Part 9 — What Lacey Wanted to Change
Lacey answered on the fourth ring.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “Beth told you.”
“She said your attorney is there.”
“Yes.”
“What needs my signature?”
“Nothing.”
I looked toward the hallway, where Jeremy was still talking to our son.
“Then why do you need me in Nashville tonight?”
“Because I need to tell you what I’m changing.”
“Tell me now.”
Lacey breathed slowly into the phone.
“The trust says the money Jeremy spent should be repaid to both of you.”
“I saw that.”
“I want to change it.”
“To what?”
“I want your share sent directly to you.”
I sat down.
“There is no amount we agreed was my share.”
“That’s why the attorney is here.”
“You don’t need me in the room to discuss it.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the real reason?”
The line was quiet.
When Lacey spoke again, her voice shook.
“I’m afraid you’ll think I’m trying to buy your forgiveness.”
“I already told you I don’t know what I want to do with the money.”
“I heard you.”
“Then leave it for tonight.”
Another silence followed.
“You’re right,” she said.
I had expected her to argue.
The quick agreement made my anger loosen a little.
“My son is home,” I told her.
“He needs me here.”
“Stay with him.”
“I can come tomorrow.”
“If you want to.”
A nurse said something in the background.
Lacey answered her, then came back to the phone.
“Jill?”
“Yes?”
“I need to say one more thing while I can.”
I looked at the old photographs on the table.
“All right.”
“I asked for your son today because I wanted to apologize.”
“I know.”
“I also wanted to see whether he looked like the boy in that picture.”
“He does.”
“He looks older now.”
“He is.”
Lacey gave a small laugh that ended in a cough.
When she could speak again, she said, “For years, I thought about the child I lost whenever Jeremy mentioned yours.”
“I wondered about that.”
“I never blamed your son for being here.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
“I blamed myself for feeling sad afterward.”
I pressed a finger against the photograph of my son in his baseball uniform.
“You didn’t need to tell him all of that today.”
“I know.”
“He has enough to carry.”
“You’re right.”
It was the second time she had agreed with me that evening.
I wished we had spoken plainly to each other years ago.
Perhaps we would still have hurt each other.
At least we might have known where the hurt came from.
“Get some rest,” I said.
“I’ll ask Beth to call tomorrow.”
“Good night, Jill.”
“Good night, Lacey.”
I ended the call.
Jeremy came back into the kitchen a few minutes later.
Our son stayed in his room.
“How did it go?” I asked.
“He asked me whether I would have told him if you hadn’t found the certificate.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I don’t know.”
I studied Jeremy’s face.
“That must have been hard for him to hear.”
“Yes.”
“But it was the truth.”
“Yes.”
He pulled out a chair but waited before sitting.
“Beth called me,” he said.
“I talked to Lacey.”
“Are you going back?”
“Tomorrow.”
He nodded.
“I’ll stay at David’s tonight.”
“You should.”
Jeremy sat down.
For a while, we listened to the refrigerator humming.
Then he said, “I haven’t been honest about why I married her.”
I felt myself go still.
“What else is there?”
He rubbed his hands together.
“When Lacey called me three years ago, she told me about the cancer.”
“I know.”
“She also told me about the pregnancy.”
I stared at him.
“At the hospital, you acted as though you were hearing it for the first time.”
“I was hearing that Mom had known.”
“That isn’t what you let me believe.”
“No.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped across the floor.
“You told me you learned about the baby yesterday.”
“I let you say it.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell our son you knew?”
“No.”
I walked to the sink.
The kitchen window reflected both of us back at me.
Jeremy was sitting at the table beneath photographs he had once carried to Nashville.
“Why did you marry her?” I asked.
“She was sick.”
“And?”
“I felt I had abandoned her when we were young.”
“She never told you she was pregnant back then.”
“No.”
“But she told you three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought marrying her would make up for what happened.”
“I thought staying beside her might.”
I turned around.
“You could have stayed beside her without signing a marriage license.”
“I know that now.”
