The Second Tuesday: A Second Chance at Marriage

For the last year of their marriage, Lena had learned Alexander mostly by absence. So when she woke with his hand resting on her waist, she knew something was wrong before she opened her eyes. 6:17. October 7. Tuesday. The second Tuesday of October. Lena stopped breathing. “No.” Behind her, Alexander stirred. “Lena?” She sat up too fast. His hand slipped from her waist. He blinked at her, still half asleep. No gray at his temples yet. No weeks in the guest room behind them. No careful distance in his face. Her eyes dropped to her left hand. Her wedding ring was still there. “Are you okay?” Lena checked the date again. October 7. Same year. Same Tuesday. The day everything started. Not ended. That came later. This was the day her mother told her not to come to the office. The day Lena went anyway. The day a reporter shouted Ridgemont at her before she understood why. Her phone rang. MOTHER. Her stomach turned. Alexander was fully awake now. “Answer it.” She did. “Mom.” “Where are you?” Same words. Same voice. “At home.” “Stay there.” Her fingers went cold. Last time, she had already been pulling on trousers. She remembered holding the phone between her shoulder and ear, irritated by her mother’s panic. She remembered saying, I’m coming. She remembered believing showing up was the responsible thing. “What happened?” “There are people at the office.” “What people?” “Don’t do this over the phone.” Lena pressed her feet to the floor. Her hands were shaking. “Is Dad there?” “Yes.” “Is he okay?” “He’s fine.” Fine meant nothing in her family. “Has he spoken to a lawyer?” A pause. “Of course.” “His own lawyer?” Another pause. Lena closed her eyes. Alexander sat up beside her. “What is this?” her mother asked. “Who’s representing him?” “Graham.” Of course. Company counsel. Family counsel. Her father’s counsel, whenever nobody wanted to ask whose interests came first. Lena’s body was still in panic. Her mind had already started making rows. Names. Documents. Lawyers. Dates. Things she could sort. Things that might hold still. “Get him someone separate.” Her mother went quiet. “What?” “Someone who represents Dad. Not Bellamy.” “Your father is not calling a stranger because you woke up frightened.” “I’m not—” Her voice caught. Lena stopped. Alexander looked at her. She hated that he had heard it. Her mother’s voice softened. “What do you know?” Too much. Not enough. “I’ll call you back.” She ended the call. Alexander got out of bed. “What happened?” “Something at Bellamy.” “I gathered that.” She opened her email. RIDGEMONT. Hundreds of results. Her pulse kicked. Alexander came closer. “Lena.” She searched her own name. Old board correspondence. Charity events. Archived invitations. Nothing useful yet. She knew what she was looking for. A signature. A room. Her father saying there were only two ways forward. Twenty-three-year-old Lena asking whether that was really true. Then signing anyway. “Talk to me.” Alexander stood close enough that she could feel his body heat. Not touching. He used to do that when she was upset. Come near. Wait. She had forgotten. “Ridgemont,” she said. His expression changed. “What about it?” “How much do you know?” “Enough to know Bellamy shut down a major operation there.” “That’s not what I asked.” “You just woke up shaking and now you’re cross-examining me.” “I’m not cross-examining you.” “You’re doing a decent impression.” Lena looked away. Her phone buzzed. Her father. Do not come to the office. Call me after nine. Exactly the same. Her chest tightened. Then Victor. Heard there’s trouble. Don’t panic. Call me before you do anything. Lena stared at the name. Victor Hale. Family dinners. Warm hands on her shoulders. A stupid stuffed bear after she broke her wrist at sixteen. Victor telling her much later that he had only ever tried to protect Bellamy. Victor’s name in an access log she found months too late. Alexander glanced at the screen. “Victor?” “Yes.” “How does he already know?” Lena looked at him. Last time, she had not asked that. The phone rang. Her father. She answered. “Dad.” “Where are you?” “Home.” “Stay there.” “What are they looking for?” A pause. “Old restructuring records.” “Ridgemont?” Silence. Alexander turned toward her. Her father said, “Who told you that?” “No one.” “Lena.” “What exactly did they request?” “Records.” “What kind?” “Stop.” His voice changed. Not louder. Final. “You don’t know enough to involve yourself in this.” The sentence reached backward through twelve years. At twenty-three, she had believed him. Maybe because it was easier. “Then send me what I signed.” “What?” “Anything with my name on it. Ridgemont. Restructuring. Board approval. Whatever there is.” Her father said nothing. That frightened her more than anger. “Why?” Because later you told me I was part of it. Because I spent months saying I didn’t know. Because I didn’t know enough and still signed my name. “I want to see it.” “This is not the time to panic.” Lena stared at her trembling hand. “No,” she said. “I think this is exactly the time.” “Lena—” “I’m getting my own lawyer.” That stopped him. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. “Who told you to do that?” No one. That seemed to be the part nobody understood. “No one did.” She ended the call. The room went quiet. Lena opened her closet. Pulled out one blouse. Put it back. Reached for another and missed the hanger. It fell. Alexander picked it up. She took it from him too quickly. “Thanks.” “You’re shaking.” “I know.” “What happened before I woke up?” Her hand stopped on the first button. Nothing. Everything. “I need a lawyer.” “That’s not what I asked.” “I know.” He watched her for a moment. Then let it go. By the time she picked up her bag, her hands were steadier. Not because she felt better. Because now she had something to do. Her phone lit again. Victor. Lena? Call me. She turned the screen face down. Alexander noticed. “You’re not calling him?” “No.” “Why?” Lena met his eyes. “Because last time I did.”