Chapter 6

Shortly before the Holt family's annual fundraising gala, Helen's assistant sent her third confirmation email, asking whether I needed a stylist to help with my evening gown.

I wrote back, "I won't be attending, and I no longer represent the foundation. Please update your records."

Right after I sent the email, she called. "Ms. Grant, your place card has already been set out. Mr. Holt told us you'd be there."

"Then take the place card away. I already told you I wasn't coming."

I hung up and went back to unpacking the kitchen in my new apartment. There were only four cups here, and the table seated two. As I put the dishes away, I no longer had to worry about the elaborate rules for family dinners.

That evening, a coordinator I'd worked with at the foundation for years texted me, "You're really not coming? We can't find the latest contact information for a few of the longtime partners on the sign-in sheet."

"I handed everything over to the office last week," I replied. "It's all updated in the third folder. Just search by year."

Some time later, she sent a thank-you and added, "Adam just came by asking where the files on our regular guests were. I told him you were always the one who kept those. He stood there frozen for a long time before he told us to keep looking." She attached a photo from the event. The head table was covered in silver-white flowers, and next to Adam's name card was an empty seat facing the stage. For the past 13 years, that had been my seat. Every year, I'd sat there, ready to put out one fire after another.

Now that seat was empty, and the gala went on as usual.

At 6:20 that evening, Kate called to tell me the divorce petition had been formally served and the law firm had confirmed receipt. We went over the separation date, the financial arrangements, and Noah's temporary care plan one more time. At the end of the call, she asked if I had a friend with me tonight.

"I'm fine." I stood by the window. "I'm going to take a walk on the beach in a bit."

A little after seven, Adam called for the first time that night. When I picked up, his voice was tight.

"What exactly do you mean by the papers your lawyer sent?"

"It's all spelled out in the papers."

"You listed the property split, custody, even the dates, as if it were all set in stone. Can't we just sit down and talk this out?"

"We talked in your study. You said you'd deal with it next month. And after next month, there'd always be another next month."

"Don't use Noah as leverage to force my hand."

"He's never been a bargaining chip," I said. "The care plan I drew up is detailed. It spells out exactly which responsibilities are yours."

I could hear a guest asking him something on the other end. Adam lowered his voice. "Of all nights, you had to pick the night of the gala. Do you really have to make a scene?"

"The service date was set by the legal process. I didn't pick the night of the gala on purpose." I paused. "Besides, I told you all a long time ago that I wasn't coming."

The noise around him faded, as if he'd stepped into a quiet corner, and then he was silent for a long time. "Erin, what exactly do you want me to do?"

In the past, whenever he said that, I'd hand him a solution right away and tie up every loose end. This time, I looked out the window at the lights of the boats moving slowly across the water.

"Read the whole thing first," I said. "Then take good care of Noah."

He didn't answer. I hung up, set my phone on the table, and grabbed my coat. Then I took my phone and headed downstairs. When I got to the stairs, a video call from Noah suddenly popped up.

On the screen, he was in his pajamas, his cheeks flushed red. "Mom, you mailed your house key back?"

"Yes. From now on, I'll let you know ahead of time when I'm coming to see you."

"So when are you coming home?"

"Noah, we talked about this. I live by the ocean now. We'll see each other on Saturday."

He turned the phone around, and the camera swept across the familiar entryway. Adam had just walked in, his tie still on. Noah held up the key from the tray and looked at him. "You said Mom just went out to cool off and she'd come back. Now she doesn't even want her key. Dad, did you really not know either?"

Adam looked up at the camera. I could see his lips moving, but no sound came out. Noah kept asking, and he still didn't say a word.

I didn't help him make up a lie, and I didn't hang up. Only when our son slowly put the key back in the tray and mumbled, "See you Saturday," did I say goodbye and end the call.

The apartment went quiet. By the door were only my coat, my shoes, and a brand-new set of house keys. I grabbed my things and walked to the beach.