Chapter 5: The Woman Who Knew Before Me
The next morning, I met Rochelle at a diner halfway between her house and mine.
She arrived carrying a notebook, two coffees, and the expression she wore whenever she had decided to solve a problem whether the problem wanted solving or not.
“You look terrible,” she said, sliding into the booth.
“Good morning to you too.””
“I'm serious, Dee. Have you slept?””
“A little.””
“How little?””
“Enough to know I'm tired.””
She pushed one of the coffees toward me.
“Drink.””
I did.
For several minutes, we sat without discussing Jermaine. We talked about Rochelle's daughter, the broken washing machine in her basement, and the ridiculous price of groceries.
It was a small kindness, that ordinary conversation.
For nineteen years, Tameka had been the person I called when I needed someone to remind me that life continued beyond whatever was hurting me. Rochelle had always been the practical one, the cousin who could turn a crisis into a list of tasks.
Now I needed both kinds of support, and I was grateful that one of them had not betrayed me.
Finally, Rochelle opened her notebook.
“Tell me exactly what the messages said.””
I read them aloud.
She listened carefully, then asked me to show her the screenshots. She studied the wording and the timestamps.
“Whoever this is knows about the fifth line,” she said.
“And knows Jermaine thought I wouldn't look.””
“Or wants you to believe that.””
I frowned.
“You think it's fake?””
“I think we don't know who sent it. That's the point.””
She tapped the notebook.
“Don't let somebody anonymous tell you what to believe. They may be helping you. They may be trying to use you. We need facts.””
I hated how sensible she sounded.
I also knew she was right.
We reviewed the timeline from the beginning. The second marriage had taken place six years earlier. The fifth line had been activated twenty-two months ago. The warning messages had arrived after I began examining the records.
Those were separate events.
We could not assume they were all connected simply because they had become connected in my mind.
“What if the phone belongs to someone else?”” I asked.
“Then we find that out.””
“What if the messages are from Tameka?””
“Then we find that out too.””
“What if they're from Jermaine?””
Rochelle held my gaze.
“Then he has more explaining to do than I thought.””
I looked down at my coffee.
“Do you think he ever loved me?””
She did not rush to answer.
“I think people can love somebody and still treat them terribly. Love doesn't make their choices disappear.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
“I know.””
She reached across the table.
“I can't tell you what was inside his heart, Dee. Neither can you. What we can look at is what he did.
He made promises to you, made promises to her, and kept you from knowing the truth. Whatever he felt, he decided you didn't deserve an honest choice.””
My eyes burned.
I looked out the window until the tears subsided.
That was the injury I had struggled to name. Jermaine had not merely chosen another woman. He had chosen for me.
He had decided I would stay in a marriage without knowing the terms of it. He had allowed me to spend money, time, and love on a future he had already divided between two households.
He had taken away my ability to make an informed decision about my own life.
“I want my choices back,” I whispered.
Rochelle squeezed my hand.
“Then that's where we start.””
We finished breakfast and went to a copy shop, where I printed the statements and the relevant messages. I made one set for myself and another to take to the attorney.
I did not print every page of every bill. I selected the records that showed the account structure, the fifth line's activation date, and the calls associated with the number ending in 4418.
I kept the original electronic files intact.
At noon, the attorney called me back and confirmed our appointment for the following afternoon. She asked me to avoid making any major decisions about the house, shared accounts, or property until we had discussed the legal implications.
I agreed.
Then I did something I had been afraid to do.
I called Tameka.
She answered on the first ring.
“Dee?””
“I'm asking you questions. You're going to answer them.””
“Okay.””
“Do you know who owns the fifth phone?””
Silence.
“Tameka.””
“I know whose account it's on.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
She exhaled shakily.
“I don't know who physically has it right now.””
“Right now?””
Another silence.
I closed my eyes.
“You know more than you're telling me.””
“Yes.””
The admission hurt more than I expected.
“How long have you known about it?””
“I found out about the phone a little over a year ago.””
“Who told you?””
“Jermaine.””
I pressed my fingertips against my forehead.
“What did he tell you?””
“That it was a business line.””
“Did you believe him?””
“At first.””
“And afterward?””
She began to cry.
“Dee, I don't know what to believe anymore.””
“You knew about the phone before I did. You knew about the marriage for six years. You sat in my house and let me tell you everything about my life while you knew you were hiding yours.””
“I know.””
“No, I don't think you do.””
She tried to speak, but I continued.
