Then I walked into the rain and drove home with steady hands.
PART 6
Harper came home after midnight.
I heard her before I saw her: heels striking the hardwood, purse hitting the kitchen counter, a cabinet door slamming too hard. Then silence. Then the sound of her crying in a way that was meant to be heard.
I stayed in the workshop.
Ten minutes later, she appeared in the doorway wearing the red satin dress, damp at the hem from the rain. Her makeup had run beneath her eyes. She looked younger and older at the same time.
“We need to talk,” she said.
I set down my sanding block.
“All right.”
She stepped inside but did not sit. Harper never sat in the workshop anymore. It was my place, which meant she entered it like an intruder pretending to be a guest.
“Did you sabotage the launch?”
“No.”
She laughed bitterly. “That was too fast.”
“Would you prefer a longer lie?”
Her face crumpled.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I’m answering your question.”
“You know what I mean.”
I leaned against the workbench.
“For months, you’ve lied to me in this house. You flew to Maui with Everett on a ticket I paid for. You told me my seat was forgotten. Then you let your mother look me in the eye and treat me like an inconvenience.”
Harper’s lips parted.
“There it is,” I said. “Finally.”
“Nathan—”
“Don’t.”
She swallowed.
“Everett and I were complicated.”
“No. Wood grain is complicated. Marriage taxes are complicated. What you did was simple.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You meant to go.”
She looked down.
That was the first honest thing she had done all year.
“I was unhappy,” she whispered.
“So was I.”
“You never said.”
“Neither did you. You just bought him my ticket.”
She covered her face. “I was going to tell you after the wedding.”
“Which wedding? Madison’s? Yours and Everett’s?”
Her hands dropped.
“That’s cruel.”
“Accurate often feels that way.”
She began pacing, the satin dress catching on sawdust near the floor.
“You don’t understand what it was like. You were always so steady. So quiet. So content with small things. Everett made me feel seen.”
I looked around the workshop.
The shelves I had built. The chairs in progress. The tools arranged by shape and purpose.
“I built you an entire life.”
“You built furniture, Nathan.”
The words came out before she could stop them.
Then she froze.
There it was.
The truth beneath every polished apology.
I nodded slowly.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For finally saying it plainly.”
She cried harder then. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did.”
She stepped toward me. “I’ll end it with him.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I will. I swear.”
“You’ll end it because his launch failed. Because his money is shaky. Because people are laughing. Not because you suddenly remembered you had a husband.”
She had no answer.
I opened the drawer of my workbench and took out a manila envelope.
Divorce papers.
Already signed.
Harper stared at them like they were a weapon.
“You planned this.”
“You planned Maui.”
Her fingers trembled as she picked up the papers.
“Is this why you did it? To punish me?”
“I’m divorcing you because you betrayed me. Whatever happened tonight belongs to Everett’s business.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“You did do it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
I thought about lying.
Then decided she had earned one honest answer.
“Yes.”
She stepped back as if she no longer recognized me.
Good.
I barely recognized myself.
Three days later, Everett came to my house.
He didn’t knock. Men like Everett believed doors were suggestions.
I was in the workshop finishing a walnut bench when the side door opened and he walked in wearing a camel coat, wet hair, and a face full of rage.
“You ruined me,” he said.
I kept sanding.
“You’re trespassing.”
He ignored that. “Lowcountry Form Works. Cute name. Clean papers. Dead phone lines. Empty office. You think I can’t connect this to you?”
“I think you shouldn’t enter another man’s property uninvited.”
He stepped closer.
