Today Is a Good Day to File for Divorce

Chapter 3: The First Lie

On Wednesday morning, I went to Larkspur House.

The inn stood above Greyhaven's east harbor, a gray-shingled place with a wraparound porch and windows that caught the ocean light. Before Wren bought it, the building had been a boardinghouse for shipyard workers. She had painted the front door a deep green and hung brass lanterns on either side.

Caleb had helped her choose the color. He'd come home that night with a smear of green paint on his wrist and told me Wren had finally found a place that felt like hers.

I had been glad for her. I remembered that clearly. I had even helped her choose the curtains for the upstairs rooms.

Now I parked by the side entrance, where a temporary sign warned guests to use the front steps. I heard a contractor running a saw inside.

Wren came out of the office as I walked into the lobby. Her blonde hair was pinned up with a pencil, and she wore a paint-marked sweater.

"Nora." Her eyes went to the folder in my hands. "I thought Caleb was handling this."

"Caleb doesn't handle the company account alone."

"I know that now."

"Did you know he was using client deposits?"

She glanced toward the workers. "Can we talk in the office?"

"I'd rather talk where I can hear the answer."

Her mouth tightened. "He said it was a short-term business loan."

"Did he say both owners approved it?"

She lowered her voice. "He said you understood."

I felt the old reflex: find the sentence that makes the other person comfortable, offer it up, and pretend I didn't need anything.

Instead I said, "I didn't."

Wren studied me. "I'm sorry."

"Did you sign a loan agreement?"

"He sent me a note. Not a real agreement. He said he'd send the paperwork later."

"Do you have it?"

"I'll have to look."

"Please do."

"I'm not trying to hurt your business."

"But you took its money."

"I didn't take anything. Caleb transferred it."

The distinction was technically true and emotionally empty. I recognized it because I'd used it before, when I said I hadn't asked my parents to pay for Owen's truck even though I'd watched them hand him the keys.

"Do you know how much he sent?"

"I thought it was around fifty thousand."

"It was $124,400."

Wren sat down. "That can't be right."

"I have the statements."

She stared at the folder, then at me. "Caleb told me the last transfer was coming from a line of credit."

"Did he say whose line?"

"No."

I watched the color drain from her cheeks. She reached for her phone, then stopped.

"Call him," I said.

"I should speak to him first."

"You should."

She called. I stayed where I was.

"Caleb, I'm with Nora," she said. "She says the money came from client deposits."

I couldn't hear his response, only Wren's side.

"No, that's not what you told me."

A pause.

"You told me it was a bridge from the company."

Another pause.

"Were you authorized?"

She looked at me.

I shook my head.

Wren closed her eyes for a beat. "I'm not asking Nora to cover anything else."

She ended the call.

"What did he say?" I asked.

"He said he thought the company could take the exposure."

"That isn't the same as saying he was authorized."

"I know." She rubbed the space between her brows. "I thought he had your approval."

"Why?"

"He said you were on board."

"I wasn't."

"I believe you."

It was almost a relief to hear someone say it. Almost.

"Can you repay the money?"

"I don't know. The bank's holding the loan because of the lien. Once I clear that, the new money should come through."

"Did you get the money from the first transfers?"

She nodded. "Most of it went to the roof and the boiler. Some went to the contractor."

"The contractor who walked off?"

"He left when I couldn't pay the rest."

"How much are you short?"

"Forty-two thousand, not counting the bank's fees."

I looked around at the exposed plaster and the buckets set under a ceiling stain. The inn was not just a business in trouble. It was a building that could swallow every dollar put into it.

Wren had bought it because she'd wanted a place of her own, one that wasn't a continuation of her father's fishing business or Caleb's plans. She had put everything she had into it. That did not make the money ours to give her.

"I need every message you have with Caleb about the transfers," I said.

"I can send them."

"Please don't delete anything."

Her eyes lifted to mine. "Do you think he—"

"I don't know what I think. I know what I need to verify."

She nodded.

On the drive back, I called the company's bank and asked them to disable Caleb's online access until I could speak to our business attorney. The woman on the phone said she couldn't remove an owner from a jointly controlled account without both signatures.

I thanked her and called our attorney instead.

I didn't tell Caleb.

That evening, Wren sent me the texts.

Caleb: Don't worry about Nora. I've got her on this.

Wren: You're sure she's agreed?

Caleb: She trusts me to handle it.

Wren: I don't want to damage what you've built.

Caleb: You won't.

I read the messages twice. In the first one, he had spoken for me. In the second, he had answered a question he had no right to answer.

That was a lie.

Maybe it was the only lie. Maybe it was a lie he had told himself until it became convenient. I didn't know yet.

I saved screenshots and forwarded them to the attorney.

Then I sat at the kitchen counter, alone in the house we had chosen together, and tried not to make a single lie into a prediction of every lie that might follow.