“I’m sorry,” she finally says.
“I should have listened.”
“If you’d done something the moment you saw the missing bank statement, would it have made a difference with the credit card?”
I think back to what Citibank told me, about when the card had been opened. “No,” I tell her. “Maybe a few thousand dollars less, but not enough to change anything.” I exhale slowly. “I can’t stop thinking about the betrayal. The sense of powerlessness…it keeps me up at night, running through all the things I chose to ignore.”
Her voice is quiet. “It’s not your fault Scott’s a shitty person.”
“He’s going to get away with it.”
“Probably,” she says. “In my experience, men like Scott usually do.”
I think about how long she’s had to wait to hold Ron accountable. “Did you close on Ron’s house?”
“We did,” she says.
I feel the air rush out of me. All my work, the time I invested, hoping to see things from the inside. But I’d never been on the inside. Meg made sure of that.
And yet, if it were truly over, she wouldn’t still be here, answering her phone, going to yoga. I step sideways in my mind, trying to look beyond the Canyon Drive house, and ask myself, What would success look like for Meg? Perhaps the answer isn’t a house.
“Is Ron looking to buy something, or will he wait, now that the election is so close?”
“We’re working on a few different options,” she says.
“I’d be happy to help,” I say. “Whatever you need. I’m dying to take my mind off things, and paperwork sounds like the perfect distraction.”
Meg is quiet for a moment, as if she’s thinking. “Tell you what,” she says. “Let’s go for a hike. I need to get out of the house, and it sounds like you do too. Temescal Canyon in an hour?”
I feel a zap of energy, as if someone’s plugged me in again. “Meet you in the parking lot?”
“See you soon,” she says, and hangs up.
I stare at the notes from my calls with Renata and Celia, focusing on the purchase of Celia’s lake house. It’s clear that whatever happened with the sale of Canyon Drive, Ron was fine with it. Which means that Canyon Drive wasn’t her end point, but rather the starting point to something bigger.
Meg
October
Four Weeks before the Election
Temescal Canyon is close to where I live and a popular hiking spot for locals. The day is overcast, and because it’s a weekday, the parking lot is mostly empty. I lock my door and scan the surrounding cars, pulling the collar of my windbreaker against my neck. It’ll be good to feel the burn of a steep hill, to sweat out my nerves, which have been pulled so tight I feel as if they’re sitting on top of my skin. Everything depends on tomorrow, on my ability to sell Ron a vision of himself that exists only in his mind. If I can’t, there won’t be time for a plan B.
Kat’s car pulls in next to mine, and I wait while she pays her parking fee and slides the ticket onto her dash. Then we head through the lot and into the park.
“What happened to your car?” she asks.
I glance back at my bumper, still bent inward. “Some guy on Sunset. He was on his phone and plowed into me.”
Kat’s expression crinkles with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. That thing’s a tank. His car was pretty messed up though.”
Our feet crunch on the dirt path as a few hikers pass us in the opposite direction. My breathing opens up, my shoulders release, and I allow myself time to enjoy the fresh air. I wait until the trail narrows and starts to incline upward to bring up Scott. “How are you doing with everything?”