He Made Me Sign, Not Knowing I Was Another's Wife novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Aunt Ruth's Kitchen

She moves in with her aunt, who has read every message and brings brokerage printouts: Hugh has been selling her mother's shares to buy a seat in Vivienne's family firm; her husband calls to say he lands at six a.m. with something to tell her.

I packed one suitcase and left the brownstone before ten.

I took my winter coat, my laptop and the folder from the freezer where I'd hidden my own papers.

I left everything else.

I carried the suitcase to the Red Line and rode out to Quincy with it between my knees.

Aunt Ruth lived in a narrow yellow house with a lemon tree in the front window, which she had no business keeping alive in Massachusetts.

She opened the door before I knocked.

"You didn't cry," she said. "I watched Hugh's face on the video. He didn't know where to look."

"You were watching?"

"Every minute. Come in. I made soup."

Ruth was small and silver-haired and wore her reading glasses on a cord around her neck.

She sat me down at her kitchen table and ladled soup into a bowl.

"Hugh left you in the group by accident," I said.

"Hugh left me in because he thinks I'm a fool. I have been reading everything since March."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were still in love with that boy then. You'd have asked me to stop."

I looked at the soup.

She was right.

"I'm not in love with him now," I said.

"I saw."

She turned my left hand over on the table and looked at the ring.

"So that's real."

"It's real."

"I'd hoped so. A drugstore ring doesn't have an inscription."

I stared at her.

"Hugh's cousin zoomed in and I got a better angle on my own phone," she said.

"Who is he, Leona?"

"His name is Ansel. We were married in Providence eleven weeks ago. He builds bridges."

Ruth sat down slowly.

"Bridges," she said. "Good. A man who builds bridges can't be a complete idiot."

"Aunt Ruth."

"I'm not angry. I'm asking why you didn't tell me."

"Because of Mom's will."

She nodded.

"Your trust passes to you the day you marry," I said. "Hugh holds it until then, and he never believed I'd marry anyone but Clay. If he knew about Ansel he would have gone to court and called me unfit before the paper dried."

"I know what the will says," Ruth said. "I sat in the room when your mother had it written."

"You never said."

"Your mother asked me not to. She said you'd marry when you were ready, and not to hurry you."

She took off her glasses and rubbed her nose.

"There's more. I didn't know whether you were ready for it."

She got up and came back with a manila envelope.

Inside were printouts, three months of them, with dates and amounts.

"My name is still on the old brokerage account, from when your grandfather set it up. I get the statements."

I read the first page.

"These are sales."

"Your mother's shares. Sold in small pieces, every month since the funeral. Hugh's name is on every authorization."

"He's the trustee. He can sell."

"He can sell for your benefit," Ruth said. "Look where the money went."

I found the column at the right.

Every sale had been wired to the same place.

Thorpe Marine Holdings.

Vivienne's family.

I sat still.

"He's been buying himself a seat at their table," Ruth said. "With your money."

"He told everyone I couldn't manage my own accounts."

"That's the story."

"So the order, the doctor, the video..."

"All to keep you from asking," she said.

"Eat your soup."

I ate the soup.

We went through the pages together until the light changed in the window.

Ruth made notes in the margins in green pen.

She asked questions I couldn't answer yet and wrote them all down.

"You can't touch this before Saturday," she said finally. "If you take it to a lawyer, Hugh hears within the day. He plays golf with half the lawyers in Boston."

"Then I wait."

"You wait and you smile."

"I'm good at that now," I said.

She laughed, a small dry laugh, and patted the envelope.

My phone rang at nine that night while I was drying dishes.

The screen said Ansel.

I took the phone into the hallway and shut the pantry door behind me.

"It's me," he said.

I had forgotten what his voice did to a quiet room.

It was low and slow and a little rough at the end of each sentence.

"I'm at the airport in Bergen," he said. "I got a seat on the overnight. I land at six."

"You said Friday."

"I said before Saturday. It's before Saturday."

I smiled at the wall.

"Hugh is booking a doctor for the wedding morning," I told him. "A seventy-two-hour hold."

"I know. You wrote me."

"I found out where the money went."

"Tell me when I land."

A pause came over the line.

"Leona, there's something about the wedding I should have said weeks ago. I'd rather say it to your face."

"Is it bad?"

"It's mine to tell. Not on the phone."

"All right."

"Don't tell Hugh I'm coming. Don't tell anyone else yet, not even Ruth."

"I told Ruth about you an hour ago."

"Then she's the only one." He sounded almost amused. "Six o'clock, gate B."

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