PART3
I looked over.
“Mom, maybe don’t make Dad lunch today.”
“What did turkey do to deserve this?”
He didn’t smile.
“Dad doesn’t eat it.”
My hand stopped over the bread.
For as long as Jamie could remember, he’d watched me pack his father’s lunch before work.
“Dad doesn’t eat it.”
Edward had worked construction throughout our marriage, leaving before seven in dusty boots and faded work clothes.
Two sandwiches. Apple slices. Coffee. And always a note beneath the napkin.
When Jamie got old enough to write, he’d started adding his own messages too.
I set the knife down.
And always a note beneath the napkin.
“What do you mean he doesn’t eat it, honey?”
Jamie tugged at his backpack zipper.
“He leaves it.”
“At work?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“He leaves it.”
“By a trash can.”
I stared at him.
“Jamie, start from the beginning.”
“Our bus got rerouted yesterday because of the water main break. We stopped at a corner, and I saw Dad’s truck.”
“Near his site?”
“By a trash can.”
Jamie shook his head.
The corner wasn’t close to where Edward said he was working.
“What was he doing?”
“He put your lunch beside the garbage can.”
“Maybe he was leaving it for somebody hungry.”
“What was he doing?”
“Maybe.”
“What else did you see?”
Jamie hesitated.
“Jamie.”
“He changed clothes.”
“Into what?”
“The black suit.”
“What else did you see?”
My stomach tightened. Edward owned one black suit, the one he’d worn at our wedding 12 years earlier.
“The wedding suit?”
Jamie nodded.
Then he said, “A lady picked him up.”
The room went quiet.
“What lady?”
“A lady picked him up.”
“I don’t know. She had dark hair. Her car was silver.”
“Did Dad hug her?”
“I couldn’t really see.”
“Kiss her?”
“The bus started moving.”
“Did Dad hug her?”
I hated myself the second I asked.
Jamie folded his arms over his chest.
“Am I gonna get Dad in trouble?”
I crouched.
“No.”
I hated myself the second I asked.
“But you’re mad.”
“I don’t know what I am yet.”
“You saw something strange and told me. That’s all you had to do. Whatever this is, it’s between your dad and me.”
“You always say I can tell you anything.”
“You can.”
“But you’re mad.”
“Even if it’s bad?”
“Especially then.”
His shoulders loosened.
“Are you gonna ask him tonight?”
I almost said yes.
“Even if it’s bad?”
***
Then I heard my mother’s voice from years ago.
“I knew something was wrong, Jillian. I just kept telling myself there had to be another explanation.”
She’d said it after my father left.
I’d promised myself I’d never ignore what felt wrong.
My problem was different. I needed proof before I felt allowed to ask.
“I knew something was wrong.”
“No,” I told Jamie.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what actually happened first.”
He nodded.
It sounded reasonable. It also sounded like fear.
“Why?”
***
The next morning, I packed Edward’s lunch.
Then I followed him.
At 7:36, his truck pulled over several blocks from the site where he’d told me he was working.
I parked farther back.
Edward stepped out carrying a brown paper lunch bag.
An older man in a worn jacket waited near the corner.
Then I followed him.
“Morning, Simon.” Edward pulled my note from beneath the napkin, then handed him the bag. “Here you go.”
“Morning, Edward. Thank you.”
So Jamie had been right.
Edward was leaving the lunches there, but he wasn’t throwing them away.
Then he read my note.
“Morning, Edward. Thank you.”
“Don’t forget Jamie’s science poster tonight. He tagged you in. Love you.”
Even from where I sat, I saw him smile.
He folded the note into his pocket.
Relief hit me, until he pulled a garment bag from his truck.
He changed beside the open door, trading dusty work clothes for the black wedding suit.
“He tagged you in. Love you.”
Soon, a silver car arrived. The woman parked and jumped out to hug him.
“We’re late, Edward.”
“I’m coming, Gia.”
Gia.
I’d never heard that name.
Edward climbed into the passenger seat.
“I’m coming, Gia.”
I waited until they pulled away.
Then I followed.
***
They drove across town to a fenced construction yard.
The logo at the entrance matched the one on Edward’s work shirts.
Why change into a suit to come here?
I waited until they pulled away.
I followed them toward the glass-fronted office.
“Morning, sir,” a worker called.
Another said, “Good to see you back.”
Here, people watched Edward and moved aside.
Gia folded her arms.
“How much longer are you going to do this?”
“Morning, sir.”
“Not here.”
“I’ve spent 18 months hearing that.”
“I’m handling it.”
Gia folded her arms.
“Your wife still thinks you’re a construction worker.”
“I’m handling it.”
My skin went cold.
“Jillian knows who I am.”
“No. She knows the version you give her.”
Edward rubbed a hand over his face.
“I’ll tell her tonight.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“Jillian knows who I am.”
He looked down. “I can’t hide who I really am anymore.”
I stepped out before I could lose my nerve.
“What truth, Edward?”
He spun around, pale.