“The attorney told you that before you did it.”
“He did.”
“Then you knew it then.”
Jeremy looked down.
“I wanted to do something that felt big enough.”
I had no words for that.
He had measured an old sorrow against our present life and made his choice without asking either of us to stand beside him.
“Did you love her?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I gripped the edge of the sink.
“I loved her when I was young,” he said.
“When she called me, some of that came back.”
“Did you love her while you were married to me?”
“Yes.”
I looked away.
“I need you to say clearly what you mean.”
“I cared about her deeply.”
“That isn’t the same answer.”
“No.”
He took a breath.
“I loved her, Jill.”
I shut my eyes.
The truth I had feared at the courthouse was finally in my kitchen.
It had taken three days and more papers than I could count to hear him say it.
“And me?” I asked.
“I love you.”
I opened my eyes.
“You thought you could come home and say that to me while you were married to her.”
“Yes.”
“You thought I would never find out.”
“For a while.”
“And afterward?”
“I stopped thinking about how it would end.”
I sat down because my legs felt weak.
“I can’t decide anything tonight,” I said.
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I don’t want you to call me Jill-girl.”
His face tightened.
“All right.”
“I need you to bring every statement and every document to the attorney’s appointment.”
“I will.”
“And I need you to tell our son that you knew about the pregnancy before yesterday.”
“I will tell him.”
“Tonight.”
Jeremy looked toward the hallway.
“He’s already upset.”
“He deserves the same truth you just gave me.”
Jeremy nodded.
He went back to our son’s room.
I heard him knock.
The door opened.
This time their conversation lasted only a few minutes.
When Jeremy returned, he picked up his bag.
“He asked me to leave,” he said.
“I heard.”
“He said he’ll call me when he’s ready.”
I walked him to the door.
For twenty-two years, I had watched him leave the house for work, for errands, for Tuesdays in Nashville.
That night, he stood on our porch waiting for me to say something.
I had nothing to give him.
He went to his truck.
I closed the door.
My son came into the kitchen after the engine faded.
“Dad said he already knew about the baby,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he tell us that at the hospital?”
“I don’t know.”
My son looked tired.
“I asked him how many more things we’re going to find out.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he hopes there aren’t any.”
We both looked at the blue folder on the table.
Neither of us found much comfort in hope.
The next morning, I drove back to Nashville alone.
Beth met me outside Room 714.
She held a paper cup of coffee she had forgotten to drink.
“Lacey’s awake,” she said.
“Is her attorney still here?”
“He came back this morning.”
“Why?”
Beth glanced toward the room.
“She changed her mind about one of the trust payments.”
I thought of our conversation.
“She told me she wanted my portion sent to me.”
“That isn’t the payment I mean.”
Beth handed me a copy of the revised page.
I read down the list of names.
There was Beth.
There was the patient support fund.
There was an amount set aside to repay money taken from our joint account.
Then I reached a new line.
Lacey had added a gift for my son.
It was more money than he would earn in a summer of part-time work.
I looked at Beth.
“I can’t accept this.”
“I told her you might say that.”
“Why would she leave him money after meeting him once?”
“You need to ask her.”
I went inside.
Lacey was propped up against the pillows.
Her attorney sat beside the window with a folder on his lap.
He stood when I entered and offered to step out.
“Please,” Lacey said.
When he left, I held up the page.
“Why did you add our son?”
Lacey looked at the paper.
“I should have called you before I asked him to write it.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to help with school.”
“His father and I can plan for school.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
She looked at me for a long time.
“Because I listened to him yesterday.”
“That doesn’t mean he wants this.”
“No.”
“Have you thought about what it would feel like to him?”
“I have.”
I set the paper on the bed.
“I don’t want him to feel that he owes you anything.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Or that taking this money means he has to forgive anyone.”
“He doesn’t have to forgive me.”
“Then leave him out of the trust.”
Lacey’s eyes filled.
“I thought you might ask me to.”
“You can help patients with it, like you planned.”
She looked at the document.
“I will.”
