Chapter 2 - The Envelope
“Take them inside, Cora.”
My voice sounded calm. That frightened me more than shouting would have.
Cora put an arm around Caleb.
“Come help me pick something for dinner.”
Sofia didn’t let go.
“I’m staying right here,” I told her. “You’ll be able to see me.”
Only then did her fingers loosen.
Marco opened his car door.
“There’s obviously been a misunderstanding.”
“Then explain it.”
He looked at Vanessa.
She looked at the envelope.
I held out my hand.
“What’s in your purse?”
“Personal papers.”
“With my name on them?”
“They’re household documents.”
“Then let me see.”
She stepped backward, catching her heel against the uneven pavement. Her purse struck the gate. The envelope slid out and landed between us.
Marco moved first.
I put my shoe on the corner.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
I picked it up.
The envelope was unsealed. Inside was a copy of a document authorizing Vanessa to act for me in a property transaction.
Our property.
Our house.
At the bottom sat a signature that looked almost like mine.
Almost.
Someone had copied the long line beneath my last name but missed the way I crossed the J.
“When did I sign this?”
Vanessa’s mouth tightened.
“You sent me things from Qatar.”
“Not this.”
“You don’t remember everything you signed.”
“I remember whether I agreed to sell our home.”
Across the street, a spoon clattered onto a plate.
Sofia was watching.
I lowered my voice.
“Who made this?”
Marco slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Talk to your wife. I’m not getting involved in your marriage.”
“You were involved enough to call her babe.”
He got back into the car.
Vanessa moved toward him.
“Marco.”
He didn’t answer.
“Marco, don’t leave me here.”
He drove away while she stood in the road.
For one second, the street was so quiet I could hear Caleb asking Cora whether he could have more rice.
That was the sound that nearly broke me.
Not the car leaving.
Not my wife asking another man to stay.
My son asking permission for a second spoonful.
I took out my phone and photographed every page.
Vanessa watched.
“You’re turning this into something ugly.”
“No,” I said. “I’m finding out how ugly it already is.”
At the bottom of the final page was a date.
The transaction was scheduled for the following morning.
May you like
I looked up.
“Who’s coming to buy our house tomorrow?”
