Fidelity Files

by Jessica Brody

  "So this is because of Jamie?" Zoë asked anxiously. I could tell she was trying to round up all the details before she let herself get excited. She probably would have made an excellent lawyer. Evidence first, then move for an emotional verdict.

  "Not entirely," I said, taking a bite of my portabella mushroom sandwich.

  "Not entirely?" John begged for clarification.

  I shrugged, as if all of this came straight from yesterday's headlines and therefore it was no longer gossip-worthy news. "Well, I mean, there's a lot of stuff that's been going on lately. And then with all the stress and the secrets..."

  "What secrets?" Sophie asked. "I thought you told us all your secrets."

  The guilt instantly washed over me, knowing there were still some secrets that I would never have a chance to reveal. There was no way I could ever tell Sophie that I didn't go through with Eric's inspection.

  I looked down at my plate, avoiding her glance. "I did. I mean, like secrets from my mom...from Jamie...from everyone else."

  "So you're gonna come clean to everyone then?" Zoë confirmed with a doubtful inflection.

  I balked slightly. I wasn't really planning on it. I had made a promise to myself to tell Jamie everything while we were in Paris, but as for the rest of them, I kind of hoped that if I could just from now on tell the truth, all the lies from the past would sort of be absolved. I didn't really want to start coming clean to everyone in my life. Well, because honestly, I wanted to keep them in my life.

  "I'm not sure. I don't think so," I replied hesitantly. "It'll just be nice not to have to tell any more lies...you know, from now on."

  "Well, what will you do?" Sophie asked. "Like for money and stuff?"

  Ah, there it was. The million-dollar question...literally. I still had no clue. I sighed and took another bite of my overpriced sandwich, wondering how long I would be able to actually continue biting into overpriced sandwiches. "I don't know. I have enough money saved up to last me about six months. I guess I'll take that time to figure it out."

  The three of them nodded – almost simultaneously. I could tell this was uncharted territory for all of them. My real problems were still fairly new and unfamiliar. They were used to being summoned for the typical "this person in my office drives me crazy" fake pep talk, but this was different. And they had no idea what to say.

  So I spoke again. Listing all the things I had been sorting out since the other night. "I'm going to take one last assignment, and then after that I'm . . ." I paused, letting the anxiety, the ecstasy, and the sheer terror of my next word fully wash over me. "Done."

  Sophie took a sip of her Diet Coke. "What happens when people call?"

  Ah, yes... another detail I had already gone over in my mind. "I guess I'm just throwing away the cell phone. Disconnecting the service. Whatever. I have to keep it long enough to tie up loose ends, but then...it's going in my trash compactor. Along with so many other things."

  I was proud of how on top of everything I was. I doubted there was a question they could ask that I hadn't already thought of and made an informed decision about.

  "What about that Raymond Jacobs guy?" Zoë asked. "Have you figured out what you'll do about him?"

  Okay...well, that was the one issue I hadn't quite yet resolved. I lowered my head. "I still don't know what to do about him. I mean, I'm quitting, so it's not like he can ruin any of my future assignments, but he knows where my family lives. Hell, he's already contacted Hannah."

  "You could just come clean to your family," Sophie suggested again, still holding on to her idea that honesty is the best policy.

  I shook my head. "No. No way. They would disown me. And I could never explain that to Hannah. She's so naive and just starting to get into boys. Besides, one of the biggest reasons for getting out of this is to avoid them ever finding out. So essentially, it would be counterproductive to tell them."

  Sophie nodded reluctantly, still not entirely convinced.

  I blew out a loud gust of air. "Well, I'm sure something will come to me. It has to." And just as the words were uttered, I felt discouraged. Would I actually have to sleep with that slimeball just to save my family from the truth? And what's to say he would even keep his end of the bargain? There had to be another way. And I was determined to find it.

  "So what's this last assignment, then?" Zoë asked.

