Chapter 6 - Miles Saw Margaret Arrive
Miles closed his shop at six.
I was waiting outside.
He saw me through the glass and sighed.
“That fast?”
“Yes.”
He unlocked the door again.
I stayed standing.
“Margaret came to Room Three Thursday night.”
His face changed.
So he knew.
“You saw her.”
“Yes.”
“You neglected that yesterday.”
“You asked what Nathan planned.”
“I asked what happened.”
“You weren't ready.”
I laughed softly.
“Don't do that.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
“What time?”
“Around eight.”
“Were you there?”
“In the garage.”
Miles had been helping Nathan load two restored chairs into his truck.
Not getaway furniture.
Nathan had promised to deliver them to a client.
Margaret arrived.
No warning.
“How did she know he was there?”
“She followed him once before.”
“Did Nathan know?”
“Yes.”
“Then why keep using Room Three?”
“He refused to surrender it because she found it.”
That sounded exactly like him.
“What happened?”
Miles stayed downstairs at first.
He heard voices through the floor.
Not words.
Then Nathan came down.
Angry.
Margaret followed.
“What did he say?”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
Miles thought.
“He said, ‘She told Rachel.’”
“Told me what?”
“That he planned to leave the company.”
I frowned.
“I didn't know.”
“Exactly.”
“Then he realized she hadn't.”
“Yes.”
The argument was layered.
Margaret thought Nathan's apartment plan was reckless.
Nathan thought Margaret had told me about it.
She hadn't.
Rachel had separately confided that she might need space.
Margaret stood in the middle holding both secrets.
“What happened when she told him I might leave?”
Miles looked uncomfortable.
“I wasn't upstairs.”
“You heard after.”
“Nathan told me some.”
“What?”
“That you were taking Lily.”
“No.”
“I know that now.”
“But that's what he thought.”
“For a few minutes.”
My chest tightened.
“What did Margaret say exactly?”
“I wasn't there.”
“Did Nathan repeat it?”
Miles looked at the floor.
“He said, ‘Mom says Rachel's already making plans.’”
Already making plans.
That wasn't what I said.
“What did Nathan do?”
“Lost his temper.”
“With Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“Physical?”
“No.”
“Threats?”
“No.”
“He told her to get out.”
She did.
“What time?”
“Maybe eight-thirty.”
“Nathan died after ten.”
“Yes.”
The distance between argument and crash widened.
Important.
“Did he leave immediately?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“How long?”
“Close to an hour.”
“What was he doing?”
“Sanding a drawer.”
I almost laughed.
“Seriously?”
“He got angry. He worked.”
Nathan used to reorganize the garage after arguments.
Of course.
“Did he calm down?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Miles leaned against the counter.
“That something was wrong.”
“With what?”
“Margaret's story.”
My pulse changed.
“Why?”
“He knew you.”
I looked away.
Miles continued:
“He said you might leave him. He believed that part.”
It hurt.
“He didn't believe you'd take Lily and disappear without telling him.”
“I wouldn't.”
“I know.”
“He started asking whether Margaret had heard a possibility and turned it into a decision.”
My throat tightened.
“What did you tell him?”
“To ask you.”
“Finally.”
Miles almost smiled.
“I'd been telling him that for months.”
“Did he call?”
“I don't know.”
I did.
There had been one missed call.
9:14 p.m.
Nathan.
I had been giving Lily a bath.
I saw it.
Did not answer because I was still angry.
He didn't call again.
I had spent five years telling myself it probably wasn't important.
Now my phone memory felt physical.
“What happened when he left?”
Miles said:
“He took his wedding ring off the workbench.”
I froze.
“What?”
Margaret had told me Nathan had stopped wearing it that week.
I had seen his bare hand two days before the crash.
He said the ring pinched when he worked.
I didn't believe him.
Miles continued:
“He put it on.”
My eyes burned.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why remember?”
“Because I made fun of him.”
I almost laughed.
“What did you say?”
“That if he was going home to save his marriage, maybe he should stop leaving the symbol of it next to a belt sander.”
Nathan called him an idiot.
Put the ring on.
Left.
No grand declaration.
No final message.
Just a man driving home after finally deciding he needed to ask his wife what she wanted.
He never arrived.
“Was he upset when he left?”
Miles thought.
“Yes.”
“Angry?”
“Some.”
“Distracted?”
“Probably.”
“Did Margaret cause the crash?”
His expression sharpened.
“No.”
“You don't know.”
“Neither do you.”
I stared.
Good.
He continued:
“Don't turn an argument into a murder because you need the night to have a shape.”
I hated him for ten seconds.
Then hated myself because he was right.
Nathan died on wet pavement after a long day and a terrible week.
Maybe the argument mattered.
Maybe my missed call mattered.
Maybe neither belonged in the physics of the crash.
“What did he say before leaving?”
Miles looked toward the dark shop windows.
“He said, ‘If Rachel says she wants out, I need to hear it from Rachel.’”
My throat closed.
“And then?”
“He left.”
I looked at the tools hanging behind Miles.
“What did Margaret do after the funeral?”
His face changed again.
“What?”
“You know something.”
He looked away.
“Miles.”
“She came to Room Three.”
“When?”
“Two days after the funeral.”
“Why?”
“She said she was collecting Nathan's things.”
“Did you let her?”
“I wasn't in charge of the property.”
“It was hers.”
“Yes.”
“What did she take?”
“I don't know everything.”
“What did you see?”
He took a long time.
“Boxes.”
My stomach tightened.
May you like
“What boxes?”
“The ones with your name.”
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