Silence Was Not Forgiveness novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Wipe
In the hotel garage before the company gala, Lena finds Kendall's makeup wipe in the car door and says nothing; at home she adds it to a bag that already holds four.
My wife pulled a used makeup wipe out of my car door in a downtown hotel garage, with half my company walking past us to the elevator.
We were already late for the anniversary dinner.
She had opened the passenger door to get her clutch, and her hand went down into the door pocket for the pen she keeps there.
It came back up holding the wipe.
It was pink and folded in quarters, with a smear of coral lipstick at one corner.
My wife has never worn coral.
I knew exactly whose it was.
Kendall Channing ran marketing at my family's lumber company, and she was upstairs right now, setting out place cards.
I closed my eyes.
How could she have left that there?
When I opened them, Lena still hadn't made a sound.
She turned the wipe over once in her fingers and studied both sides.
Then she slid it into her clutch and snapped the clasp shut.
"Don't look so worried," she said. "Everything's fine. We're going to be late."
Her voice was perfectly even.
She reached up and straightened my tie, and her hands didn't shake at all.
"Your mother likes you in the gray," she said. "Let's go."
She walked ahead of me to the elevator in her green dress, and I followed her because I could not think of anything else to do.
Upstairs, the ballroom had a banner across the stage that said DAHLBERG LUMBER, FORTY YEARS.
A slideshow of my late father cycled on a screen beside it.
My mother crossed the room as soon as she saw us and took Lena's face in both hands.
"There she is. You're pale, honey. Sit by me and eat something."
"I will, Joan," Lena said, and kissed her cheek.
My mother turned to me. "And you. Did you take her to her appointment Thursday?"
"She goes alone," I said.
"Still?"
"It's easier if only one of us takes the day off," Lena said smoothly. "I told him that last year."
She had. She had stopped asking me to come with her more than a year ago, and I had been grateful.
My mother shook her head at both of us and steered Lena toward the head table.
Kendall was already there.
She wore a cream blazer and the pearl studs she always wore, and when she saw Lena she opened her arms.
"You look incredible," she said into Lena's hair.
Kendall had driven over with soup the day after Lena's August treatment failed, more than a year ago.
She had sat on our couch with Lena for two hours.
Lena had called her a real friend ever since.
Now Lena hugged her back, holding the clutch in one hand behind Kendall's shoulder.
I stood three feet away, sweating through my shirt.
We sat. My mother took the center chair, with Lena on her right and Dale on Lena's other side.
Kendall's card put her next to me.
The salmon came, then the speeches, and my brother Dale told a story about our father and a forklift that made the whole room laugh.
I laughed too, a half second late.
Under the table, Lena's knee never touched mine.
When the plates were cleared, she leaned across the table with a small, friendly frown.
"Kendall, can I ask you something silly? What do you use to take off your makeup?"
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.
"Mine's been stinging my eyes," Lena said. "I'd like to switch."
Dale looked up. Two salespeople at the next seats stopped talking.
Kendall did not blink.
"Oh, the pink ones," she said, smiling. "Marlow cleansing cloths, from the drugstore on Brady Street. They're the only ones that don't sting."
"Perfect," Lena said. "I'll pick some up tomorrow."
"I'll bring you a pack Monday," Kendall said warmly. "Honestly, I have a bunch."
"That's so kind."
They smiled at each other, and I understood that I was the only person at the table who had heard anything at all.
We got home after one in the morning.
Lena set her clutch on the kitchen counter and took off her earrings without a word.
I stood in the doorway, waiting for it.
She didn't turn around. She opened the drawer under the wall phone, the one where we keep batteries and takeout menus.
She took out a gallon freezer bag.
Inside were four smaller bags, each holding one folded pink wipe.
Each had a strip of masking tape across it with a date in her court-reporter print.
She took the wipe from her clutch, sealed it in a fifth bag, and wrote on the tape with a marker.
Nov 1.
She laid it in the big bag on top of the others, and the oldest strip of tape showed at the bottom.
She closed the drawer and finally looked at me.
"Go to bed, Nolan," she said. "I'm not asking you anything tonight."
I did what I have always done when something goes wrong.
I said nothing, and I went upstairs.
The oldest strip of tape had been dated July 12.
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