Satisfied, I piled the paperwork and pushed it off to the side. Then, another thought occurred to me. Did I have access to our accounts if Greg was only missing and not confirmed to be dead or alive? I went back to the “Inheritance” file and spread all the statements out on the desk. After about an hour of studying, I figured out that sometime in 2001, after the death of his mother, Greg inherited a little over a half-million dollars. He had put the money, untouched, in a joint account that I never knew we had. But Greg’s mother had been broke. He had told me she was broke.
He had grown up poor and had paid for his own education. While in college, he’d received very little help from his mother. Poverty had singlehandedly driven him to achieve, molded the person he became. To receive a large inheritance after her death would have been a slap in the face. Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t he talk to me, both for the financial aspect and the emotional impact it must have had?
He never spoke about his mother and said very little about his childhood. The fact that my name was on the account surprised me. But then somehow… it didn’t. Putting my name there was very much him. He would have wanted me to be taken care of, and sharing everything with his wife was natural for him. But I suppose not the fact that the account existed, or how he felt about it. Like many other things, Greg was a wonderful on-paper husband and father, but he reserved a large piece of himself for himself only, as if he thought being a husband and father meant the act of being a husband and a father, not necessarily the emotional commitment that went with it. Greg the Provider.
I couldn’t reconcile the Greg I thought I knew with the Greg who would abandon his family. Either way, I was pretty sure that if my name was on the account, then that money was also mine. I put my hand on my head to stop the room from spinning.
Suddenly, I felt rich.
Chapter 16
We are going to a Sunday picnic for a birthday party for Hannah’s friend, Annie, who is turning four. We occasionally socialize with Annie’s parents, Steve and Melinda, but Steve and Greg have very different personalities, so we aren’t that close. I spend the morning making potato salad for the picnic.
When we get there, Greg is quiet, sullen. I ask him what’s wrong, and he says nothing. We go through that several times. There is something, I know, but I also know he will not tell me. He never does, and I leave it alone, then it passes. There are only two other couples there. They know each other, but we don’t know them. Melinda introduces them as friends of theirs from church—their names leave my memory as soon as she says them; it’s a fatal social flaw of mine. One of the couples has a baby. I stop to admire the baby and make small talk. Greg stands behind me, withdrawn. The husband tries to chat, but Greg is short with him and somewhat rude.
We walk away after a while, and I snap, “If you’re going to be rude to people, we can leave.”
He shrugs. “Okay, then, let’s leave.” He seems serious.
“Greg, we can’t leave. We just got here. This is Annie’s birthday party, and she’s Hannah’s best friend.”
“Then why did you say we can leave?”
“Because I thought you would say no.” I falter then, unsure if this argument is my fault. I see Hannah and Annie playing on the swing set and Leah walking unsteadily around the playground mulch to get to the baby slide. I keep one eye on Leah and turn to gaze at Greg. His jaw is working, his teeth clenched. He won’t return my look.
“Greg, look at me,” I say softly.
He turns, but says nothing.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“You don’t let me be me.” He folds his arms across his chest, and we stand facing off. “I’m always not good enough, somehow not enough. I had a headache this morning, but I’m not talking, or making potato salad, or doing what you think I should be doing, so it’s constantly, ‘What’s wrong?’”
“But you didn’t tell me you had a headache,” I protest, sure that it would have been a different morning. Pretty sure.
“It wouldn’t matter,” he says, looking away. “When I do tell you, you roll your eyes.”
“Do you really want to leave?” I ask, meaning it for a moment.
He shakes his head, laughs, and walks away. I walk to the playground area to tend to the girls. A mother with a toddler is there. We chat, laugh, and introduce our kids. I forget about the argument, about Greg.
A while later, the picnic has picked up, and Melinda’s yard is filled with people. I search the crowd, find Steve, and give him a small wave. Hannah spills juice on her dress, so I head to the kitchen to retrieve a paper towel. To my surprise, Greg is there. He and Melinda are sitting together at the kitchen island, their knees touching. Each has a glass of wine. They are looking at pictures in an album. Greg is laughing in a way he has not laughed with me in a long time, his head bent close to hers. I stop short, and they look up, startled.