She knows I didn’t, obviously, since the officer found me at the house.
“Not technically,” I say. “But he stayed away most nights.”
“Where?”
“He didn’t tell me.” I look at Red. “I assumed with you.” Red shakes his head, and a spark of anger rises in me. “Well, there you go. Another reason I was right to file.”
Red and the detective exchange glances, and I exhale, frustrated and angry. Angry with Mel for killing himself. Angry with myself for feeling like it’s my fault. And angry with the woman I am almost certain he’d been fucking behind my back, but he’d been too ball-less to admit as much even when it was clear the marriage was over.
“Another reason?” The detective was looking at me, compassion in her eyes. “Was your husband having an affair?”
“Yes. No.” I shake my head. “The truth is, I don’t know. But I think so. He has a friend—well, a new friend—who owns a hotel. And for about the last six months he’d stay there overnight sometimes. He’d text and tell me he’d drunk too much and that his friend comped him a room.”
“A hotel?” Red asks. “Which friend?”
“Just a guy he met in some CrossFit group. I don’t remember his name. But if it’s important, I can find out. I remember that this guy needed some corporate legal work done, and Mel referred him to one of the partners. I’m a legal assistant,” I add, though the detective probably already knows that.
“Did he end up working with your firm?”
“I don’t know. I work on the litigation side. Is it important?” I can’t imagine why it would be.
“Probably not,” she says, confirming my thoughts. “We’ll let you know if we need to pursue that. But I don’t think we will. I am sorry, Mrs. Swift. Dealing with suicide is hard enough without the invasive questions.”
“No, it’s okay. I want answers, too.”
“Was this the guy he was talking with about the supply contract?” Red asks.
“I don’t know. He never mentioned a supply contract to me. Which doesn’t mean anything. It’s been a minute since he talked to me about important stuff. But to be honest, I don’t think he was negotiating anything. I think—” I cut myself off. “Never mind.”
“Ms. Swift. Please.”
I don’t want to talk about it, but I know I have to. “I think that was bullshit to cover the affair, okay? He told me that if I didn’t want him at home, he’d stay in a room at the hotel, but he wasn’t going to tell me where. He said if I couldn’t stand not knowing where he was or what he was doing, then I must not really want a divorce, and I couldn’t have it both ways. He didn’t say so, but I assume he’d been using the room as a place to take his lover. Now, I don’t know. Maybe there was no hotel at all, and he was just going to her place.”
I swallow. “And the truth is, he was right. I didn’t care.”
Red puts a hand on my shoulder, and I draw a breath, letting his strength and compassion calm me. What I want is to scoot closer so I can put my head on his shoulder and cry, knowing he’ll comfort me. But I can’t do that now, not while this detective is asking her questions. And I shouldn’t do it later. Because with Red, there’s the danger of compassion turning to something more.
Or, more honestly, the danger is that I’d want it to.
I shift, subtly dislodging his touch.
The detective is watching me. “You seem to care now.”
I nod. “It was … frustrating … that he wouldn’t agree to the divorce. That he kept blowing off signing the papers. And it pissed me off that he was stalling while he was sleeping with someone else. Who does that?”
I hate that my anger is so close to the surface, especially now with my emotions all confused and tangled. Anger, sadness, confusion, betrayal. I don’t know what to think or feel. And apparently I’m just going to feel everything, and all at the same time, and hope I don’t sound like this is all about me. Because no matter how angry he made me, Mel is dead, and he didn’t deserve that.
I draw a breath, trying to rein in my emotions. “The bottom line is that we’d drifted apart, Detective. Couples do. But—but I still love him, just not like that. And I don’t understand why he’d—”
I can’t talk anymore through the tears clogging my throat. I wipe my eyes and my nose. Whatever dam I’d put up to hold back the waterworks has broken, and I bend over sobbing, my shoulders shaking as Red gently rubs my back.
“It’s possible he saw this lover as an escape route,” Detective Amaro says. “If she wasn’t interested in more than that, he may have felt disconnected. Unrooted. Depending on his mental state, that could have led him to believe he had no other option. I’ve seen this before.”
I nod; what she says makes sense, even if I hate every word of it. After a moment, I run my hand under my nose. “Wasn’t Jessn here? He would have been on shift, right?” I look to Red.
He shakes his head. “Mel told him to go home.”
“But— I—” I close my mouth, unsure what I even want to say. “This is surreal.”
“You’re doing fine,” Red says, squeezing my hand.
“Were there other things that made you believe he was having an affair?”
I swallow, feeling the walls closing in around me. Was this never going to end? “I—yes. Little things. But Detective, I already feel shitty enough that he killed himself. And I—it’s just that if he killed himself because he was upset about the divorce or his mistress blowing him off, there’s nothing I can do but feel horrible about that. And nothing personal, but right now, I just want to go home and cry. It’s not like we can ever really know why he did it, so haven’t I told you enough?”
“Unless you think this wasn’t a suicide,” Red adds, “in which case, Ms. Swift has the right to counsel before you question her.”
I gape at him. Does he actually think the cops believe I had something to do with Mel’s death?
“As I told your brother, we see nothing to suggest it wasn’t suicide. But we do like the fullest picture possible in our report.”
I draw in a breath and gird myself to dive into our emotional baggage. Red’s hand on my arm stops me.
“She’s told you plenty, and you can always ask more later. Right now, she needs time to grieve.”
For a moment, the detective says nothing. Then she inclines her head. “Of course.” Her eyes are warm and her expression genuine when she meets my eyes. “I truly am sorry.”
And with that, she heads out the door, leaving Red and me alone in Mel’s office.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I say. I manage a smile that is probably more like a grimace. “You should have been a lawyer instead of a distiller.”
His gaze never wavers as he meets my eyes and says, “There are a lot of should haves in my life.”
I swallow and look at the floor, unable to shake the feeling that he’s talking about me. Worse, unable to avoid the horrible, guilty truth that I want him to be.
“I—Red, listen. I’m so glad you’re here, and that I don’t have to go through this alone. It was the three of us for so long. But—well, do you mind? I just need to be alone for a bit.”