His Brother's Ex, His Unborn Child

Chapter 16

ELENA

The second envelope was sent to me again at the gallery. Everything looked the same from the print to the midtown postmark.

Petra brought it in with the morning mail and I took it without comment. She waited until she went to check on the Finnish installation before I opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

No photograph this time. It was just a text. Printed, plain and no letterhead.

I know what happened at the lakehouse.

That was all.

I read it three times.

It was not a random attack and someone knows something.

I thought about the anniversary trip. About Liam suggesting it — somewhere quiet, just the two of us, I borrowed the property from a colleague. About the drive up, his hand on mine.

About the wine and the way it had tasted slightly wrong and the world tilting at the edges before the men stepped out of the trees.

I pressed my hand flat against my stomach and reminded myself that I'm pregnant with our baby.

I closed my eyes and all I can see was Liam's face.

He was the one who planned that trip.

Then I opened my eyes and looked at the wall. I asked myself if I was overthinking this. And why was I quick to put the blame on him? It is possible that he told someone about the trip and where we would be staying in the middle of a conversation because Liam loves to talk.

But who would try to hurt me? I have no enemies.

**

I went through the rest of the day trying not to think about the letter.

I met with the Finnish photographer's representative about the installation timeline. I had lunch at my desk. I took two calls and answered three emails and reviewed a contract for an upcoming acquisition.

At three o'clock, Petra knocked.

"Mrs. Carter, your husband is downstairs."

I looked up.

"Send him up," I said.

Liam came through my office door with a smile.

"I was in the neighborhood," he said. "Thought I'd take you to dinner."

He had never once in four years of marriage come to the gallery to take me to dinner.

"That's kind," I said. "I have about twenty minutes of work left. Is that okay?"

"Of course. I will wait. No rush."

"Thanks. Sit down."

He sat in the chair across from my desk. He looked at the installation through the glass partition, the Finnish photographs, the abandoned mill and the winter light.

"These are new," he said.

"Just went up last week."

"They're dark."

"They're honest," I said.

He looked at me. Something moved in his expression then he smiled.

I know about art more than he does. He only sees the surface.

"How are you feeling?" he said. "You look tired."

"I'm fine."

"You should be resting more. Dr. Harmon said—"

"I have my own doctor, Liam."

He looked at me.

"I know," he said. "I just worry."

"I know you do," I said.

I finished what I was working on and saved the file. I closed my laptop and picked up my bag.

I looked at him for a moment.

"Ready?" he said.

"Yes."

We went to the place on 57th he liked.

The maître d' knew his name. The table was good. It was on a corner with the right light.

This place takes reservations. In Liam's case, it's his name and face.

Liam ordered for both of us. He had done it many times and knew I wouldn't object.

I watched him across the table.

He talked about Carter Group and the deal that was close to closing. About Nicholas being difficult about something with grievance rather than feeling it. He also talked about his mother calling twice that week about the nursery.

I listened. I asked the right questions. I ate what he had ordered and drank the water.

"You're quiet," he said.

"I'm listening," I said.

He smiled. "You always say that."

"It's always true."

"I'm sorry I'm talking a lot. How was your day at the gallery?"

I swallowed once. I am not mentioning the envelopes I've been receiving.

"There's not a lot going on at the gallery. Mostly paperworks. Boring stuff."

"That means you get to rest then?"

I nodded. "I try not to stress myself and put my feet up when I have time. But you know how my mind works."

"Yes and you tend to overthink sometimes."

He reached across the table and covered my hand with his.

"I want you to know," he said, "that whatever happens with the pregnancy, with everything — I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

I looked at his hand over mine.

"I know," I said.

He squeezed my hand once but I did not squeeze back.

He didn't notice.

**

At home that night, I waited until Liam was asleep.

Then I got up quietly and went to the kitchen and sat at the counter in the dark and took the folded paper out of my bag.

I read it one more time then folded it again.

I thought about who was sending these. Two envelopes now. Someone who had been inside Liam's world long enough to know things.

Someone who had decided I needed to know them and was giving them to me in pieces, at a pace I could absorb.

Someone who was angry.

Someone who had reasons.

Could it be that the person sending them to me was the one who tried to cause me harm?

And that same person was trying to pin it on my husband to ruin us?

Because if that was the case, that person is winning.

I put the paper back in my bag.

I went to the bedroom doorway and stood for a moment. I looked at Liam sleeping and felt the guilt.

Then I went back to the kitchen and sat in the dark for awhile.

When I had enough, I went back to bed and lay very still beside my husband feeling more lost than before.