Chapter 3: The Number I Didn't Recognize
I set my phone face-down on the side table.
My mother was watching me.
She had that look she used to give me when I was seventeen and trying to pretend everything was fine — the look that said she already knew it wasn't.
"Who was that?" she asked.
"I don't know yet."
"Taylor."
"Mom.
Let me get you some water first."
The kitchen was enormous compared to the one across the street.
Pale stone counters, a wide window looking out over the garden.
I filled a glass and brought it back.
My mother took it with both hands, and I noticed again how her fingers curved slightly inward from the arthritis.
She hadn't complained once.
Not today, not ever.
I sat across from her.
Donovan had fallen asleep on the small sofa in the corner, still holding his toy.
"How long has it been like this?" I asked.
"When I'm away."
She looked at the glass.
"It started small.
Bonnie asking me to help with things.
Then Caden joining in.
Then it became…" She paused.
"It became expected."
"Why didn't you call me?"
"Because you were working." She looked up.
"Because you always sound so tired when you call from those trips.
And because Caden told me you'd asked them to keep the house running while you were gone."
My hand went still on the table.
"He said what?"
"That you'd spoken to them before you left.
That you'd asked Bonnie to manage things and that I should help where I could." Her voice was careful, like she was still deciding whether to believe it herself.
"He said it was your arrangement."
I had said no such thing.
I had told Caden one thing before I boarded that flight: *Make sure my mother rests.
Her knees are bad.
Don't let her lift anything.*
My phone buzzed again.
Same number.
*I know you're not going to call back a stranger.
So let me tell you one thing that might change your mind.
Caden has a second phone.
Has had one for four years.
I've seen the bills.*
I read it twice.
Then I did something I hadn't planned to do.
I typed back.
*Who are you?*
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
*Someone who worked for him before you did.
My name is Renata.
I was his assistant at the Chandler office.
Until he had me fired for knowing too much.*
I stood up from the table without meaning to.
"Taylor?" My mother's voice was quiet.
"What is it?"
"Nothing yet." I walked to the window.
Outside, the street was empty.
The house across the road sat dark and silent.
"Mom, did Caden ever mention someone named Renata to you?"
She thought about it.
"No.
Never."
I stared at the name on my screen.
Four years.
A second phone.
Fired for knowing too much.
Donovan shifted in his sleep and made a small sound, and I looked over at him — his dark lashes, his open mouth, one hand still wrapped around that toy.
Whatever Caden had been hiding, he had been hiding it the entire time our son was alive.
My phone rang.
The same number.
Not a text this time.
May you like
A call.
I answered it.
