06

Has he played chase with his son ?

Did he sing lullabies to him until he fell asleep ?

With a wretched sigh, I eventually forced the torturous thoughts out of my head.

It was hard to remain objective and detached from the situation when doubt racked every conscious second I counted down to the moment I could finally confront Brandon and demand the truth.

I dropped off the children with their respective parents early in the afternoon and during the drive back to the condo, I sat in the back of the car in distracted silence, so much that Gilles, who normally didn’t say more than a handful of words in an entire day, asked awkwardly if I was okay.

I smiled faintly as I reassured him that I was indeed okay, wondering how long it would be before my despondency gave away my inner turmoil.

I couldn’t afford for people to ask questions because I didn’t have ready answers of my own yet.

Maybe you shouldn’t just wait around for them then. Find them until you get to the truth.

“Gilles ?” I asked my chauffeur. “Could you drive to Maxfield Towers and park close to where we would see my husband’s car leave the building ?”

Gilles’s normally stoic expression turned puzzled as his eyes met mine on the rearview mirror. “You mean…”

I steeled myself. “I mean, park somewhere near Maxfield Towers where we’ll be able to see Brandon’s town car leave the building so we can follow it. It’s Monday. He should be working his regular hours.”

I could tell the man wasn’t thrilled about the idea of tailing his employer.

I wasn’t either.

I hated any kind of deviousness but for the first time in my life, I had a lot to lose and I couldn’t act hastily.

It was like knowing that getting in front of a speeding car would be a sure way to die—or get seriously hurt—but crossing the street anyway in the hope that you’ll make it to the other side without a scratch.

“With all due respect, Mrs. Maxfield,” the man started slowly, using the formal address I was still battling him to do away with. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I need to know I can trust him, Gilles,” I said quietly, swallowing the lump in my throat.

The man was quiet for a long moment that at first I thought he hadn’t heard me at all.

“Trust is no trust at all if you require conditions,” he said with a deep sigh that no more startled me than his words did.

Tears stung my eyes as I turned away to stare out the car window.

If I don’t protect my heart, I’d have none of it left to have and give. If I trusted with no reservations, I would’ve been shredded to pieces by my parents alone a long time ago.

Ten minutes later, Gilles parked by a spot along the sidewalk of a row of shops from across the east section of Maxfield Towers.

It was about mid-afternoon and if Brandon followed his normal schedule, he should be out of the office in an hour.

Gilles and I sat in silence as we waited even as the hour passed and there was still no sign of Brandon’s town car.

I was starting to feel ridiculous and was about to tell Gilles to maybe turn around and head back to the condo when my phone sounded off with a text message.

[I have some urgent work stuff to do. Will miss dinner and might be home late. Don’t wait up for me.]

I stared at the screen for a moment, my heart twisting painfully.

So I didn’t even get a call now ? Just a mere text message. One day, I might stop getting any kind of courtesy notice altogether.

I was in the middle of typing up a reply when another line popped up in the message thread.

[I’m sorry. Will make it up to u. Date next weekend. Love u.]

I deleted the first few words of my scathing reply and typed a quick OK instead.

If you’re lying to me like I dread you are, there will be no weekend date. There might not even be a marriage any longer.

A sharp pain stabbed through me at that thought.

How much could I accept ? How much could I forgive ? Will we be ever the same ?

I shook my head as if it would physically rid my mind of the voices that were swarming me from every direction.

“Gilles, we probably should go—”

“I see him,” Gilles said at the same time and my heart slammed inside my chest as I glanced up and across the street.

I recognized the car immediately. It wasn’t his town car but his sports car instead—the one he drove around on his own when he didn’t need Freddy about.

So, Brandon was working out of the office today.

“Tail it, Gilles,” I said in a stony voice I hardly recognized as my own.

When the chauffeur hesitated with a glance at me, I scowled. “I said tail it. If you won’t, I’ll grab a cab and go on my own.”

Without another second of delay, Gilles revved the engine to life and pulled out into traffic.

We followed at a discreet distance, maybe a two or three car lengths, alternating lanes after a few blocks. If I weren’t so nervous, I would’ve asked Gilles whether he’d been some kind of clandestine operations agent or something similar before. It would certainly explain the non-expression expression he always wore.

Not before long, we were getting into Southie (or South Boston). It was a vibrant area—full of history and character being among America’s oldest neighborhoods.

Looking around the street name signs, I realized in dismay that we were near the address stated in that card from Nicole.

‘The first apartment you got for me. You know the way.’ That was what she said.

My stomach clenched like I ate something very bad.

We approached a block of charming, tightly huddled townhouses and saw that Brandon’s car had pulled up in front of a tall but narrow brownstone townhouse.

Gilles parked discreetly at the end of the block behind an old station wagon, on the other side of the street the townhouse was at.

From where I sat, I could see most of the front steps and the sidewalk right along it.

I didn’t want to see anything that would confirm my worst suspicions but I couldn’t tear my eyes away either.