“Can we talk?”
“Don't have anything to say.”
“We have to talk about this. Even if you just want to curse or yell, it's okay, I deserve it. But, please say something to me. Anything.”
Reluctantly, he steps back and opens the door.
“I can't take this silent treatment,” I say. “Please talk to me.”
He sits on the edge of the bed and makes a gesture of helplessness. “What’s there for me to say, Blair? Everything I believed, everything I thought was true, is not. You're not who I thought you were; Morgan’s not who I thought she was. Everything’s a lie.”
I kneel before him and try to take his hands in mine, but he pulls them away. “No, Baby, it’s not. I am the same woman you met in college, fell in love with and married. I just made a mistake, a horrible, horrible mistake, but it’s still me.”
“No, you’re not Blair, you’re not,” he says. “You know why I fell in love with you? Do you?”
I shake my head.
“‘Cause you were different. I could’ve had any of those women. Women just as smart, as pretty … but you, you were different. I never once thought you were with me because of who I was or who you thought I was going to be. That's why ... that's how I knew you were the one.” He shakes his head sadly. “Only to find out, almost fifteen years later, that you're no different.”
“Don't say that, do not say that, Vaughn. I didn't marry you for any of this. I married you because I loved you, because I love you.”
“You can love someone and still cheat, I know that. Let's be real, I wasn’t the poster child for the perfect husband and nothing I ever did during those years was because I didn't love you. So I get it Blair, I don't doubt you loved me, even when you were doing what you did, but…”
“But, what?”
“The baby. How could you allow yourself to get pregnant? By him? And then lie to me? I … I can’t wrap my mind around this. Who does that? What woman does that? How can you stand here and tell me you're the same person? ‘Cause if you are, I never really knew you.”
“That’s not true—”
“Do you love him?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I don’t say anything.
“Was the plan for you two to be together? Was that it?”
I shake my head.
“No, what?”
“I don't love him.”
“Did you?”
“I … I thought I did.”
“So why stay then? Why not just leave me and be with him? Why not leave and start a family with him?”
“Because I love you.”
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long were you seeing him?”
I’m quiet.
“I know it had to be at least six months before that day at the Marriott. But it must have been longer. Unless you met him, slept with him, without protection, and got pregnant all in the same month. Please don't tell me that's what happened.”
“No.” I confess that the affair lasted for over a year, that I did think about leaving Vaughn, but I couldn’t. As unhappy as I was in our marriage I still wanted it to work. I tell him that Dylan was a distraction, but what I don't tell him is that Dylan was someone to talk to, someone who listened when I spoke and whose eyes lit up every time I walked through the door. Someone who would text me first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. Someone who would compliment me and take interest in my goals and dreams and made me feel important. That Dylan was what I needed to cope in a miserable marriage with an unfaithful husband.
“And you really thought you could pass Morgan off as mine and none would be the wiser? What did you think was going to come of this? Did you think that he'd see her once or twice and be satisfied? Then just move on as if she didn't exist? Is that what you thought? Tell me you’re not that stupid.”
“I didn't know what to think. I was stuck. If I didn't let him see her, he was going to tell you.”
“So now he's getting a lawyer?”
“That's what he said.”
He shakes his head. “I need some time to figure this all out.”
“Does that mean you're not leaving me?”
“Means I need to think.” He motions towards the door. “Alone.”
“I don't know if that's a good idea. The more you’re alone, the more you're going to think, and that's not good.”
“Damn it, Blair. Be happy that I'm even here. In the same house with you. Let me deal with this the way I know how, okay?”
“Okay, I'll go. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
“Ask Rosa to bring it up here.”
“You’re not going to come down and eat with us?”
His glare says it all. I close the door behind me.
EIGHTEEN
During the next week our home is solemn. Little to no words have been spoken between us. Vaughn’s interaction with me is limited to terse greetings and questions or comments about Morgan. He’s still sleeping in the guest bedroom, the one furthest from our own, and now he’s moved his toiletries and some of his clothes down there as well. He won’t step foot inside of our bedroom unless absolutely necessary. There are no more breakfasts or dinners together. He’s gone in the morning before I wake, eats dinner in his office and spends the majority of his time holed up in that media room—with the door locked. When I try and engage him in conversation, his replies aren’t mean, they’re simply void of emotion, which actually hurts more. He’s a stranger to me. I feel like a guest who’s overstayed her welcome. This is scary, because Vaughn has never been one to hold his tongue, especially when he’s upset. I imagined that if this day ever came, he’d immediately kick me out. So the fact that I’m still here, in our home and in his presence, and that he’s even cordial to me is staggering. But I can’t take this for granted. My nerves remain on edge. Is he just biding his time? Is he brewing some elaborate plan to ruin me, only it’s taking longer than he expected?
If it wasn’t for the Xanax and my daughter, I’d be a total wreck. I have no one to talk to. I’m too ashamed to tell anyone what I’ve done. Anyone besides Elle, but as luck would have it, she’s on a twenty-four-day Mediterranean cruise for her honeymoon. There she is beginning her life with the man she loves, and mine is on the verge of collapse.
