Chapter 4 - JULIAN DEREK MERCER
At noon, my mother called.
“Elena, why is Julian telling everyone you had some kind of breakdown?”
Of course.
Narrative first.
Evidence second.
“I’m fine.”
“He says you're refusing to speak to him.”
“I am.”
“He says you misunderstood a joke.”
“The rag?”
Silence.
“He told you?”
“He said he tossed a towel at you.”
“He threw a grease-soaked cleaning rag into my face and threatened to withhold lunch unless I cleaned his mother’s kitchen.”
My mother stopped breathing.
Then:
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
“You're my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And right now your daughter needs you to stay home until Dad and I get there.”
That surprised her.
But she listened.
Growth traveled both directions.
Before we left Rachel’s office, her investigator called.
“I found something strange.”
That sentence would become exhausting over the next several months.
Julian’s legal name had once been Julian Derek Mercer.
He dropped Derek from ordinary use after college.
That explained the Derek reference in an early wedding vendor document and why one old credit record had not matched.
But there was more.
Under Derek Mercer, he had been involved in a civil lawsuit eight years earlier.
Plaintiff:
Amanda Ruiz.
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of lawsuit?”
“Conversion of funds.”
“Meaning?”
“He allegedly took money that belonged to her.”
“Who was she?”
Pause.
“His wife.”
Everything inside me went still.
“No.”
Rachel looked at the investigator.
“He told Elena he had never been married.”
“I have the marriage record.”
I sat.
Fourteen hours.
That was how long it took for the future I thought I had to become almost entirely fictional.
Amanda and Julian married when he was twenty-five.
Divorced thirteen months later.
The case file was partly sealed because they settled.
But the marriage itself was public.
I asked:
“Where is she?”
“Phoenix.”
“Can we contact her?”
Rachel nodded.
“If she agrees.”
At 5:12 p.m., Amanda Ruiz called me.
Her first question was not:
Who are you?
It was:
“How long have you been married?”
I swallowed.
“Fourteen hours when I left.”
Silence.
Then she whispered:
“Good.”
I felt tears rise.
She continued.
May you like
“I stayed eleven months too long.”
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