Matthew gives a half laugh containing no mirth. “My father probably would have liked to throw away the shirt, but he was too cheap for that.”
“Cheap?” I echo. Matthew has succeeded in diverging from his father in at least this respect, given the opulence of his home.
“He only buys used cars, and after my mom died, he sold their house and moved into a one-bedroom condo downtown. He drinks Cluny and soda—” At my puzzled look, Matthew elaborates, “It’s an inexpensive kind of Scotch. And his favorite restaurants are diners.”
I take down a note. “Is your father remarried?”
“Yeah, to his work,” Matthew says. “He’s a lobbyist. That’s pretty much all he cares about.”
“He’s good to Bennett,” Marissa ventures.
“I’ll give him that. It’s the only reason my dad is still in my life.”
I nod. “You mentioned you have a sister.”
“Yeah, Catherine—we all call her Kiki. My dad was easier on her because she’s a girl, but she didn’t like being in our family any better than me. She moved to Colorado for college and never came back.”
I wait for him to continue, but it seems as if he can’t.
“Marissa’s parents are still in love after forty years,” Matthew says, adeptly redirecting the course of the conversation.
“Is that how you see it, Marissa?” I ask.
“Yes. They’re like newlyweds. Still holding hands when they go on their early-morning walks.”
“Do you see them often?”
“Every month or two. My parents live near a town called Chesapeake—it’s about two hours away. My younger brother and his wife work with them running a gourmet food store. My parents come and stay with Bennett whenever Matthew and I travel, and we always visit them for a few days around Christmas, too.”
“But,” I prompt, because it’s obvious there is one.
“The life I live, it’s different.” She gestures around the room, the sweep of her hand taking in the twelve-foot ceilings and grand stone fireplace and exposed beams, as well as all the fancy store-bought items within it. “My brother and his wife own one old truck, and they’ve never traveled out of the country. Same with my parents. They work really hard, and they don’t have much to show for it.”
“Does that make you uncomfortable?” I’m asking the obvious, because her body language tells me it does.
She begins to answer, but before she can say more, simultaneous chimes sound on the Bishops’ phones. They both reflexively look down, then toward their front door.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Marissa asks her husband.
He shakes his head. He raises an eyebrow at me. “Is this something you set up?”
I didn’t engineer this unexpected interruption, though it is the type of thing I might have done.
“Maybe the Girl Scouts are working overtime tonight,” Matthew quips as he stands up and strides out of the room.
I look down at the name circled on my notepad. “What makes you think Natalie has a crush on Matthew?”
“Oh, it’s just a feeling.” Marissa frowns. “She calls to ask him for business advice sometimes, even though they’re in completely different fields. She’s a real estate agent. And she took him to lunch to thank him for writing a recommendation so her daughter could attend the same private school as Bennett—even though my name was on the recommendation, too. I see her sidle up to him at school functions and laugh too hard at his jokes.”
I don’t doubt Marissa’s assessment. Women generally have good intuition about these things. And I’ve now got enough clues to track Natalie down without having to ask for her contact information, which would signal my intentions to the Bishops.
If Marissa strayed because of the distance in her marriage, perhaps Matthew helped create that space by reveling in the attention of another woman.
Matthew seems to have come around to the idea of therapy quickly. Too quickly?
I tuck away the thought to ponder later.
Matthew still hasn’t returned. Marissa keeps looking in the direction of the front door, but it’s several rooms away, and her view is blocked. Her fingers begin to worry the tassel on a throw pillow.
“Natalie is trouble,” I tell Marissa in a low voice. “Don’t give Matthew the opportunity to be alone with her. I know he wants to repair things, but he’s vulnerable now.”
“Vulnerable? That’s not a word I’d ever use to describe Matthew.”