Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Raised Him
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Helen Mercer called me at 8:06 on Sunday morning.
I knew it was her before I looked at the screen.
Nobody else in Evan's family called before nine unless they wanted something.
For eight years, my mother-in-law had treated our marriage like a business arrangement she had generously permitted.
She criticized my cooking while eating second helpings.
She commented on my weight during fertility treatments.
She once told me that the reason I hadn't gotten pregnant was probably because I spent too much time working and not enough time making my husband feel important.
Evan always said she meant well.
I had spent years wondering how someone who meant well could make another person feel so small.
I answered on the fourth ring.
"Good morning, Helen."
"Rachel, we need to clear up a misunderstanding."
I looked at the bank application spread across my desk.
"Which misunderstanding?"
"Whatever you've said to Evan about the house."
My stomach tightened.
"Did he tell you I contacted the bank?"
"He said you're making accusations."
"I'm asking questions about a loan application I never authorized."
Helen exhaled loudly.
"Your husband has worked very hard to build something for this family."
"And apparently he believes my signature is part of his construction equipment."
"Don't be sarcastic."
I closed my eyes.
Even now, she was giving me instructions.
"The application was submitted while I was recovering from a medical procedure."
"Then I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."
"Was it reasonable for him to take Paige to Charleston?"
Silence.
Then Helen said, "I don't think you should be discussing that woman with me."
"She was standing beside you in the airport photograph."
"Because she is involved in the business."
"She was also involved with my husband."
Helen didn't deny it.
That silence told me more than an argument would have.
I swallowed.
"How long have you known?"
"Rachel, I don't see how discussing dates would help anyone."
"How long?"
"Relationships can be complicated."
I looked toward the hallway.
The yellow onesie was upstairs in my bedroom.
I imagined the life I had pictured when I bought it.
A little child running through this house.
Helen visiting with birthday presents.
Brooke teaching a niece or nephew how to ride a bicycle.
I had included these people in a future they apparently never intended to share with me.
"Did you know I was pregnant?"
Helen hesitated.
"Evan told us there had been another unfortunate development."
I felt the air leave my lungs.
"An unfortunate development?"
"You know what I mean."
"No, Helen, I don't think I do."
"Pregnancy loss is more common than people realize."
I stared at the window.
Outside, a neighbor was walking a golden retriever beneath the maple trees.
The world looked unbearably normal.
"My baby died," I said.
"I understand you're upset."
"Your son left me alone."
"He couldn't cancel important professional commitments at the last minute."
"His mistress was one of those commitments?"
Her voice sharpened.
"Paige is a very capable young woman."
I almost dropped the phone.
"Did you just defend her to me?"
"I'm telling you that attacking her isn't going to repair your marriage."
"What about Evan?"
"What about him?"
"Do you think he has any responsibility?"
Helen didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, "Marriage requires two people to make sacrifices, Rachel."
I looked down at the hospital instructions still sitting beside my laptop.
I had sacrificed years of sleep, money, comfort, and plans for the possibility of having a family.
And I would have made those sacrifices again if they could have brought my child back.
But Helen wasn't talking about those sacrifices.
She was talking about my silence.
She wanted me to accept what Evan had done so everyone else could remain comfortable.
"You're right," I said quietly.
For the first time during the conversation, she sounded pleased.
"I'm glad you're being sensible."
"Marriage does require sacrifice."
"Exactly."
"But I was the only one being asked to make it."
I ended the call.
My hands shook afterward.
Not because Helen had frightened me.
Because I had finally stopped trying to earn her approval.
At eleven, my parents arrived.
Leah had called them after making sure I was comfortable with it.
My mother, Diane Bennett, walked through the front door carrying a casserole dish and a bag of groceries.
My father, David, followed with a toolbox.
I stared at him.
"Dad, why did you bring that?"
He lifted the toolbox slightly.
"Your back gate still doesn't close properly."
I began to cry.
He set the toolbox down.
Then he wrapped his arms around me.
My father wasn't a man who spoke easily about feelings.
He had spent most of his life fixing things with his hands.
But when I told him about the baby, he held me for a long time without offering a solution.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he whispered.
My mother joined us.
For the first time since the clinic, I allowed myself to be somebody's daughter instead of somebody's disappointing wife.
We sat at the kitchen table while I explained everything.
The affair.
Charleston.
The money.
The home equity application.
My father's face changed when I mentioned the loan.
"Did you sign anything?"
"No."
"Not even preliminary paperwork?"
"Nothing."
He looked at the documents.
Then he looked at me.
"Your mother and I gave you that down payment because we wanted you to have somewhere safe to build a life."
"I know."
"We didn't give it to Evan to finance a vacation with another woman."
My mother reached for his hand.
"David."
He took a breath.
"I'm not saying I can decide who owns the house."
He looked at me again.
"I'm saying I won't let you face this alone."
That mattered.
Because for days, every conversation with Evan's family had made me feel as though I was asking for too much.
Too much care.
Too much honesty.
Too much respect.
My parents weren't promising to solve everything.
They were promising to stay.
After lunch, my mother helped me fold the laundry that had accumulated upstairs.
She found the yellow onesie beneath my pillow.
She held it carefully.
"Oh, Rachel."
I looked away.
"I was going to surprise him."
She sat beside me.
"Did you have a name in mind?"
I shook my head.
"We didn't know anything yet."
She touched the tiny daisy.
"You knew you loved this little one."
That was when I cried again.
Not quietly.
Not politely.
I cried the way people cry when they finally understand that nobody in the room expects them to pretend.
My mother held the onesie until I was ready to take it back.
That afternoon, while my father repaired the gate, my phone received a message from an unfamiliar number.
Rachel, this is Paige.
I stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from.
Then a third.
But Evan hasn't told you everything about Charleston.
I felt my pulse quicken.
May you like
A fourth message arrived.
And I think you need to know what he said about your house.