“You watched me pay your phone bill. You let me help you buy furniture for the apartment where you were living with my husband. You came to my house for Thanksgiving. You hugged me when I talked about how distant Jermaine had become.””
My voice trembled.
“Did you ever feel ashamed?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
“Every day.””
“Then why didn't you stop?””
She made a sound I had never heard from her before, a broken, desperate noise that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest.
“Because I was selfish.””
I waited.
She continued.
“I loved him. I told myself you and Jermaine had problems you weren't telling me about. I told myself he was going to leave. I told myself that if I waited long enough, everything would become honest somehow.””
“And when did you realize it wouldn't?””
“I don't know.””
“Six years is a long time not to know.””
“I know.””
I stared at the wall.
There was a time when Tameka could have told me anything. She could have confessed to something embarrassing, something painful, something that would have changed how I saw her. I might have been angry, but I would have listened.
She had robbed me of the chance to choose how to respond.
“Why did you come to my house yesterday?”” I asked.
“Because I wanted to tell you about the phone.””
“Why didn't you tell me at your apartment?””
“Because Jermaine was there.””
“He was sitting on your sofa. You were both wearing the consequences of your choices, and you still couldn't tell me the truth.””
“I was scared.””
“So was I.””
She fell silent.
I let the silence remain.
Finally, she said, “The number ending in 4418 belongs to somebody who was involved with Jermaine's business.””
“What business?””
“The work he started doing outside his regular job.””
I knew Jermaine had been taking on side projects. He had mentioned consulting for small contractors and helping people prepare bids. He said the extra income would help us pay down the mortgage.
I had encouraged him.
I had even covered some household expenses when he claimed his clients were slow to pay.
“What does that have to do with the fifth phone?””
“I don't know everything.””
“Tell me what you know.””
“He said he needed a separate line for clients. He told me it was easier than using his personal phone.””
“Did he ask you to put it on my account?””
“No.””
“Did he tell you whose line it was?””
“He said he was handling it.””
I thought about the message warning me not to look.
“Does he know someone has been contacting me?””
“I don't know.””
“Has he told you to keep anything from me?””
Tameka hesitated.
“Yes.””
My stomach tightened.
“What?””
“He told me not to discuss the business with you. He said it would only confuse things.””
“Did you agree?””
“Yes.””
The word came out so softly I almost missed it.
I stood from the booth and walked toward the window.
I had called to get answers. Instead, I was finding new reasons to doubt every answer I received.
“Did you send the anonymous messages?””
“No.””
“Are you certain?””
“Yes.””
I wanted to believe her.
I wanted to believe that the person who had betrayed me in one enormous way had not also begun threatening me in another.
But I could no longer confuse familiarity with trust.
“I'm going to ask you one last question.””
“Okay.””
“Did you ever know about a woman named Denise?””
Tameka stopped crying.
The silence was immediate and absolute.
I turned away from the window.
“Tameka?””
“Who told you that name?””
“No one.””
“You just said—”
“I asked you a question.””
She was breathing quickly.
“I don't know what you're talking about.””
“You answered before I told you anything.””
“I have to go.””
“No, you don't.””
“Dee, please. I can't do this right now.””
“You've had six years to do it.””
She hung up.
I stood with the phone against my ear long after the call ended.
Denise.
I had chosen the name at random—or what I believed was random. It was a name I had seen in a stack of old paperwork on Jermaine's desk years ago. I remembered asking who it belonged to, and he had said it was someone connected to a job.
I had forgotten about it until I reviewed the records the previous night.
Tameka had not forgotten.
I called Rochelle and told her what had happened.
“Don't call her again today,” she said.
“Write down exactly what she said while you still remember it.””
I did.
Then I searched my home office for the old paperwork. I found a folder of business documents, receipts, and handwritten notes that Jermaine had asked me to keep because he was always losing track of things.
At the bottom was a folded sheet with a name and a telephone number.
Denise Walker.
The number was not the one ending in 4418.
But beside her name, in Jermaine's handwriting, were four words.
*Ask Tameka before calling.*
I sat down.
The note had no date, and I could not tell why he had written it. It could have been a business reminder. It could have referred to an ordinary matter.
But Tameka's reaction had changed the meaning of the paper.
For six years, I had believed the secret was a second marriage.
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Now I was beginning to understand that the marriage might be only one part of a much larger story.
And the name Denise Walker was the first thing I had found that connected Jermaine's private life to the fifth phone.