  The words "last assignment" rang in my ears like church bells on a Sunday morning. Was it really happening? Was this really the last one? The whole idea just seemed so surreal.

  "I don't know yet," I replied. "I'm meeting with her tomorrow. Some woman named Karen Howard or something. She was very vague on the phone. So I guess I'll find out."

  THE NEXT day I got a call from my mom as I was on my way to Karen Howard's house for our pre-assignment meeting.

  "Are you busy?" she asked sweetly.

  I looked at the navigation screen. It read: Time to Destination: approx. 7 minutes.

  "I have a few minutes," I replied into my headset.

  "Well, I've been thinking," she began.

  As soon as the words came out of her mouth, I knew it wasn't going to be good. Recently, whenever my mom spent time "thinking," she almost always ended up in hysterics at the end of it. Blaming herself for my father's multiple affairs, questioning her ability to ever love again, doubting the likelihood that anyone will ever love her. It was never a joyful thing when my mom called me up to think. And I feared today would be no different.

  "About what?" I asked breezily, praying that she'd simply been thinking about joining a gym and wanted to get my opinion of which one was better. Today was supposed to be a happy day. A celebrated affair...so to speak. I was on my way to my very last client meeting, and I selfishly didn't want to take any of my mother's baggage with me.

  "About your father," she said uneasily.

  And here it goes.

  I took a deep breath. "Mom, I'm sorry. I'm running into a meeting, I don't really think it's the best time to get into this. I'm going to have to—"

  "I think you should call him," she calmly interrupted.

  I swore I must have misunderstood her. "Huh?"

  "Your dad. You should call him. Talk to him again. Try to rebuild a relationship with him."

  My mind kind of zoned out just then, and I had to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting the car in front of me. "Why would I do that?" I asked her.

  "Because you've been angry long enough. And I believe it's having an adverse effect on you. Now it's time to forgive."

  "Forgive? After everything he did?"

  My mom exhaled loudly. "He didn't do anything to you, sweetie. He loves you. He misses you. It was unfair of you to cut him out of your life like you did. No matter how bad of a husband he was to me, he's still your father. And he was always very good at being that."

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing. From my mother of all people! She was actually taking his side. What was the matter with her? Did she have no self-respect at all?

  "Mom," I began, determined to convince her of my motivations – obviously without revealing all of my motivations. "He hurt you. And by hurting you, he hurt me. And that's reason enough to keep him from my life."

  "Jen," my mom said warningly, "I don't think that's a healthy attitude. You have to let go of your anger. You don't want to end up like Julia, do you?"

  "What?" I immediately responded. Since when did Julia find her way into this conversation? This was a discussion about me, my mother, and my father. Not about my father's first wife's daughter. How did she even factor in? "What does Julia have to do with it?" I asked in a snotty voice.

  "Well, you know how she is," my mom explained gently. "She's bitter, and overprotective of her daughter, and, well, for the most part . . . angry and unhappy because she never learned to let go. Do you really want to end up like that? Because that's what happens when you hang on to resentment."

  Wait a minute, I thought. Julia is angry and unhappy? About what? And who does she have to r
esent? I mean, I know she's never really liked me, but I always assumed it was because I was the half sister. The unwanted sibling from her father's new wife. I couldn't really blame her for that. If my dad had a child with this next wife of his, I would probably have a hard time taking a liking to him or her, too. And it would be even worse in this case, because his new wife is the last woman he cheated with when he was still married to my mother. And...

  Oh ...my...God.

  My foot suddenly slammed on the brakes, and I pulled the car over to the side of the road. I struggled to take deep breaths. How could I have missed it all this time? How could I have not put all the pieces together? Especially when they had been there all along, lying right in front of me.

  "Jen?" my mom's voice came through the line. "Are you all right?"

  I ignored her question. My mind was stuck on a completely different path. "Mom," I began in a wobbly voice.

  "Yes?"

  "Did Dad cheat on Julia's mom, too?"

  "Yes," she said, as if it were obvious. "I thought you knew that."

