I said anything. Don't call Travis. Silence. Don't warn him. Don't tell mom.
Don't tell Jenna. I know you knew. Mason, can you do that? Yes. Because if you call him, I'm done talking to you, too.
I won't. That evening, I went home. Jenna was there. Travis wasn't. She stood when I walked into the kitchen.
Mason, please. Where's Travis? Her expression changed. I don't know. Call him.
What? Call him and tell him to come home. She looked frightened now. Why? Because we're going to talk once.
All of us. She shook her head. I think you and I should talk first. No. Mason, call him.
She did. He arrived 20 minutes later. I heard his truck in the driveway. He came in through the garage and stopped when he saw me at the kitchen island. I had planned not to do the confrontation there.
I didn't want another family scene around the same table where we'd eaten dinner together. So, I picked up my keys. Garage. Travis frowned. What?
Come outside. Jenna followed us. The garage door was open. Evening lights stretched across the driveway. Neighbors were mowing lawns somewhere down the street.
It was almost offensively normal. Travis stepped toward me. Look, Mason, I know how this looks. I said, "Dad saw you." He stopped. It was immediate.
No confusion. No. What are you talking about? Just fear. Behind me, Jenna said, "What?" I kept looking at Travis.
Dad saw you and Jenna in Franklin. Jenna turned toward him. When? Travis said nothing. I answered for him.
More than a month ago. Jenna stared at him. Your brother knew. My father. I said his brother.
She barely heard me. She was looking at Travis. You told me nobody knew. There it was a crack between them. I hadn't expected.
Travis said, "I handled it. You handled it." He saw us. I talked to him and you didn't tell me. It would have made everything worse. I almost laughed.
For months, they had been united by the fact that I was the person being lied to. Now, suddenly, each of them had their own version of the truth. I said, "What exactly did you tell dad?" Travis looked at me that it was over. Jenna turned on him. You told him that.
He snapped. What was I supposed to say? She said, "You told me he didn't know. I was trying to keep him from telling Mason. And then you kept seeing me." Travis looked at her like he couldn't believe she had said that out loud.
I said, "Thank you." Both of them went quiet. I didn't need a confession anymore. I had won. Jenna looked like she realized it a second after I did. She turned away from Travis and wiped at her face, but he kept staring at her.
For the first time since I had walked into that bedroom hallway, neither of them was trying to convince me I had misunderstood anything. They were too busy realizing how much they had lied to each other. Travis had apparently told Jenna he had contained the problem with dad. Jenna had trusted him to keep their secret safe. Watching that trust collapse would have been satisfying if I hadn't been standing there as the reason they needed a secret in the first place.
I didn't interrupt them. I wanted to hear what came out now that they could no longer coordinate the story. Travis rubbed both hands over his face. Mason, I screwed up. How long?
He looked at Jenna. I said, "Don't look at her." He looked back at me. How long? Months? How many?
I don't know. Yes, you do. Jenna spoke. About five. 5 months.
That meant it had started not long after Travis moved into my house. I looked at her. You spent 5 months telling me he needed more time. Tears filled her eyes. I know.
You told me he was family. I know. You used that to keep him here. She shook her head. It wasn't like that at first.
What was it like? She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. I turned to Travis. You had somewhere else you could have gone, didn't you?
He looked away. That was answer enough. Did you? I could have figured something out. When?
He didn't answer. How long have you been able to move out? That's not the point. It is to me. Jenna said, "Mason, please." I looked at her.
"You kept asking me to let him stay because you wanted him here." She started crying. I didn't know how to stop it. One of you packing a bag would have been a pretty good start. Travis said, "Don't talk to her like that." I turned toward him. That was the closest I came to losing control.
Not because he defended her, because he did it in my driveway outside my house after living under my roof for months. I took one step toward him, then I stopped. You don't get to protect my wife from me. He looked down. I said, "You leave tonight." He looked up.
Mason, I've been living here for months. I have stuff. Take what you need for tonight. We can deal with the rest properly. You're not sleeping in this house again.
He started to argue. I said, "Don't make me call my attorney while you're standing here." That ended it. He went inside to pack. Jenna followed me back into the kitchen. She said, "I did love you." I looked at her.
I didn't ask when. I didn't care whether there had been some true version of our marriage hidden underneath what she'd done. Instead, I asked the question that had been sitting in my chest since Knoxville. How many nights? She frowned through tears.
What? How many nights did I go to sleep with both of you in this house knowing what you were doing to me? She covered her mouth. I said, how many times did I sit downstairs with him after he'd been with you? Mason, how many times did you kiss me good night and then wait for me to leave town?
She said, "I'm sorry. That's not an answer." "I don't know." I nodded. "That's worse." Travis came down 20 minutes later with the same duffel bag he'd carried into my house months before. He had two suitcases, too. For a strange second, I remembered helping him carry those bags through the front door.
I had thought I was helping family. He set them by the garage. Then, headlights swept across the driveway. My father pulled in. I hadn't asked him to come.
I walked outside before he reached the garage. What are you doing here? Dad looked past me toward Travis. He called me. I looked at Travis.
Dad saw my face. He called after you told him to leave. So much for promises. Dad walked toward us. Let him go tonight.
Everybody's too worked up. I said he's already going. I mean, let him leave and we'll deal with the rest tomorrow. There is no we. Dad lowered his voice.