Chapter 7: What Bonnie Knew
He silenced the call without looking at me.
"You should answer it," I said.
"It's not important."
"Her name is on a marriage certificate with yours.
I'd say that makes her fairly important."
He set the phone on the table between us, face-down.
His hand stayed on top of it.
"Taylor, listen to me.
That marriage was never valid.
We were twenty-three.
We did it on impulse and we both knew within six months it was wrong.
She moved to California.
We lost contact.
I moved on." He spread his hands.
"I met you.
I built something real.
I didn't think a piece of paper from a courthouse that neither of us ever took seriously needed to follow me for the rest of my life."
"So you committed bigamy."
"I didn't think of it that way."
"What way did you think of it?"
He didn't answer.
"And the name?" I pressed.
"Merritt-Shaw.
You told me your family name was Shaw.
You told me your mother's name was Bonnie Shaw.
You told me your father left when you were young and there was no one else."
"My mother remarried.
Shaw was my stepfather's name.
I used it because—" He stopped.
"Because Merritt was connected to things you didn't want me to find."
His jaw tightened.
"It's more complicated than that."
"Then uncomplicate it."
A knock at the sitting room door.
I hadn't expected it.
Neither had Caden — his head turned sharply.
The door opened.
My mother stood in the doorway.
She was holding a small envelope.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said.
She wasn't looking at Caden.
She was looking at me.
"This was in the mailbox this morning.
It has your name on it, Taylor.
Hand-delivered.
No stamp."
I crossed the room and took it from her.
My name was written on the front in careful, unfamiliar handwriting.
Inside was a single folded page and a USB drive.
The page said: *The second phone is registered to this address.
The drive has three years of records.
I thought you should have the original, not just a copy.
— R.*
Renata had come in person.
I held up the USB drive so Caden could see it.
His face told me everything.
"Three years," I said.
"She's had these for three years."
"Taylor—"
"What is on this drive, Caden?"
He stood up.
"I want to call my attorney before this goes any further."
"Sit down."
"I have rights—"
"You have a wife in California, a mother who grabbed my mother hard enough to leave a bruise, and fourteen months of fraudulent vendor payments with your name on them." I set the drive on the table.
"Sit.
Down."
He sat.
My mother stepped quietly into the room and stood near the door.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
Her presence was enough.
"Bonnie," I said.
"Does she know?
About Sasha?
About the name?"
Caden looked at the floor.
"She knows everything," he said quietly.
I had suspected it.
Hearing it confirmed still felt like a door slamming shut on six years of my life.
"She helped you," I said.
"She helped you manage what I knew and what I didn't.
That's why she was so careful to keep my mother away from me.
That's why she wanted me back in that kitchen.
A wife who's busy cooking and managing a house isn't looking at bank records."
He said nothing.
"And the meetings," I continued.
"The ones that kept you away three or four days a month.
Scottsdale?"
A long pause.
"Sometimes," he said.
The phone on the table lit up again.
May you like
*Sasha.* He didn't move.
I picked it up and answered it.