Today when Vaughn returns home, he comes to my room (I no longer feel as if it’s ours) and tells me that we need to talk. Is today the day? The day he tells me he’s filing papers and I need to be out by the end of the month? My stomach churns, and I think that the silent treatment wasn’t so bad after all.
He sits on my chaise. “I spoke to Dylan today.”
Oh God. “You did?”
“Yeah. We’ve agreed to talk about this—in person.”
“In person? Why?”
“Because this is not the kind of thing you handle on the phone, Blair. For all I know, he’s taping our conversations. No. It’s much better in person. That’s what men do, they handle things face-to-face, so that’s what we’re going to do.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t care what you think is a good idea. You lost your rights to have an opinion when you had your little tryst. And now it’s up to me to clean it up—my way. You hear?”
All I can say is, “Yes.”
“We’re meeting tomorrow morning in the city.”
“Where?”
“At one of my offices.”
“You’re going to let him come to your office?”
“Not my office, just one I use from time to time.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What did you expect? For us to meet at Starbucks?”
“No, I just thought you wouldn’t want him inside your place of business.”
He looks at me as if I’m a fool. “This man has been ‘inside’ my wife. Many times over. His blood is running through my daughter’s veins, and you think I’m co
ncerned about him being in my office?”
His daughter? Did he just say his daughter? That has to be a promising sign, doesn’t it? If he still sees her as his daughter, then that must mean he intends to stay. He’s been treating Morgan the same all week, only he looks at her differently. Maybe he’s looking for Dylan’s features or wondering how it never occurred to him that she had none of his. I wonder if he’s seeing it for the first time or if he'd noticed it before, but shrugged it off. Or perhaps he even believed he saw himself in Morgan and is now kicking himself for having been duped. As much as I need them to interact, to keep him drawn to us, he’s even colder towards me afterwards. Sometimes even shooting me daggers as he plays with her, hating me more with each moment for what I’ve done. But, he just said “my daughter.” That can’t be a bad thing.
“I told him twelve o’clock, so be ready by eleven.”
“What? You expect me to be there, too?”
He gives me an exasperated look. “Of course. Did you think you’re going to just sit home watching The People’s Court while he and I hash this out?”
“No, I just thought that you wanted to talk to him alone.”
“Nah. Had a short talk with him on the phone, but it’s best if we all sit down together. I’ve got some questions for the both of you.”
“But I’ve told you everything.”
“Have you, Blair?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’ll find out tomorrow, won’t we?”
I want to call Dylan, to ask him what he said to Vaughn, but that’s out of the question. It’s time to pay the piper, and God knows I owe much more than I can afford.
Vaughn and I are sitting in an office in a building I’ve never been to. It’s nondescript, furnished simply with a large espresso desk, three leather chairs and a computer monitor. Hanging on the wall is one of those generic office pictures that’s meant to inspire people. This one is of an ice-capped mountain and ironically titled “Integrity.”
Vaughn and I didn’t speak during the entire drive into Manhattan. His eyes remained glued to the road. I studied each building we passed, wishing I could somehow tuck-and-roll out onto the street. Anything to avoid this meeting. I wish he would say something to me, something to reassure me that we’re still a team, and that it’s us versus Dylan—a united front against the bad guy, the man who’s trying to rip our world apart. No sooner does the thought leave my mind am I regretting having thought it. I am the bad guy in this here triangle. Vaughn played his part, and Dylan played his, but without me none of this would be possible. My only prayer is that it doesn’t last long. I don’t plan to open my mouth until I’m asked a direct question and even then I won’t say much.
In the same gut-wrenching way a roller-coaster inches up towards its peak, the large hand on my watch inches towards the twelve. And like the coaster’s first drop, I anticipate Dylan’s arrival. At five after twelve I exhale, hoping that maybe he won’t show.
But there’s a knock on the door. I have to make a conscious effort to breathe. Vaughn opens the door. Dylan steps inside hesitantly, looking both surprised and relieved that I’m here. But there is no acknowledgment between us. I can't bring myself to look at him, and he clearly feels the same because he won’t even look in my direction.
The last time, the only time, the three of us were together was almost two years ago, when I was pregnant. I was frightened, Dylan was angry, and Vaughn was oblivious. Today, both Vaughn and Dylan are angry, and I’m terrified.
Vaughn gestures for Dylan to sit in the chair beside me before returning to his own seat behind the desk.
“So,” he says. "As I said on the phone, we obviously have an issue here. Don’t see why we can't come to an amicable agreement.”
Dylan straightens in his seat but says nothing.
“My wife and I’ve talked, and I know all about what happened between you two. I also know that Morgan is a product of it.”
I look down, drowning beneath a fresh wave of shame.
“And I acknowledge that you’re her father—in the biological sense. However, whatever arrangement you had with my wife, is now over.”
Dylan smirks. “Oh, is that right?”
