He Never Looked Up at Breakfast, So I Served Him Papers novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Under the Plate

Elise slides the papers under his plate where the card always sat. He eats around them, asks for salt and finally reads. She leaves with one bag, and Stuart tells his agent she will be back by Friday.

I made breakfast one last time.

Two eggs over easy, wheat toast cut in triangles, coffee in the blue mug.

I set the plate at the head of the table at seven forty.

Under the plate I slid the usual yellow index card.

Today's card said: 14 - 14 = ?

I had written it at four in the morning, wide awake in the guest room.

At seven fifty-five Stuart came down in his robe with his phone already in his hand.

He sat, propped the phone against the sugar bowl, and picked up his fork.

He did not say good morning.

He lifted the plate slightly, took the card from beneath it, and slid it into his robe pocket.

He had done that every day for fourteen years, and he had never once read one in front of me.

I stood at the counter with my coat on and my bag at my feet.

"You're dressed early," he said, eyes on the screen.

"I have somewhere to be at nine."

"Mm."

He ate an egg.

I watched the clock over the stove.

At eight sharp, there was a knock.

Stuart sighed.

"Can you get that? I'm in the middle of something."

"Sure," I said.

I opened the front door and the deputy stood there in his tan uniform, holding the envelope.

He lifted his hat politely and said, loud enough for the kitchen, "Stuart Harmon?"

"That's him," I said.

I walked him down the hall and into the kitchen.

Stuart looked up at last, with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth.

"Mr. Harmon, I'm serving you papers from the Ashby County Court," the deputy said. "Please sign here."

He set the envelope on the table, directly on top of the place where the card had been.

Stuart stared at it.

"Is this a joke?"

"No, sir," said the deputy. "Sign here."

Stuart put the toast down.

He signed with a shaky scrawl, and the deputy tipped his hat and left.

The front door clicked shut.

My husband sat there in his robe, with egg on his fork, and looked at me.

Really looked.

I had waited fourteen years for that look, and it was over a legal envelope.

"Elise." His voice cracked. "What is this?"

"It's what it says on the front."

"You filed for divorce?"

"Yesterday, at the courthouse."

"Why? What did I do?"

I almost laughed.

"Stuart, you really have to ask?"

"I swear, I don't understand."

He pulled the papers out and flipped through them, and I watched his eyes jump from line to line without landing on anything.

"Is this about Sydney?" he said. "Because that's nothing. It's research."

"Research."

"For the book. Honestly, Elise, you know how I get when I'm working."

I picked up my bag.

"I do know how you get," I said. "You get so quiet I could leave the house and you'd think the refrigerator was humming."

"That's not fair."

"Today's card is in your pocket," I said. "Read it."

He frowned, reached into his robe, and took out the yellow card.

He read it.

His lips moved.

"Fourteen minus fourteen," he said. "That's zero. What does zero mean?"

"It means that's what you have left."

He looked at the card, then at me, and his face went white.

"You can't just leave. Where would you even go?"

"Somewhere."

"You've never lived alone in your life." He stood up so fast his chair scraped. "Elise, this is crazy. We can fix this. Sit down, let me make you a coffee."

"You don't know how to make coffee."

"I'll learn."

"The grinder is on the left shelf," I said. "The filters are in the drawer under it. You've never opened that drawer."

He turned and looked at the left shelf.

I picked up my bag and walked out the front door.

He did not follow me.

I stood on the porch with the cold wind on my face, and I heard him pick up his phone.

The kitchen window was open a crack.

"Bryce," Stuart said. "It's me. Don't panic, but Elise just served me papers."

A pause.

"No. No, of course not. She'll be back by Friday. She always comes back."

Another pause.

"Just keep it out of the press until after the premiere. Six weeks. After that she can leave all she wants."

I walked down the driveway with my one bag and my hand on my stomach.

Friday, I thought.

He had given me four days to prove him wrong.

I decided that I would not need them.

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