Then he picks up, sounding a bit out of breath.
“Hey, I’m glad I caught you.” I watch Chris’s car out of my rearview mirror as I speak. It still isn’t moving. “I know you’re at the office, but I was hoping we could chat.”
“I’m really crazed, Avery. Can this wait?”
“It won’t take long. It’s about something that came up last night.”
Matthew hesitates.
“I’m actually downtown already,” I fib. “How about we meet at Giovanni’s for a quick coffee?” I name Matthew’s regular take-out place, the restaurant where I saw Polly.
When he doesn’t immediately reply, I say firmly, “It’s important.”
Matthew gives a little laugh. “Okay, you caught me. I lied to Marissa; I’m not actually at work.”
You’ve got to be kidding me, I think.
“I’m at the Wharf. If you really need to talk now, come here.”
* * *
Typically, in the cases I take on, I act as a funnel for clients: their problems seem overwhelming and chaotic at first, but as we chip away at their situation, their issues distill into manageable entities.
With the Bishops, it’s the opposite.
For our seventh session, Exposure, I’m splitting the time between Marissa and Matthew.
The Wharf is set on the Potomac River, and in the summer it’s usually full of tourists and residents alike. There’s everything from restaurants to shops to a Ferris wheel. Today, some people are milling around, but it’s too early in the year for the crowds. The area Matthew directed me to is quiet; a dozen vessels ranging from catamarans to big sailboats line both sides of a long wooden pier. Most of the boats are winterized, covered up to protect them from the elements until warmer days arrive.
A few men are working on the edge of the dock, and another is tinkering with something on his sleek-looking cigarette boat. I stand at the spot Matthew directed me to—an outdoor bar called the Watering Hole, which is closed now—and see him waiting for me by the end of the pier, standing with his back to the Potomac. I walk toward him.
He looks boyish, with his wind-ruffled hair and wide, open smile. It’s as if a weight he has been carrying around is finally slipping off his back.
“Surprise!” he says, then does something that truly takes me off guard: he opens his arms and envelops me in a brief, hard hug.
When he releases me, he turns and gestures to the boat behind him. It’s beautiful, with its glossy wood detail against the gleaming-white fiberglass hull.
“You bought this?”
Matthew shakes his head. He can’t seem to stop grinning. “But it’s mine for the weekend. Tomorrow is our anniversary. Twelve years. Marissa thinks we’re going to some fancy restaurant. But I’m bringing her down here for a catered dinner and moonlight sail. Want to take a look?”
He motions for me to kick off my shoes and step aboard. “Picture a table for two right here, with poached lobster and champagne from the year we were married.” He gestures. “I’ve got a playlist on my phone, songs that mean something to us. Blankets in case it gets cold. And I’ve arranged for Bennett to spend the night with his friend Charlie. She’s going to love it, right?”
“I would imagine so.” But I’m beginning to wonder if this is what Marissa truly desires.
“Let me show you the rest.”
We climb down six steep, narrow steps into the cabin, where there’s a bedroom, bathroom, and living room. The spaces are tiny, but everything is beautifully appointed.
“Can I get you anything? Marissa loves these grapefruit seltzers, or there’s orange juice. I just stocked the fridge.”
“No, thanks.” I take a seat on the curved banquette.
Matthew sits opposite me. “So, I’m seeing you twice in two days. Last night was fun, right?”
I wouldn’t categorize the evening as fun exactly, but I nod.
“I’m glad you had a chance to meet Skip. He’s been an important part of our lives forever. He knows a lot about boats and he’s actually helping me arrange all this.” Matthew sweeps out his arm.
I think back to the yellow roses ordered through the anonymous Venmo account @Pier1234.
I need to tread carefully as I peel back the protective layers in Matthew’s mind, the ones that keep him from recognizing the truth about his good friend and his wife. Exposure is a delicate process.
“So you and Skip are close?”
Matthew shrugs. “Yeah, I mean he and Marissa are like brother and sister. Their parents have been friends forever. So I guess I inherited him.”
Matthew’s tone is affectionate. Does he truly not see that Skip is in love with his wife?
I don’t want to lead him to the conclusion I’ve already formed; it’ll be more powerful if Matthew recognizes it for himself.
I’ve been working with Marissa about acknowledging the ugly underbelly of the different situations and relationships she navigates. Matthew has been complicit in creating a beautiful but vacant picture of their life together. His anniversary dinner is the equivalent of a dieter buying a treadmill: A splashy statement that will do absolutely no good unless the gesture turns into a routine.
What I’m about to learn is whether Matthew is ready for some fundamental changes. “I can tell Skip really cares about Marissa.”
The tiniest off note is in my tone, but it’s up to Matthew to choose whether he wants to hear it.
He nods and begins to speak. Then he cuts himself off and turns to face me. “You sound like there’s something else you want to say.” His buoyancy is vanishing; the smile has dropped from his face.
I can’t bring up the supposed pregnancy or the soup because then Matthew will know I’ve talked to Marissa or Skip.
But I don’t have to because Matthew didn’t really think there was something else I wanted to say. He meant there was something he wanted to talk about.
I let the silence stretch out until he breaks it.
“Okay, here’s the truth about Skip.”
I hear a creaking sound, as if the boat is rubbing against a piling, but I don’t take my eyes off Matthew.
“Last night, after you guys left, he texted that he’d brought Marissa some soup. At first I thought, that’s nice. You know, good old Skip, always looking out for his friends.”
Baby waves rock the boat, making a gentle slapping sound each time they hit. In the distance, what sounds like a Jet Ski cruises by, the roar of the motor swelling and then fading. Matthew’s gaze grows unfocused; it’s almost as if he were talking to himself now.
“I didn’t get the soup off the porch right away. We’d already eaten and Marissa was feeling better. I went out there when Marissa was putting Bennett to bed.”
As I picture Matthew treading onto his front porch in the darkness and spotting the carrier with Gabe’s logo, I hear something. It sounds as if it’s coming from the deck where Matthew plans to serve his romantic dinner.
A footstep? I glance up, toward the mouth of the stairs, but don’t see anyone. Sound travels over water, I remind myself. Maybe the noise is coming from farther away. Still, I shift my body to have a clear view of the stairs. Matthew is so lost in the memory of last night that he doesn’t even seem to notice.