Chapter 2 - The Marriage They Expected Me to Save
I didn’t call the lawyer from the dining room.
I handed Thaddius his phone, helped my mother stand, and told my parents we were leaving.
Cordelia laughed as Dad put Mom’s coat around her shoulders.
“There goes the Whitman cavalry.”
Dad turned.
I touched his sleeve.
“Don’t.”
He looked at me, then at Thaddius.
“I’m not worried about her.”
He nodded toward Cordelia.
“I’m worried about the man who watched.”
Thaddius’s face changed.
Dad walked out before my husband could answer.
I drove my parents home to La Grange through freezing rain.
Mom kept apologizing for ruining my Christmas.
“Mom, stop.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything about the centerpiece.”
I looked at her.
“What centerpiece?”
She stared through the passenger window.
Dad answered from the back seat.
“Cordelia told your mother the flowers probably cost more than our dining-room set.”
“When?”
“Before you came downstairs.”
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“What else happened?”
Neither answered.
That told me there was more.
At their house, Mom changed while Dad made coffee.
Their kitchen was small, warm, and twenty years out of style.
The cabinets had been refinished twice by Dad’s own hands.
I had always loved that room.
I suddenly hated the idea that anyone in my husband’s family had made them ashamed of it.
“Why didn’t you tell me Cordelia was bothering you?”
Dad looked into his coffee.
“Because we know what they think of us.”
“What does that mean?”
Mom came back wearing sweatpants and my old Northwestern hoodie.
“It means this wasn’t the first time.”
Over the previous six months, Cordelia had made comments about Dad’s work boots, Mom’s coupon binder, their neighborhood, their car, even the fact that Mom had brought homemade pie to a Hale summer party.
Thaddius had been present for several of them.
“Did he say anything?”
Mom hesitated.
“Sometimes.”
Dad shook his head.
“He’d say, ‘Cordelia, knock it off,’ after everybody was already laughing.”
That sounded exactly like my husband.
Enough resistance to claim innocence.
Never enough to cost him anything.
I had married Thaddius four years earlier because I thought his restraint meant kindness.
The Hales had old Chicago money, though not the kind that appeared on magazine lists. Their wealth lived in commercial buildings, private clubs, family trusts, and the assumption that certain doors would always open.
I had built my own career as a corporate event director.
I didn’t need their money.
That had once impressed Thaddius.
Somewhere along the way, independence had become inconvenience.
At 11:17 that night, my husband finally texted.
Come home. We can talk privately.
I replied:
Did you know Cordelia planned tonight?
Three dots appeared.
Vanished.
Returned.
Then:
Don’t start inventing conspiracies because you’re upset.
I read the sentence twice.
I had not accused him of conspiring.
May you like
I had only asked whether he knew.
And he had carefully avoided answering.
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