  "No!" I nearly cried. "How could I have known that? No one ever told me. How would I know?"

  My mom laughed weakly at my delayed realization. "Why else do you think Julia was so mean to you as a child? And she really never liked me either until after the divorce."

  "You mean he cheated on her... with you?" I shrieked.

  I took my mom's silence as a yes. And actually, I much preferred the silent response. I was speechless. It felt like a curtain had just been lifted, revealing a room in my house that I didn't even know was there to begin with. And it was full of new and interesting things to explore and play with... and analyze!

  "But if you were the one he cheated with, why would she want anything to do with us now? She hangs out with you all the time!"

  My mom chuckled softly to herself. "Ever heard the phrase 'Misery loves company'? She clung to me after my divorce was final. I think she felt like we were finally on the same page. She's a very wounded little girl under all her thick layers. I'm glad I could be there for her."

  "So that's why she hangs out with you instead of Dad?" I asked skeptically.

  "Honey," my mom began in a gentle tone, "Julia hasn't spoken to Dad in ten years."

  "What?" My voice strained as I tried to condense ten years of memories into one fleeting moment of thought.

  "I assumed you knew. I just don't want your relationship with Dad to turn out the same way."

  I nodded weakly and stared at the license plate of the car parked in front of me. "Okay," I surrendered softly. "Maybe I'll give him a call."

  After all, I had already let go of so many things this week. What was one more?

  I hung up the phone and pulled my SUV back onto the road. Everything was becoming clearer now. The reason Julia was so overprotective of her own daughter suddenly made perfect sense. She was trying to shield Hannah from a world that she had never learned to forgive... just like me.

  And suddenly I realized that Julia and I had more in common than I thought. But I was desperate for the decisions I had made in the past week, and even the past two minutes, to be what finally set me apart from her.

  The biggest of which was about to start right now.

  As I pulled up in front of Karen Howard's house, I could feel the butterflies start to multiply in my stomach. This was it. The very last one. The last million-dollar mansion that I would step into. The last suspicious wife I would attempt to console. And, in a few days, the last cheating husband I would allow to kiss me.

  To my great relief, and now my mom's as well, I was finally starting to let go.

  I went into this thinking I could help people. And I know I did. Lots of people. Even if I never got the satisfaction of knowing for sure they ended up better off, I believed in my heart that they were. Because I had seen what happens when you don't know. I had experienced firsthand what happens to a family that lives in denial.

  And yes, I had fully contemplated the consequences of quitting. It would mean that more women would have to go through what my mom had gone through. And apparently Julia's mom, as well. But there comes a point, when the bad guy is after you, when the good guy can't break through to you, when a world of cover-ups and lies feels like it's going to come crashing down on top of you, when you realize: Sometimes you have to stop, take a step back, relieve your tired shoulders of the rest of the world's burdens, and take the time to help yourself.

  Because truth be told, I wasn't a superhero. I couldn't fly. I couldn't spin intricate webs and cling to the sides of walls. I couldn't leap tall buildings in a single bound. I was just an ordinary girl trying to make a difference.

  And I believed I had.

  Now it was time to make me different. And that's exactly what I would do.

  After this one, last, final, closing assignment.

  I was about to step out of the car and walk to the front door when my personal cell phone rang. I fished it from my bag, and upon seeing Jamie's now stored name and number on the caller ID, I flipped it open with excitement.

  Speak of the angel.

  "Hey, you," I said.

  He cleared his throat and spoke in a deep, self-important voice. "Yes, um...Mr. Jamie Richards for a Ms. Jennifer H., please."

  I played along, lowering my voice to a sultry but professional tone. "I'm sorry. Ms. Jennifer H. doesn't know any Mr. Jamie Richards."

  "Hmm... There must be an error here on my paperwork. I was calling to confirm a plane ticket to Paris and, well, I guess I dialed the wrong number. I'm sorry about the confusion, miss. Have a good—"

  "No, wait!" I stopped him.

