Adrian set the mug down too quickly and a small wave of coffee sloshed over the rim. “I can explain,” he said. That sentence was the first confession.
Nicole had learned years earlier that innocent people rarely begin with the words I can explain before anyone has accused them of anything. Innocent people usually say, What? or Who? or Oh, that belongs to so-and-so. The sentence Adrian chose came from a different category of mind, one already aware that there was something to manage. Nicole’s face did not change much, but inside her something dropped.
Isaiah pushed the sunglasses back up his nose and looked between them. “Can I keep the jacket?” Nicole’s eyes stayed on Adrian. “Where did he get it?”
Adrian opened his mouth, closed it, then looked toward Isaiah as if hoping the child might suddenly become less relevant. “It was in the back of the SUV. Tessa left some things after a client event.” “Tessa,” Nicole repeated.
The name meant something. Not much yet, but enough. Tessa Grant was a senior strategist at Adrian’s commercial development firm, one of the people Nicole had met briefly at a company holiday reception the year before. She remembered a poised Black woman in her mid-thirties with a bright laugh, a sharp bob, and a habit of touching people’s forearms when she spoke. Nicole remembered because Tessa had complimented her earrings and told her Adrian was “the only project director who doesn’t panic when clients change their minds after midnight.” It had sounded like office humor then.
Isaiah interrupted with perfect innocence. “She has the nice red nails.” Adrian’s face tightened. Nicole turned toward her son. “You know Tessa?”
Isaiah nodded. “She was in Daddy’s car before.” The silence that followed was not long, but it was long enough to contain several versions of the future. Adrian stepped away from the island. “Nicole, let’s not do this in front of him.”
She looked at him with a disbelief so clean it almost seemed calm. “You brought it in front of him.” Isaiah frowned. “Am I in trouble?”