I expected her to call the attorney back immediately.
Instead, she reached for my hand.
“Can I tell you why I wanted to do it?”
“Yes.”
“When your son came in, he was angry and frightened.”
“He had reason to be.”
“He still listened to me.”
“He’s a good person.”
“He is.”
Her grip was light.
“I had begun to think of my illness as the center of every room I entered.”
She looked toward the door.
“He reminded me other people were living through this too.”
I sat down beside her.
“You can thank him by respecting the answer he gave you.”
“I will.”
The attorney returned and removed our son’s name from the document.
Lacey signed the revised page while I watched.
Her hand shook so much that she had to stop between her first and last names.
When she finished, she rested her head against the pillow.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Tired.”
“I’ll let you rest.”
“Jill.”
I stopped beside the chair.
“Will you tell him I listened?”
“Yes.”
Outside the room, Beth was waiting.
“She took his name off,” I said.
Beth nodded.
“Thank you for telling her what you wanted.”
I looked down the hallway.
Jeremy stood near the elevator.
He had arrived while I was inside.
He looked at me, then at the signed papers in my hand.
“What did she change?” he asked.
“She removed our son from the trust.”
Jeremy frowned.
“She added him?”
“She did.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
He stepped closer.
“The attorney says the money from our joint account can be repaid.”
“I know.”
“I brought every statement.”
He lifted a box from the bench.
It was full of folders.
For a moment, I thought of the bank envelope that had started all of this.
Ninety-eight dollars and fifty cents for truck tags.
Twelve dollars for a marriage certificate.
Now a whole box of records for a life I had thought I knew.
“My appointment is tomorrow,” I said.
“I’ll bring the box.”
“Thank you.”
Jeremy shifted his weight.
“Could we talk after you’re done here?”
“We can talk about the records.”
“I’d like to talk about us.”
“I’m not ready.”
He nodded.
I walked past him toward the elevator.
Halfway there, Beth called my name.
I turned.
She was holding Lacey’s paperback novel.
“She wants you to have this,” Beth said.
I took it.
The bookmark was still two-thirds of the way through.
“She hasn’t finished it,” I said.
“She knows.”
On the inside cover, Lacey had written a short note that morning.
You can choose what happens after the part I know.
I stood in the hallway holding the book.
For the first time since Thursday, no one was asking me to forgive, stay, leave, or understand before I was ready.
Lacey had given me an unfinished story.
I took it home.
Part 10 — The Appointment
The attorney’s office was above a bakery on the square.
I arrived early with Jeremy’s box of statements and Lacey’s paperback in my purse.
The receptionist offered me coffee.
I said no.
Then the smell of bread came through the floorboards, and I changed my mind.
I took the cup into the waiting room.
Jeremy arrived five minutes later.
He carried another folder.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Bank records from before the marriage.”
“Why bring those?”
“I want you to see what we had before I started making payments.”
I took the folder and set it beside the box.
“Thank you.”
He sat two chairs away from me.
We did not speak again until the attorney called us in.
Her name was Mara Ellis.
She had gray hair cut close to her chin and a desk covered with neatly labeled stacks of paper.
She asked us to tell her why we were there.
Jeremy opened his mouth.
I spoke first.
“I learned my husband signed a marriage license with another woman while he was married to me.”
Mara put down her pen.
“When did you learn that?”
“Last Thursday.”
“And when did the second ceremony take place?”
“Three years ago.”
She asked to see the certificates.
I gave her copies.
She read them carefully.
Then she asked for the insurance application, the denial letter, and the financial statements.
I took them from the box.
For almost an hour, she asked questions.
Some were about dates.
Some were about accounts.
Some were about what Jeremy had told his employer.
Whenever she asked him something, I watched his face.
I needed to know whether he would answer plainly with someone else in the room.
He did.
He did not make the facts easier than they were.
When Mara finished her notes, she set down her pen.
“There are several separate issues here,” she said.
“I need to review the records before giving you advice about any filing or claim.”
“How long?” I asked.
“I can give you a first assessment next week.”
