Part 6: The Email

Mrs. Alvarez forwarded the message to Priya and me. It appeared to come from an address that resembled mine, but one letter was missing from the domain. The signature used my full name and my old title at the community foundation. I had left that job two years earlier.

I felt a cold wave of anger. “I didn't send it.”

Priya examined the headers and advised me not to speculate publicly about who had. She asked Mrs. Alvarez to preserve the original message and any replies. The board's attorney could determine what further steps were appropriate.

Julian came for his scheduled visit the next morning. He settled Nora against his shoulder while I showed him the email on my laptop.

“Did you send this?” I asked.

He read it twice. “No.”

“Did someone at your company?”

“I don't know.”

The answer was not enough, but it was more useful than a performance of outrage. I asked him to preserve the relevant records and tell the board what he learned. He said he would contact his company's legal counsel that afternoon.

“Don't contact Celia about it,” I added. “She's a witness to the trip, not someone for us to pressure.”

He looked startled. “I wasn't going to.”

“Good.”

While he changed Nora, he asked where the clean cloths were. I pointed to the drawer. For a moment the absurdity of our situation pressed in on me: a man who had helped design buildings full of complicated equipment was learning the layout of a diaper station while an attorney examined a message that used his wife's name without permission.

Two days later Julian's counsel told the board that an employee had created the address. The employee said she had misunderstood a conversation about securing my endorsement and had drafted the message herself. She acknowledged sending it without asking me. The company provided the board with the relevant records and offered to withdraw its proposal during the review.

Mrs. Alvarez called me before the next meeting. “We have the information we need,” she said. “Please don't feel responsible for fixing this for us.”

“I do feel responsible for introducing Julian.”

“You made an introduction in good faith. We are responsible for what we sign.”

I stood by the window after the call. Across the street a father was negotiating with a child over a red raincoat. The child wanted to carry it instead of wearing it. The father finally handed it over and held out his umbrella. Neither had won exactly, but they continued down the pavement together.

Julian arrived for his next visit with a folder. He had written down the twins' feeding times and the questions he wanted to ask their doctor. On top was a short letter addressed to the Harbor House board, accepting responsibility for the false claim that I had approved the proposal.

“I can't speak for the employee's decision,” he said. “I can speak for mine.”

The letter did not excuse him. It did not blame me for refusing to defend him. It also did not ask the board to keep his company in consideration.

I handed it back. “Send it yourself.”

He nodded. Then he looked toward the bassinets. “May I take them for a walk in the courtyard?”

The question should not have felt remarkable. After weeks of watching other people decide what I would endure, I was grateful he had asked.