She pauses a moment, and I can see by the way she is staring down at her wedding band, plainer than mine, that Belinda was starting to see the cracks before she came to my house today. She came here to prove to herself the cracks were an illusion, that there were no cracks. But instead, her whole world has shattered.
“How did you know to come here?” I ask her gently. “How did you know the name Martin Hocking?”
She brushes away a couple of tears. “A few days ago when he was home, I saw an envelope half in and half out of his coat pocket. I pulled it out. It was addressed to a Martin Hocking at this address. The return address was from a bank here. I looked inside the pocket and saw another envelope addressed to this same man. James came into our bedroom as I was looking at them and he asked me what I was doing. I lied and told him I had wanted to launder his coat, because it was dirty from his travels, but that he had mail in the pocket.”
“Was he cross with you at finding them? What did he do?”
“He merely put out his hand for the envelopes. I asked if Martin Hocking was a friend of his and he said no, a client. I asked why he had this man’s mail. I hadn’t wanted to sound meddlesome. I just wanted him to have a good reason for having someone else’s mail in his coat pocket. He told me Mr. Hocking was out of town and that he was taking care of some business for him while he was away. I said that was very nice of him and he said Mr. Hocking was one of his best clients. Then he said that he would be gone on business for Mr. Hocking for the next two or three days. He took the coat from me and told me I could launder it when he returned, but that he needed to attend to Mr. Hocking’s errand immediately.”
“And he wasn’t angry or upset with you when he left?”
“No. But I was sure something was wrong,” Belinda says. “James had been planning to be home for a bit, and now he was off on an errand for two or three days? Just like that? I wondered if maybe James owed this Mr. Hocking money. Maybe Mr. Hocking was more than just a client. Maybe he was the reason James wouldn’t give up his life on the road. I wrote down the address I had seen on the envelopes so that I wouldn’t forget it.”
“And when did this happen?”
“Four days ago. That’s why I came here. I thought he might be in trouble. So I asked Elliot if he would mind the inn for me and give me a ride to the train station. I told him why I needed to go to San Francisco and that I would be back tonight. And then I arrived here. And rang your doorbell.”
I sit in silence for a moment when she is finished, as the full weight of this predicament settles around me: I am married to a heartless fraud, and so is this woman sitting across from me. I am certain of nothing else except that this man has fathered adaughter whom I love as much as life itself. Whatever happens from this moment on, I must not lose Kat. I can’t lose Kat. I can’t.
I won’t.
But how to proceed?
There has to be a reason Martin has done what he has done. What is it? What does he want? Why did he purposefully seek out a second wife right after marrying me?
Why?
I lean over the table and massage my temples as I contemplate. Martin didn’t need to win me over with affection; he knew I wanted a child, stability, and a way out of New York. I wanted things he could provide, he wanted something I could provide, and we struck a deal. But hehadwon Belinda over with affection. Why? Martin isn’t a land surveyor—I am fairly sure of that—and now I am beginning to believe that he doesn’t work in life insurance, either. Belinda and I must fit into some larger plan of his, but what is it? Perhaps I do provide the look of normalcy to anyone who might wonder about Martin Hocking, but it’s not so he can project a better image for an insurance company.
And how does Belinda figure in? It doesn’t escape my notice that she and I have the same sad past, losing fathers we loved and who were good husbands to our mothers. Belinda had been specifically chosen—just as I had been—because she could provide something Martin wanted. What was it?
I don’t know the answer to this because clearly Martin is a man of secrets.
The next second it occurs to me that I know a place where he keeps some of his secrets hidden. Two places, actually.
For the first time since Belinda looked at that photograph, I know what she and I need to do.
“Come with me.” I rise to my feet.
Belinda must hear the urgency in my voice. She looks up at me in surprise. “Where are we going?”
“To the library first. And then the boiler room.”
We turn from the table and toward the entrance to the kitchen and we both see Kat at the same time. The child is sitting on the floor leaning against the doorframe in the pose of someone who’s been sitting there awhile.
Kat has been listening.
12
I don’t remember what I knew of the ways of men and women when I was Kat’s age—probably very little. But Kat is a smart girl. I know this because of the intricate puzzles she solves and the books she is able to read. And because of the way she listens. She doesn’t just hear, she pays attention, and I can tell by the look on her face that she fully recognizes the situation Belinda and I are in. Kat knows that her father has another wife.
She surely suspected it after seeing pregnant Belinda pointing to the photograph and declaring Martin to be her husband. That was enough to entice Kat to tiptoe back down the stairs and position herself at the kitchen doorway to hear how it is that her father has two wives, one of whom is with child.
There is no point in scolding Kat now for having eavesdropped. I hadn’t commanded her to stay in her room; I’d just assumed she would. Besides, what would scolding her accomplish? She cannot unhear what she has heard.
“Have you been sitting there the whole time, Kat?” I ask.
I see the barest glimmer of shame as she nods. She knew I meant for her to stay until I called for her, even though I did not say it. I cross the kitchen to her and kneel down. Belinda is still behind me.
