by Emily Giffin
“But you made that choice,” I say, teary again. “By not contacting me.”
“I couldn’t contact you,” he says. “Not without involving you in…in my trouble….The feds were looking for me, but I knew if I disappeared that day it would be assumed I was in the tower when it fell.”
“You could have found a way….” I say. “To let me know you weren’t dead. You could have had your brother tell me!”
Grant freezes for a long few seconds before his lips start to tremble. “My brother’s dead, Cecily,” he says, tears finally falling, streaming down his cheeks. “He died a few days after nine eleven.”
I freeze, completely forgetting myself for a moment, and all of the layers of betrayal, and thinking only of twin brothers in that agonizing situation. My heart fills with sympathy for both of them, and I tell him how sorry I am.
“Thank you,” he says. “I know that doesn’t change anything I did…but I wasn’t thinking clearly….I didn’t know what to do….I called the police and pretended to be a concerned neighbor….I left the cabin for a few hours while they came to get the body….”
“I’m so sorry,” I say again. “But—” I shake my head, thinking of everything that came after. The hiding. The lying. “Oh my God, Grant. That was you in the emails. You were pretending to be Byron.”
He stares at me, then says, “I just…I just wanted you to know that what we had was real.”
“So you keep lying? That’s your way of showing it to me?”
“It was the only way.”
“It wasn’t the only way,” I say. “And it wasn’t real. If it were, you would have told me the truth. You would have taken that risk.”
“I couldn’t, Cecily. Don’t you get that? I did what I thought was better for you. For everyone…and it was better for everyone.”
“Better for your wife?” I say. “Who thinks she’s a nine-eleven widow?”
“Yes. Better for her, too. Look…she hasn’t been up here once to check on Byron—her brother-in-law….She’s too busy moving on with her own life….And you—well, clearly you’re fine, too,” he says with a trace of his own indignation.
“Do I look fine to you?” I say.
He grabs my hand and shakes it a little, staring down at my ring. “Yeah. You do, actually. I saw your lovely engagement announcement online. In your own newspaper. Nice touch. Did you write that yourself?”
I jerk my hand away from him and flip my diamond around with my thumb. “That’s not fair!” I say, shaking my head. “And you know it.”
“Oh, it’s totally fair,” he deadpans. “It’s what happened, Cecily. I mean, look at the facts. You think I’m dead—and you get engaged, like, one month later?”
I stare at him.
“Here I was trying to figure out ways to let you know I was alive…and instead I find that announcement. I mean, wow. That didn’t take long at all.”
I shake my head and shout, “But that happened after I found out you were married and had lied to me!”
“What the hell difference does that make?” he says.
“Are you serious?” I say, my voice shaking. “Are you really asking me what difference it makes that you were married?”
“At least I knew what and who I wanted.”
“So did I!” I shout.
“Oh really?” he says, his voice turning a little sarcastic, something I’ve never heard before. “Let’s review the facts. You meet me and break up with him—”
“We were already broken up!” I say. “That’s the order you’re supposed to do this in.”
“Right. Right. You were broken up. Fine. But then you meet me. And you fall in love. Supposedly. And then you think I’m dead, so you run back to him. And you don’t just run back to him, you get freaking engaged. Jesus, Cecily,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s almost as if we’re interchangeable to you. Grant, Matthew, what’s the difference, right?”
“Actually. There’s a pretty major difference,” I say, thinking that Matthew has more integrity in his pinkie than Grant does in his whole body. “Matthew would never lie to me.”
“Well, good for Matthew. Great for you. You ended up with the right guy.”
“You know it’s more complicated than that,” I say.
“Oh, so you’re saying things are more complicated than they seem? Well, imagine that,” he says.
“Actually,” I say. “I take that back. It’s not complicated. Not anymore. I figured everything out.”
“Oh? And what did you figure out?”
“I figured out that I can count on Matthew. And that I want to have this baby with him,” I say, putting my left hand on my stomach, my ring showing again.
He stares at me, his turn to be shocked. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling suddenly desperate to get back to Matthew. To tell him the truth about everything—what I should have done from the very beginning. I manage to get to my feet.
“You’re leaving?” Grant says. “Just like that?”
“Why shouldn’t I? It’s what you did,” I say, before making my way down the ladder and running out the front door.
It takes me the whole drive home to even begin to process what’s just happened, what I now know. The fact that Grant is alive. That Byron is dead. That Grant committed a crime—two crimes, if you include faking your own death. It’s all so surreal—almost as surreal as terrorists flying airplanes into buildings.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do about telling Amy—or reporting his whereabouts to the authorities. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m going to tell Matthew everything. I am more sure of this decision with every mile, and by the time I’m crossing the bridge back into the city, I’m ready.
I return my rental car and walk hurriedly to my apartment. The second I’m inside, I head straight for the phone just as I look over and see Matthew sitting on my sofa.
