the truth, if Emily's been turned against me, then you fight for her the same way you're fighting for everything else. We left the diner together and walked out into the cool night air. The warehouse district was quiet except for the distant sound of traffic on the interstate.
In a few hours, the sun would rise on what could be the most important day of my life. "Lisa," I said as we reached our cars. Why are you helping me? Really?
She was quiet for a long moment, her face unreadable in the darkness. Because 20 years ago, I was married to a man who loved me more than I deserved. He was kind, hardworking, honest, all the things that should matter in a marriage. But I was young and stupid, and convinced I could do better.
What happened? I cheated on him with his business partner, took half his assets in the divorce, and married the other guy 6 months later, destroyed two friendships and a perfectly good marriage because I thought I was entitled to more than I had. And the second marriage lasted 2 years. Turns out men who help you cheat on your husband aren't great at fidelity themselves.
She unlocked her car and paused with her hand on the door handle. I can't undo what I did to my first husband, but I can make sure it doesn't happen to someone else. Consider it my penance. She drove away, leaving me alone in the parking lot with more questions than answers and less than 48 hours to save my marriage, my business, and my relationship with my daughter.
The game was entering its final phase, and I still wasn't sure who was winning. I didn't go straight home after the diner. Instead, I drove around Milbrook for an hour, taking the long way through neighborhoods where I'd grown up, past the high school where Megan and I had met, by the church where we'd gotten married. The town looked different at night, smaller, shabier, like a movie set that only looked convincing from certain angles.
When I finally pulled into my driveway, Emily's car was gone, and the house was dark except for a single light in the upstairs bedroom. Megan was home, probably preparing for Monday's legal ambush. I sat in the Mustang for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts and stealing myself for what was coming. Then I walked into the house where I'd lived for 15 years and prepared to have the most important conversation of my marriage.
Megan was in bed reading when I entered the bedroom, wearing the silk pajamas that had started this whole mess. She looked up as I closed the door behind me. You're home late, she said. We need to talk.
Something in my tone must have alerted her because she set down her book and gave me her full attention. About what? About Nathan? About the divorce papers you're filing Monday.
About the restraining order and the witnesses and the elaborate con game you've been running on me for the past year. The color drained from her face, but she recovered quickly. Megan had always been good at thinking on her feet. I don't know what you're talking about.