not know this about you?”
He scowled and nudged his shoulders upward slightly. He was hunched into himself, poised in defense against me and my barrage of questions that he did not want to answer. I stared at him, at his beloved face, with the angular nose and the upper lip that was so much slimmer than the lower one, and the pronounced groove between nose and lip that was one of my favorite places to kiss. Had Patrick found that groove, too?
“I can’t talk to you anymore,” I said, dropping my gaze while I opened my handbag, as if my keys would be anywhere besides their dedicated side pocket. “Do you have your laptop with you in the city?”
There was a beat before he answered. “No. But what does that—”
“Okay. Then I’ll get it for you. But then you need to go.”
“Sweetheart, no. I’m not going.”
“You have to.”
“Caro—”
“You have two choices. You can walk into the house when I open this door, knowing that I don’t want you here and I won’t speak to you, or you can turn around and drive your little rented car back to the city and leave me alone.”
He spun away from me and planted his hands on the porch railing, staring out at the rain.
Without looking at him again, I let myself into the house and retrieved his laptop, cord, and mouse from his office, then stuffed them into the black nylon case that hung in its usual spot on a peg behind the door. I detoured to the laundry room to pull a dry T-shirt from the stack of folding we’d left behind in our hurry to get to the city last weekend. At the last second, I grabbed his umbrella, too—navy, with the Yale crest on it. Don’t ask me why a grown-ass man still carried an umbrella with his college colors on it, because I’d asked Adam that pretty much every time I saw him with the stupid thing, and I’d never gotten a respectable answer.
I fully expected to find him in the living room when I returned, but he was still on the porch, staring at the sheet of water that pelted down beyond the shelter of the roof. Silently, I handed him his bag; he cradled it awkwardly in one bent arm.
“Okay. You’re all set.” When he didn’t move, I sighed. “Adam, I need you to go. That’s how this is right now.”
“But we have to try to fix this. Nothing will get better if you refuse to speak to me.”
“Nothing will get better if I don’t understand why this happened. I just asked you a couple of very important questions, and you couldn’t answer them. Anything we say to each other has to start with you answering those questions.”
He pressed his free hand to his eyes; tears seeped out from under his shaking fingers. “Please don’t do this, Caro. I love you too much.”
Adam was the only person who called me “Caro.” Everyone else preferred the simple, natural “Care” if they were going to truncate my name, but not Adam. Adam liked the unusual sound, the “awkward elegance” I believe he called it, of that final
o.
It was so typical of him, to prefer the thing that was special.
And Patrick Timothy was certainly very special.
“Stop acting like I’m being cruel to you,” I said. “This is all happening because of a decision
you
made. Please…I am begging you to leave me alone. I can’t stand to have you near me right now.”
He slid his hand down to his mouth and stared at me, eyes searching mine. Then he yanked his hand from his face, nodded once, and stalked across the porch and down the stairs. A minute later, I was watching the yellow car reverse way too quickly down the driveway, spitting gravel.
“Be careful!” I screamed. The highway down to New York is dangerous even on a clear, dry day; and I was so angry that I’d just sentenced my husband to drive it in tears, in a thunderstorm, in the growing dark. After listening to me spit out words as vicious as a whip to the face.
What in the name of god had he done to us?
6
•
Whenever we lay down together, you always told me, “Dear, do other people
He scowled and nudged his shoulders upward slightly. He was hunched into himself, poised in defense against me and my barrage of questions that he did not want to answer. I stared at him, at his beloved face, with the angular nose and the upper lip that was so much slimmer than the lower one, and the pronounced groove between nose and lip that was one of my favorite places to kiss. Had Patrick found that groove, too?
“I can’t talk to you anymore,” I said, dropping my gaze while I opened my handbag, as if my keys would be anywhere besides their dedicated side pocket. “Do you have your laptop with you in the city?”
There was a beat before he answered. “No. But what does that—”
“Okay. Then I’ll get it for you. But then you need to go.”
“Sweetheart, no. I’m not going.”
“You have to.”
“Caro—”
“You have two choices. You can walk into the house when I open this door, knowing that I don’t want you here and I won’t speak to you, or you can turn around and drive your little rented car back to the city and leave me alone.”
He spun away from me and planted his hands on the porch railing, staring out at the rain.
Without looking at him again, I let myself into the house and retrieved his laptop, cord, and mouse from his office, then stuffed them into the black nylon case that hung in its usual spot on a peg behind the door. I detoured to the laundry room to pull a dry T-shirt from the stack of folding we’d left behind in our hurry to get to the city last weekend. At the last second, I grabbed his umbrella, too—navy, with the Yale crest on it. Don’t ask me why a grown-ass man still carried an umbrella with his college colors on it, because I’d asked Adam that pretty much every time I saw him with the stupid thing, and I’d never gotten a respectable answer.
I fully expected to find him in the living room when I returned, but he was still on the porch, staring at the sheet of water that pelted down beyond the shelter of the roof. Silently, I handed him his bag; he cradled it awkwardly in one bent arm.
“Okay. You’re all set.” When he didn’t move, I sighed. “Adam, I need you to go. That’s how this is right now.”
“But we have to try to fix this. Nothing will get better if you refuse to speak to me.”
“Nothing will get better if I don’t understand why this happened. I just asked you a couple of very important questions, and you couldn’t answer them. Anything we say to each other has to start with you answering those questions.”
He pressed his free hand to his eyes; tears seeped out from under his shaking fingers. “Please don’t do this, Caro. I love you too much.”
Adam was the only person who called me “Caro.” Everyone else preferred the simple, natural “Care” if they were going to truncate my name, but not Adam. Adam liked the unusual sound, the “awkward elegance” I believe he called it, of that final
o.
It was so typical of him, to prefer the thing that was special.
And Patrick Timothy was certainly very special.
“Stop acting like I’m being cruel to you,” I said. “This is all happening because of a decision
you
made. Please…I am begging you to leave me alone. I can’t stand to have you near me right now.”
He slid his hand down to his mouth and stared at me, eyes searching mine. Then he yanked his hand from his face, nodded once, and stalked across the porch and down the stairs. A minute later, I was watching the yellow car reverse way too quickly down the driveway, spitting gravel.
“Be careful!” I screamed. The highway down to New York is dangerous even on a clear, dry day; and I was so angry that I’d just sentenced my husband to drive it in tears, in a thunderstorm, in the growing dark. After listening to me spit out words as vicious as a whip to the face.
What in the name of god had he done to us?
6
•
Whenever we lay down together, you always told me, “Dear, do other people
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