"Marcus—"
"Don't say my name like that," he said. He stood with his back to the wedding photographs, as if seeing them would make him weaker or meaner, and he could not afford either. "Answer the question."
Mei sat on the edge of the upholstered bed. The dusty-rose knit top pulled slightly at the shoulder. Her gold earrings trembled when she swallowed. She looked at her hands — slim, neat, a thin gold band matching his — and then at the white shirt on the chair as if it might speak for her and spare her the labor of truth.
"Two weeks ago," she said. "Friday. You were in Chicago for the client meeting. He came over after work. He changed before a dinner downtown. He left the shirt and the tie. I meant to… I meant to put them in a bag. I forgot."
Marcus laughed once. It was not laughter. "You forgot a man's clothes in our closet. In the closet Nora plays hide-and-seek in. In the closet she raided tonight like a costume shop."
"I know."
"You know." He paced to the window and back, tall athletic frame cutting through the gold light, short wave-cut catching it at the edges. "Who."
Mei closed her eyes. "Daniel. From marketing. Daniel Cho."