I had hoped to leave with an answer that day.
“Can you at least tell me where I stand?” I asked.
“Your existing marriage did not disappear because another license was issued.”
I let out a breath I had been holding since Bonnie’s counter.
“Beyond that,” Mara said, “we need to look carefully at the filings and the money.”
She turned to Jeremy.
“I’ll need complete business account records, including statements you haven’t brought today.”
“I can get them.”
“And Jill should have copies directly.”
“She will.”
Mara looked back at me.
“I also recommend that you keep your own account of what was said and when.”
“I’ve already started.”
“Good.”
Jeremy stared at the edge of her desk.
Mara noticed.
“You can still cooperate even when the facts are painful,” she told him.
“I intend to.”
“I’ll expect the remaining records by Friday.”
When we left, the bakery downstairs was crowded with people buying lunch.
I had not eaten since breakfast.
Jeremy paused beside the stairs.
“Can I get you something?”
“I can buy my lunch.”
“I know.”
He looked embarrassed.
“I was asking if you wanted to eat here with me.”
I thought about it.
“We can sit for twenty minutes,” I said.
We ordered sandwiches and took a table near the window.
Outside, people crossed the square carrying shopping bags and office folders.
Jeremy turned his paper cup slowly in his hands.
“How’s our son?” he asked.
“He went to school.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
I put down my sandwich.
“He’s hurt.”
“I called him this morning.”
“He told me.”
“He said he didn’t want to talk yet.”
“He’ll decide when he’s ready.”
Jeremy nodded.
“I won’t push him.”
We ate in silence.
Then I asked a question I had been carrying since Lacey gave me the book.
“When you talked about us to her, what did you say?”
Jeremy looked up.
“About you and our son?”
“Yes.”
He took a long time to answer.
“I told her what you were both doing.”
“That sounds like a report.”
“Some days it was.”
“What else?”
“I told her when you got a promotion.”
“I didn’t get a promotion.”
“When they made you a trainer.”
“That came with more work and the same pay.”
“You were proud of it anyway.”
I remembered telling him on the porch.
I had been proud that my supervisor trusted me with new hires.
“What else?” I asked.
“I told her you took care of the neighbor after her surgery.”
“Lacey told me she knew about that.”
“I told her our son hated baseball at first.”
“He didn’t hate it.”
“He was afraid of missing the ball.”
“Most eight-year-olds are.”
Jeremy gave a small smile.
Then it faded.
“I wanted Lacey to know who you were.”
“Why?”
“Because I talked about home when I was there.”
I looked at him.
“You carried photographs of us to her hospital room.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever show us a photograph of her?”
“No.”
“That tells you something.”
“It does.”
He had let Lacey know about us while keeping her out of our lives entirely.
I could see why it had been easier for him.
He could move between two rooms without asking anyone else to open a door.
“I told her I loved you,” he said.
“I believe you told her.”
“That sounds different from believing me.”
“It is.”
Jeremy looked out the window.
“I don’t know how to prove it now.”
“You can’t prove it over lunch.”
“I know.”
I finished half my sandwich.
Then I told him about Lacey’s note inside the book.
He listened without asking to see it.
“She took our son out of the trust,” I said.
“That was right.”
“She listened when I asked.”
He nodded.
“She listens better than I did.”
I had not expected him to say that.
“You’re listening now,” I said.
“I’m trying.”
“Keep doing it.”
We left the bakery separately.
I went home and sent Mara the photographs of the documents she had requested.
Then I opened a blank notebook.
On the first page, I wrote the dates I knew.
The courthouse.
The hospital.
The day Jeremy told me he loved Lacey.
The day our son met her.
The day I learned about the money.
Writing them down helped me see where I had learned the truth and where I still had only someone’s word.
At four, my son came home.
He found me at the table with the notebook.
“More homework?” he asked.
“Something like that.”
He put his bag down.
“Aunt Dana invited me over Saturday.”
“Do you want to go?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s fine.”
He got a glass of water.