  He laughed at my franticness, and then in his normal voice asked, "So have you started packing yet?"

  "We're not leaving until next Saturday!"

  "But you've thought about it."

  "Maybe a little," I admitted nonchalantly, not wanting to confess that I had pretty much the entire contents of my suitcase planned out in my head. Not to mention the fact that every minute I was in my house I had to hold myself back from pulling out my large, non-carry-on, non-assignment suitcase from my hall closet and filling it to the brim with cute, non-assignment outfits. It was hidden behind all of Marta's brooms and mops and things. I imagined I would have to start using them myself soon. There was no way I would be able to afford her on my unemployed, still salary.

  "Are you home?" he asked.

  I looked through the windshield at Karen Howard's large, two-story house looming in front of me. "Actually, I'm working right now."

  I was dying to tell Jamie about the conclusive nature of my so-called work tonight. To allow my elatedness to spill forth through the phone and give him all the credit he deserved. "You made me believe again. You gave me faith, something I haven't known since I was twelve years old!" But I knew that (1) It was pretty heavy stuff for a relationship that hadn't even passed the four-date mark, and (2) It would require a lot more explanation. And given the fact that I was now running ten minutes late to my meeting, it would have to wait. And so I bit my tongue and said nothing.

  "Ooh, working hard, huh? Burning the midnight oil on a Friday night, are we? Miss Important?"

  I looked up at the beautiful home in front of me. Burning the midnight oil?

  Not exactly.

  Possibly burning a dishonest man's metaphoric castle of deception to the ground?

  More like it.

  "That's right," I replied. "And what are you doing?"

  He sighed loudly. "I'm afraid I'm burning the oil as well. Gonna be here for at least another couple of hours. We're getting ready for the Paris trip."

  My stomach did a small flip and I smiled into the phone. "Oh, yeah?"

  "Yeah. But I just wanted to check in and say hi."

  My stomach flipped again, and my body seemed to melt right into the car seat. "That's so sweet." I checked my watch. It was already 8:12 P.M. "Well, I should probably get back to work," I added.

  "Me, too. Talk to you tomorr
ow?"

  "Definitely."

  I ended the call and rested the phone against my lips as if trying to suck the conversation right out of the pink metal and into a safe, photographic memory bank in the back of my mind.

  I put the phone back in my bag, opened the car door, and stepped out into the crisp October evening air. I took a ceremonial walk up the front steps, pausing frequently so I'd remember the feeling I had with each step, as they were about to become my last.

  Karen Howard's house was almost as beautiful as she was. Both well groomed, well polished, and furnished with expensive accessories.

  She welcomed me nervously into the living room, and I tried to focus on the task at hand. I just had to get through this meeting, the assignment, and then I was home free.

  Off to Paris.

  I quickly stopped myself before slipping into another daydream.

  "Thanks so much for meeting me," Karen said warmly as we sat down in the living room.

  "It's no problem. Why don't you tell me why you called," I replied, gently attempting to push the process forward and eliminate all small talk.

  "Right," she began cautiously. "Well, my husband..."

  "Mr. Howard?" I said assumingly, jotting down the name in my notes.

  "Actually, no. Howard is my maiden name. I gave it to you over the phone because I...I don't know, I guess I was just nervous about the whole process and I didn't want to give out my real name, just in case—"

  "I understand," I said quickly, striking a line through the name I had just written on the page. "Many women do that. It's quite normal. I've seen it several times."

  I fought to keep my tone calm and steady. The worst thing I could do to this woman was make her think I was trying to rush her. She certainly didn't need to know that I was in a hurry to get through this meeting, especially in the state she was in. I've learned over the years that women in her condition need all the patience and attention you can give them. It's that lack of attention that probably drove them here in the first place.

  "So what is your husband's name, then?" I asked.

  Karen swallowed hard and fidgeted with her hands. It was as if saying his name aloud to me was making this whole process even more real. A bit too real.