“We heard the police have CCTV footage from the neighbors across the street.” He stopped. “That apparently shows something … very bad. I can’t even imagine what.”
His voice shook.
“Jesus,” said Claire. The coffee tasted sour in her mouth. She rested the takeaway cup on the bench next to her and looked at their bare legs, stretched out side by side in front of them. They both wore shorts. Their legs looked like the legs of a couple with a sunshiny weekend ahead of them, not a divorced couple with seedy infidelity behind them and a potential tragedy in front of them, not to mention an awkward procreation arrangement.
Claire Geer was thirty-four years old. She had long curly red hair that everyone commented on, a world history degree that didn’t interest potential employers or anyone really except for her father (he was a history teacher), and an unexpectedly fulfilling career in the US in health administration, or not that unexpected, because she was the kind of girl who made the best of things, whose school reports and job references always mentioned her “positive attitude.” “I bet you were a cheerleader,” her new husband had said when they first met, and of course that wasn’t a thing in Australia and Claire couldn’t even do a cartwheel, but she’d let him categorize her as a sunny, sweet Aussie girl. She was nearly the girl he believed her to be. She was a people pleaser, as sunny and sweet as an Australian summer. No need to mention the humidity or mosquitoes, the bushfires or hailstorms. She loved Geoff dearly, but not in the helpless, hopeless way she’d loved Troy. The point of history was to learn from it, not repeat it.
She would have happily never seen Troy Delaney ever again, or even returned to Australia. The wounds had healed nicely, no visible scars, and she’d found a new life, a new love, so she could once again watch romantic comedies without scoffing.
But here she was, in Sydney, sitting next to her ex-husband.
She knew that Troy had only consented to her trying to get pregnant with their embryos as a form of penance. She’d seen the instant, instinctive horror on his face when she’d put it to him in New York last year.
She also knew her husband, Geoff, did not want her pregnant with her ex-husband’s child. He didn’t want a family that badly. She’d seen the exact same instinctive horrified response on Geoff’s face when she’d put it to him.
Both men were doing it for her: one out of guilt and one out of love. It was the first time in her life she’d asked more of someone than they wanted to give, more than she maybe deserved, but the truth was that she didn’t think twice when it became clear it was her only option. She couldn’t long for her own biological child and leave five possibilities frozen for eternity.
She’d been in Australia now since last November, trying to get pregnant, while Geoff had stayed in Texas, except for a two-week trip at Christmas. It had been a strange, surreal time: the longest period in her life since she’d graduated that she hadn’t had a full-time job. She was reading and doing a lot of walking. She’d met with her ex-husband a handful of times: always for businesslike coffee, and they seemed to have found an acceptable, companionable rhythm. She’d even introduced him to Geoff when he visited in December—it seemed the polite, grown-up thing to do considering their arrangement—but it had been weird and clunky, awful really, and she could tell the two men hated each other. Both men had been at their worst: show-off-y and insecure.
But now Troy’s mother was missing, none of that mattered.
“I just don’t believe it,” she said. “I know I haven’t seen your parents in years but it just doesn’t seem possible to me.”
She remembered the toast that Stan had given at their wedding.
“In my profession, love means zero,” Stan had said, champagne glass in hand, and he’d waited a moment to be sure everyone got the joke, nodding happily as all the guests groaned. Then he said, “But in life, love means everything. Love wins the match. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I made the smartest decision of my life when I married Troy’s mother, and I reckon Troy just made the smartest d
ecision of his life when he married this beautiful girl right here. Don’t ever let her go, mate, and welcome to the family, sweetheart.”
Then he raised his glass to Claire and sat down and kissed Joy, his hand at the back of her head, pulling her to him as if they were the young bride and groom.
It was impossible to imagine that man hurting his wife—that man would have died for his wife—but then again, it had been impossible to imagine his son, with whom she’d been so besotted, cheating on Claire for no good reason.
That’s what had been so painful. They weren’t in a rut. They weren’t having “issues.” He didn’t fall in love with someone else. He wasn’t even drunk or high. He just randomly, arbitrarily, idiotically broke her heart.
Unimaginable things happened every single day and there wasn’t always a good reason.
“Brooke has found Dad a good criminal lawyer. We know exactly what to do when the call comes through,” said Troy. “Brooke is standing by Dad. She said that even if he did it, she’ll stand by him. Brooke says one moment of madness doesn’t nullify a lifetime of love, but I think it does, I think it does nullify it, don’t you?”
Claire lifted her hands. “You’re in an impossible situation, Troy.”
“Brooke and I aren’t talking,” said Troy painfully.
“You’ll work it out,” said Claire. “It’s all too raw at the moment.”
“Dad never gave me an inch.” He made a harsh jarring sound that only just resembled a laugh. “He can hardly expect me to forgive him for killing my mother.”
“I don’t think he would expect your forgiveness,” said Claire. “If this happened, if there really was a moment of madness, he would never forgive himself.”
Troy glanced sidelong at her. “He was so angry with me. For what I did. To you.”
“Ancient history,” said Claire. It wasn’t. Technically it was “contemporary history,” a subset of modern history. She crumpled her empty croissant bag into a ball.
A ferry sounded its sonorous horn as it lumbered across the water toward them.
“That’s where I kissed you for the first time,” said Troy, his eyes on the ferry stop.
“Don’t,” said Claire sharply.