Chapter 3: What James Knew
Marcus looked from James to Maya, then back to James.
"I'm sorry — who are you exactly?"
James reached into his jacket pocket and set his phone on the table, screen up.
A wedding photo filled the display.
James in a dark suit.
Maya in white, laughing, her arms around his neck.
"Her husband," James said.
"Four years in June."
The color left Marcus's face in one clean sweep.
"That's —" Marcus turned to Maya.
"You told me you were divorced."
Maya's hand found the edge of the table.
"Marcus, I can explain —"
"She's been telling you that for eight months," James said.
He pulled out the chair across from Marcus and sat down, unhurried, like a man settling in for a long conversation.
"Eight months, two weeks, and four days, to be precise."
Marcus pushed back from the table slightly.
"You've been tracking this."
"I've known for six of those months." James folded his hands on the white tablecloth.
"I wanted to understand how far it would go."
Maya finally found her voice.
"James.
Stop.
Please.
Not here."
"You chose here," James said, without looking at her.
"You've had dinner at this table seven times.
Always a Tuesday.
Always the corner seat." He glanced at Marcus.
"Did she tell you she picked this restaurant because I'd never come here?
That I don't like French food?"
Marcus said nothing.
"She told me the same thing about the last one," James said.
The silence that followed was the kind that fills a room completely.
Marcus set his napkin on the table.
"There was someone before me?"
"His name was Daniel." James slid a second photograph across the table.
"That ended when Daniel found out she was married.
He came to the house.
Left a note in the mailbox." He paused.
"Maya intercepted it before I got home.
I found it six months later in a coat pocket she'd forgotten about."
Maya stood up.
"I'm not going to sit here and let you do this."
"Sit down, Maya."
The quietness of it stopped her.
She sat.
Marcus looked at her for a long moment.
"How many people know you're married?"
She didn't answer.
"Everyone at her office knows," James said.
"She wears the ring on Mondays and Fridays.
Takes it off Tuesday through Thursday." He looked at her hand.
The ring finger was bare.
"She has a system."
Marcus pushed the photograph back across the table without touching it.
He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair.
"I'm going to go," he said quietly.
"Marcus —" Maya reached for his arm.
He stepped back.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"Don't."
He walked to the front of the restaurant without looking back.
The door opened.
The cold air came in for a moment, then the door closed, and he was gone.
Maya and James were alone at the table.
The candle between them flickered.
"Are you satisfied?" Maya said, her voice low and tight.
James looked at her for a long time.
Then he reached into his jacket one more time and set a folded document on the table beside the wine glasses.
Maya looked down at it.
Her breath caught.
At the top of the page, in clean black letters, were two words she had not expected to see tonight.
*Divorce Petition.*
"I filed this morning," James said.
"You'll want to call a lawyer."
He stood, buttoned his jacket, and picked up his phone from the table.
"James —" Her voice broke on the single syllable.
He stopped.
He didn't turn around.
"Was any of it real?" she asked.
He stood there for a moment.
May you like
The candle threw his shadow long across the floor.
Then he walked to the door and didn't answer.