“Did the attorney tell you if you and Dad are still married?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“We are.”
He looked relieved.
Then uneasy.
“Does that mean he’s coming back?”
“It means the paper from three years ago didn’t erase our marriage.”
“I didn’t ask about the paper.”
“I know.”
He sat across from me.
“I haven’t decided about Dad coming home.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want you waiting for me to tell you everything is fixed.”
“I’m not.”
He leaned back.
“Can I ask something bad?”
“You can ask.”
“Did Lacey want our family?”
I thought of her holding his photograph.
I thought of what she had said when he asked why she kept it.
“She wanted your dad with her,” I said.
“She knew he had us.”
“Did she hate you?”
“She was hurt by what happened when we were young.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
“I don’t think she hated me when we met.”
“I don’t either.”
He turned his glass between his hands.
“Would you have liked her if none of this happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“She seemed scared.”
“She is.”
He looked at the window.
“I was scared too.”
“I know.”
“I’m still angry at her.”
“You can be.”
“I don’t want her to die thinking I hate her.”
I moved closer.
“You already told her you didn’t.”
“She might think I said it because she’s sick.”
“If you want to say more, we can call Beth and ask whether Lacey feels well enough.”
He nodded.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
That evening, I applied for three jobs.
One was at another warehouse.
One was at a medical supply company.
The third was a front desk position at a small clinic.
I had never worked at a desk.
I filled out the application anyway.
At nine, Dana called.
She had heard about my job from our son.
“I can help with groceries,” she said.
“We’re all right this week.”
“I know you didn’t ask.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you want me there tomorrow?”
“I might.”
“Then I’ll keep the day free.”
After we hung up, I read a little of Lacey’s novel.
I found the line she had underlined.
She had mistaken silence for kindness.
I closed the book.
I thought about my mother asking if I was certain on my wedding day.
Carolyn saying she wanted to keep everyone together.
Jeremy coming home every Tuesday and asking about my day.
Lacey watching him leave her room.
Each of them had found a reason to stay quiet.
I had stayed quiet too.
I had hidden behind a bread aisle instead of speaking to Lacey when I had the chance.
The next morning, Beth called.
Lacey had asked if my son still wanted to speak with her.
I went down the hall and knocked on his door.
He was sitting on the floor tying his shoes.
“She feels up to a call,” I said.
He thought for a moment.
“Will you sit with me?”
“Yes.”
We called from the kitchen.
Beth held the phone beside Lacey’s bed.
Lacey sounded tired, but she knew who was calling.
“Hi,” my son said.
“Hi.”
“I wanted to tell you something.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m still mad about what you and Dad did.”
“I understand.”
“But I meant what I said.”
“You don’t hate me?”
“I don’t.”
He glanced at me.
“And I’m sorry you’re sick.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s all.”
“It’s plenty.”
They said goodbye.
He set my phone on the table and let out a breath.
“I’m glad I called.”
“So am I.”
He went to school.
I watched him walk to the bus stop.
He looked back once and lifted a hand.
I lifted mine.
An hour later, my phone rang again.
It was the clinic where I had applied.
The manager had seen my training experience at the distribution center.
She wanted to interview me on Monday.
I thanked her, wrote down the time, and sat at the table after the call ended.
For the first time since losing my job, I could imagine a week beyond the one I was living through.
Then Beth called.
Her voice was strained.
“Jill, I’m at the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“Lacey’s condition changed this morning.”
I stood.
“Is Jeremy there?”
“He’s coming.”
Beth took a shaky breath.
“She’s awake right now.”
“Did she ask for me?”
“She asked whether you had finished her book.”
I looked at the paperback beside my notebook.
“No.”
“I told her.”
“What did she say?”
“She said to tell you the ending isn’t important.”
I pressed my hand against the table.
“She said you have your own to write.”
I could hear Beth trying not to cry.
“I’m coming,” I said.
This time, I called Dana before I reached for my keys.
My son had told Lacey what he wanted her to know.
I had more to say, and I wanted to get there while she could still hear me….