He’s messing with the wrong man if he thinks his intellectual prowess is any match for Vaughn’s. Dylan is exceptionally smart, I’ll give him that; he has a way of intimidating people with his big words, but Vaughn is equally intelligent, only in a different way. Vaughn never plays his full hand. He almost always reserves something, whether it be money or information or whatever, until he absolutely needs it. His years in the league taught him well; he’s a savvy businessman and a measured risk taker, but bigger than that, he’s street smart. It’s hard to pull anything over on him because he’s always on guard. Always assessing people and their intentions. I was the one exception to that rule. He trusted me unlike any other. And up until two years ago, I was to be trusted.
“Yes, that’s right,” Vaughn says. “You won’t be seeing her anymore. Your arrangement with Blair came about out of fear. She tells me you blackmailed her. Well, now I know, so your leverage is gone.”
“You have no right to keep me from my child.” Dylan’s emphasis on the word “my.”
Vaughn deadpans.
“She’s my biological daughter,” he says. “Nothing you can say is going to change that fact.”
“In theory, yes—”
“In theory? It’s black and white. We all know the truth here.” For the first time Dylan looks at me. I turn away.
“Listen, you had an affair with my wife. For over a year you were sleeping with my wife. You should consider yourself lucky that I haven’t put a bullet between your eyes. Because of Morgan, and only because of her, I’m trying to handle this rationally.”
Dylan stands. “Are we making threats now?”
Vaughn rises slowly. His presence magnified by the six inch height difference between them. “I don’t make threats.”
“A bullet between my eyes? Sounds like a threat to me.”
“Dylan,” Vaughn says, his voice calm, low and even. “Have you ever been married?”
“What difference does that make?”
“Because I need you to see this through my eyes for a moment.” Vaughn presses his palms together and closes his eyes. “Picture being married to your college sweetheart. Picture spending fifteen years of your life with the woman you love, only to learn that for the last two years she’s been lying to your face, sneaking around behind your back and having sex with another man. Then, she gets pregnant by this man. You watch her prance around in front of you for nine months, you go to doctor appointments and watch sonograms and feel the baby kick. You make plans for this child. A child you watched come into this world, whose umbilical cord you cut, and who you held in your arms first—before anyone else in the world. A baby who’s grown into a little girl who you love with everything in you. Just to learn that she’s not yours. But the child of some stranger your wife had sex with. Now you take a minute and picture that and you tell me if you wouldn’t consider putting a bullet in between that man’s eyes.”
My insides collapse. I look up and see the pain in Dylan’s eyes too and, for the first time, I see regret. Not for himself, but for what we did to Vaughn, for the part he played.
Slowly, they both sit back down.
“But that accomplishes nothing,” Vaughn says. “Hurting you or her will solve nothing. Just land me in jail, and I’d be away from Morgan and I can’t have that.” He sighs. “So, I’ve given this a lot of thought and am prepared to make it worth your while to walk away and not look back. Tomorrow morning I’ll have this…” He slides a folded piece of paper across the desk. “…deposited into an account of your choice.”
Cautiously, Dylan reaches for it then unfolds and reads it. He looks in my direction and shoots me a look of disgust before getting up and walking out the door. Vaughn doesn’t try to stop him.
“He needs time to think about it, but he’ll accept.”
“What was that? You tried to buy him off?”
“It’s just motivation for him to walk away.”
“Motivation? How much?”
“Way more money than he’ll ever earn as a teacher. He has to act as if he’s offended and that his compliance has no price, but it does. I’ll hear from him before the week is out. Watch.”
NINETEEN
I’ve been counting the days until Elle returns from her cruise. As soon as she disembarked, she replied to my frantic emails, offering to fly straight from Miami to New Jersey.
I pick her up from the airport and tell her every last detail. Her expression reads sympathy, yet lacks surprise, as if she had somehow expected this.
Ordinarily when she’s in town and it’s not for business, she’ll stay at the house with us, but under the circumstances I think it’s best not to have visitors. She agreed and booked a room at the Sheraton.
“How do you think he found out?” she asks. “Did you ask him?”
“No. He’ll barely look at me. I'm afraid to ask anything. Besides, he’d never tell me.”
“Well, what do you think happened? You think he suspected it and did a DNA test?”
“No, it wasn’t DNA. He was talking blood types. That’s how he knew,” I say. “At first I thought it was Dylan.”
Elle shakes her head. “No. He could’ve done that a long time ago. When he first called you, he could’ve just as easily called Vaughn. Besides, how would Dylan know her blood type?”
“It wasn’t him.”
“Then, who?”
“You know who.”
“Celine?”
“Yeah.”
“Really? Well, she definitely had cause. You embarrassed the shit out of her that day.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“But you did. You know she wants everyone to think she and Ed have the perfect marriage.”
I sigh. “Yeah. And now that Tricia and Kelly know about Ed, you can be certain all of New Jersey knows.”
“I thought you were going to play it cool with her. Kid gloves, remember?”
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