I jump, thinking that my heart can’t take another surprise. “Shit! You scared me!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…but I’ve been trying to reach you all day, so figured I’d just come over. Where have you been?” He stands and walks over to me. “Remember we have plans tonight?”
“We do? What plans?”
“We’re supposed to meet Amy at Dharma to see that wedding band….Remember she invited us at the end of last night?”
“Oh, shit. I completely forgot,” I say, now busying myself with the buttons on my jacket.
“So…where’ve you been all day?” he asks again.
“Umm…well…that’s kind of a long story,” I say, putting my purse on my desk, and the coat on the back of my chair.
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Well, do you mind telling it?” he says, finally sounding a little annoyed.
“Sure. But I was going to make a cup of tea first,” I say, turning and walking to the sink. I’m not wavering; I just need a minute to compose myself. “Do you want one?”
“No,” Matthew says. “Is everything okay? Is the baby okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “Everything’s okay with the baby. And I hope with us, too. I just need to talk to you about some things….Do you mind sitting down?” I gesture toward the sofa. “I’ll be right there.”
Matthew looks nervous, but says okay, and I spend the next few minutes putting water in the kettle, waiting for it to boil, finding a tea bag, and rehearsing exactly what I’m going to say. But the second I make my way over to him, my mind goes blank.
I sit, put my cup on the coffee table, and take a deep breath. “So I drove up to the Adirondacks today,” I say, wiping my sweaty palms on my lap as I stare at the steam rising from my cup.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”
I nod, making myself meet Matthew’s gaze.
“In what car? With who?” he asks.
“In a rental. Alone.”
“Why?” he asks. “For a story? Or did you just want to get away for the day? I would’ve gone with you. I finished my brief—”
I cut him off and say, “No. Not for work. And not to be alone. I went up there to see my ex-boyfriend’s brother.”
“Your ex-boyfriend’s brother?” he says, looking confused, but not upset. “Why? Which ex?”
“The one I dated this summer,” I say.
His expression changes immediately, but his voice remains calm. “Okay. Why? And why his brother?”
“Because…because…I wanted to talk to him…about the fact that I’d found out that he was married,” I say, stumbling over my words.
“Wait. What?” He squints, still confused. “The brother was married? Or your ex-boyfriend was married?”
“My ex-boyfriend,” I say.
“So…you were seeing a married man?” Matthew asks, looking so disappointed in me.
“Yes,” I say. “But I didn’t know he was married when I was seeing him….I would never do that.”
Matthew nods and says, “Good.” He pauses a beat and then says, “I knew that guy was bad news.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You were right.”
“But I still don’t get it. You broke up with him months ago. Why did you want to talk to his brother now?”
I take a deep breath. “Matthew,” I say. “There are some things I haven’t told you.”
“Like what?” he says with a frown.
The next few seconds are endless as I scrounge up enough courage to say, “Well, for one thing…his wife…was…is…Amy.”
“Amy?” Matthew says, staring at me with the most dumbfounded expression. “Our Amy?”
I nod the smallest of nods, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Wait. Hold up. What?” he says, as I watch the wheels grinding in his head. “You were dating…Grant?”
I nod again, then repeat that I had no idea he was married.
“So the postcard? From Italy? With the G? That was Amy’s husband?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Holy shit,” he says. “Does Amy know this?”
“No,” I say. “I haven’t told her….”
“Why the hell not?” he says, his voice getting louder, his face turning red.
“Because I didn’t want to hurt her any more than she already was hurting,” I say.
“But…but that’s not a good enough reason,” Matthew says, looking appalled. “She’s your friend.”
“I know. But she wasn’t my friend when I found this out. She was a stranger who had just lost her husband,” I say, then explain about seeing the MISSING poster in Washington Square Park. I tell him how I called the number on it with Jasmine, and then went to meet Amy in Brooklyn. How I decided, in the moment, that I couldn’t add to her heartbreak.
“Okay,” he says, getting increasingly upset. “I can understand not telling her right away. But now…now she’s planning our wedding!”
“I know, but—”
He cuts me off, his eyes filled with hurt—and something else, too. “But nothing, Cecily. How can you not tell her? And, more important, how could you not tell me? I’m your fiancé! Jesus!”
“But when I found out he was married, you weren’t my fiancé yet,” I say. “And I was reeling from the shock of everything—I mean, it’s not like I only found out that he was married. First, I found out he was dead. And then I found out he was married—”
“Wait,” he says, staring at me, wild-eyed. “You were with him all the way up until nine eleven?”
I nod, knowing he will soon connect all the dots.
“So when did you last see him?”
“The night before,” I say, my voice trailing off.
“The night before what?”
“The night before the eleventh,” I say, bracing myself. “On the tenth.”
He stares at me for what feels like forever. When he speaks again, his voice is shaking. “So let me get this straight, Cecily. On the very last night of this guy’s life, he was with you—and not Amy? His wife? And she still doesn’t know any of this?”
