She looked up when I entered the kitchen. Jack, we need to talk. Okay, I know you're angry about about everything. The way I've been acting, the things I've said. I know I've hurt you.
I leaned against the counter and studied her face. She looked genuinely remorseful, but I'd seen Megan's acting skills before. She could cry on command when it served her purposes. Go on, I said. I want to work things out.
I want to fix our marriage. What happened with Nathan? It was a mistake. A stupid, selfish mistake. What exactly happened with Nathan?
She hesitated. And I saw her calculating how much truth she could get away with. We had dinner a few times. There was some flirtation, some inappropriate conversation, but nothing physical happened. I swear.
Lies. All lies. I'd seen the hotel receipts, read the text messages. But I nodded like I believed her. Okay, I said.
What do you want to do about it? I want to go to counseling. I want to work on us, on our communication, on rebuilding trust. Trust. The word hung between us like a challenge.
That sounds reasonable, I said. We can look into it. Relief flooded her features. Really? You're willing to try?
Of course. We've been together too long to give up without a fight. She hugged me then, pressing her face against my chest like she used to when we were young and still believed in forever. I hugged her back and smelled Nathan's cologne in her hair. "I love you, Jack," she whispered.
I love you too, I said and meant it. That was the hell of it. I still loved her even after everything. I loved the woman she used to be, the woman she might be again if she stopped lying long enough to remember who that was. But love wasn't enough anymore.
Not when it was built on a foundation of deception and disrespect. Tomorrow I'd meet with Lisa and find out what she knew, what she wanted, and how she fit into the increasingly complex game we were all playing. Tonight, I'd hold my wife and pretend we still had a chance at happiness. Sometimes pretending was all you had left. Murphy's bar looked exactly like what it was, a place where dreams went to die slowly over cheap whiskey and stale peanuts.
The neon Budweiser sign in the window flickered intermittently, casting red shadows across the cracked sidewalk. I'd been coming here occasionally since college, usually after particularly brutal boxing sessions, when Jimmy decided I needed to learn about taking punishment. Lisa was already there when I arrived, sitting in a corner booth with her back to the wall and a clear view of the entrance. Professional habit maybe, or just paranoia. She'd traded her work clothes for jeans and a leather jacket, but she still looked like someone who could take apart a Fortune 500 company with a spreadsheet and a smile.
"Jack," she said as I slid into the booth across from her. "Right on time. I appreciate punctuality." "Let's cut the pleasantries," I said. "What do you want?" She signaled the bartender for another round. "Straight to business.
I like that. You're not as slow as Megan thinks you are. The bartender brought over two beers without being asked. Apparently, Lisa had been here long enough to establish a rapport. You've been watching me, I said.
I've been watching everyone. It's what I do. She took a sip of beer and studied my face. You're wondering how I knew about the car, the fake parking ticket, the anonymous tip to Nathan's girlfriend. The thought had crossed my mind.
I followed you to the parking garage. Simple as that. You were so focused on your little revenge fantasy that you never bothered to check if anyone was watching. I felt heat rise in my cheeks. Amateur hour.
As for the girlfriend, Lisa continued, "I have access to Nathan's email through the company server. I saw your fake account in his deleted items folder. Not very sophisticated, but effective. Your IT security for Hartwell, among other things. Her smile was cryptic.
I wear many hats. The bar was filling up with the usual crowd, construction workers, retirees, and assorted locals who had nowhere better to be on a Thursday night. The jukebox was playing something by Hank Williams Jr., and the air was thick with cigarette smoke despite the city's indoor smoking ban. "So, what's your angle?" I asked. Are you trying to protect Megan, Nathan, the company?
None of the above. Lisa leaned forward, her eyes glittering in the dim light. I'm trying to protect you from making a mistake you can't undo. What kind of mistake? The kind that ends with you losing everything.
Your house, your daughter, your business, maybe even your freedom. You think this is some kind of game, but you're playing against people who are better at it than you are. I laughed. A sound with no humor in it. Better at what?
Lying, cheating, destroying marriages for fun. Better at covering their tracks. Better at manipulating the narrative. Better at making sure the right person takes the blame when everything falls apart. The beer tasted like cardboard in my mouth.
And that person would be me. You're the angry husband with a history of violence. I don't have a history of violence. You will by the time they're done with you. A few witnesses who remember you threatening Nathan at the Christmas party.