I nod.
He stares at me, looking sickened, then says, “Did you have sex with him? That night?”
I freeze, biting my lip so hard that it hurts. “Yes,” I finally whisper, tasting blood.
“Jesus.” He gasps. “So this baby…” He looks down at my stomach with the most horrified expression before meeting my gaze again. “Cecily. Please, please tell me…that there’s no chance…” He looks up at the ceiling before finishing. “That this baby could be his?”
“I don’t—I don’t think so,” I say. “But it might be—”
“It might not be mine?” he asks.
“I guess there’s a chance that…it might not be,” I whisper.
“Are you fucking serious?” he says. His voice isn’t loud, but he might as well be screaming.
“I’m sorry,” I say, blinking back tears, knowing that it’s so not fair for me to cry. Not now. “Matthew…say something.”
“Hold on,” he says. “I need a second here.”
I watch him stand, walk over to the window, and look out for the longest time. When he turns around, I see that his eyes are red. “So…so what if he hadn’t died?” Matthew says, from across the room.
I clasp my sweaty hands together, gathering strength, then actually praying before saying, “Well…actually…he didn’t die….I thought he did. Everyone thought he did….But I drove up to the mountains today, thinking I was going to see his brother—and instead, I found Grant. Hiding out there.”
Any composure Matthew had scraped together is gone again. “Hiding out? What?” he shouts. “What the actual fuck is going on?”
“He lied to everyone,” I say. “He…he faked his death.”
“Oh my God. This guy is so fucking sick,” he says. “Why? Why would he do this?”
“I don’t know, Matthew. I have no idea,” I say. “I guess he’s just…not a good person. I thought he was…but he’s not….And on top of that, he’s a criminal….I think he committed some kind of financial crime—I’m not sure exactly what he did—but he says the feds are after him. So he’s hiding because of that, too.”
Matthew looks at me like his mind is completely blown, then walks slowly back to the sofa, sits down, and says, “Okay. Forget this asshole for a second…and forget Amy….I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me all of this sooner. Right when we got back together—or at least by the time we got engaged? Why all the secrets?”
I inhale. “I…I guess I was afraid,” I say, remembering what Ethan said to me last night on the phone.
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid…of my own bad judgment…afraid of hurting you…”
“But that makes no sense, Cecily. If you didn’t know he was married, it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. He did.”
“I know….But it felt like I did…and I was just trying to figure everything out. I needed to figure it out on my own.”
“Figure what out?” he says, his eyes narrowing. “What was there to figure out once you knew he was dead, and had a widow? What more did you need to know?”
“I needed to know why he was cheating on his wife…what he was thinking…how he felt about me.”
“How he felt about you? Who cares? What difference would that make?…Unless you loved him?”
He stares into my eyes, and when I don’t reply, he asks it again, more clearly. “Did you love him, Cecily?”
I nod the smallest, millimeter nod. “I thought I did,” I say.
“So you did. If you thought you did, then you did.”
I stare a
t him, then say, “Maybe. But I don’t love him anymore.”
I can tell right away that this was the wrong thing to say, even before I hear his next words. “Well, gee whiz, Cecily. I really didn’t think that needed to be said. But thanks. I’m glad to know that you don’t still love another man.”
“Matthew,” I say. “Please. I’m trying to fix this. By telling you everything…by telling you the truth—even the really painful parts. All I can say is that as I sit here now—I love you. Only you…”
“Who else knows about all of this?” he says, and I think of what they always say about betrayal. It’s the act itself as well as the aftershocks—how foolish a person feels when they realize other people know the truth.
“Only Jasmine and Scottie,” I say. “My family knows nothing about any of this.”
“So you’re lying to them, too?” he says.
“I guess I am,” I say softly.
It occurs to me that I’ve accidentally omitted Ethan, and I start to mention him, but I can tell Matthew is no longer listening. He’s somewhere very far away, wearing the expression I have feared all along.
“Say something…anything.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say. Or what to think. Or how to feel…but I guess…I guess I should thank you for finally telling me the truth,” he says in a calm, clear voice that shatters me. Then he stands, looking crushed, yet so dignified.
“Where are you going?” I say, feeling my throat constrict with desperation and sadness.
“Home. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’m not really in the mood to listen to a band for our wedding—with your ex-boyfriend’s wife.”
As he turns to go, I follow him to the door, planning to tell him how sorry I am. Instead, I let him go, resolving to show him instead.
A short time later, a cab drops me off on Orchard Street between Houston and Stanton. The block is shabby, but the inside of Dharma is on the swanky side, and I quickly spot Amy sitting in the back corner with Chad—who I didn’t know would be joining us.
As I approach their table, Chad does a quick stand, and Amy waves at me. “Hey, Cess!” she says.
“Hi, guys,” I say, forcing a smile.
