Mom, when is Dad going to live with us again?” Emily asked. “Yeah, Mom. When?” Hancock echoed from the top bunk.
Chelsea flipped the switch on Emily’s new night-light.
“Oh, we’ll have to talk about that. Later.”
Chelsea had known this conversation was coming. But she had to have it with Sawyer first.
CAN YOU MEET ME AT THE CAFÉ?
Chelsea sent the text before she could talk herself out of it. Sawyer’s response was almost immediate.
I’LL BE THERE IN HALF AN HOUR. IF U CAN PROVE THIS ISN’T HANCOCK. :)
Chelsea didn’t know if she was ready to face Sawyer with the final verdict on their trial separation, but she was certainly well researched. Be calm. Be direct. Be rehearsed. She recited the tips to herself as she typed her response.
THANKS. SEE YOU THEN.
So far she was sticking with the script.
Chelsea saw the evening playing out as follows: Bo would come over and keep an eye on the kids while Chelsea and Sawyer had their talk. (She wanted to get out of the café in case things got heated.) She would lay out all of Sawyer’s problems; he would get defensive. She would offer her solution; he would hopefully give his consent. End marriage. End scene.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else, Bo?”
Chelsea placed a glass of water on the table next to Bo, who was settling into the mahogany leather recliner in her living room.
“No, no. I’ve got a good book to read.” He spread a heavy black Bible on his lap. The print was so large Chelsea could have read it from across the room. Still, he pulled a pair of thick reading glasses from the pocket of his shirt.
“Well, you’re a saint. Thank you so much for coming,” she said. “I hate to leave the kids alone late at night. I love all the traffic we’ve been getting these days, but you never know who’ll be coming through your door.”
“That’s wise. I’m just happy to be a good neighbor.”
Chelsea’s phone dinged, and her heart started beating double time. “All right, looks like my ride’s here. I’ll be back by curfew.”
“Take your time,” Bo said with a smile. “Bet you and your husband have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Oh, I really shouldn’t be long,” Chelsea said, hoping it was true.
Chelsea and Sawyer walked side by side beneath a canopy of stars, but the two were light-years apart. Chelsea had suggested a sidewalk stroll through the neighborhood.
Sawyer agreed. “Great way to start the evening.”
And a great way to end it, Chelsea said to herself.
“Did you know they think there are more than a septillion stars? That’s a one with twenty-four zeros behind it.” Sawyer’s neck was craned toward the heavens as he recounted his findings from the planetarium. “I can’t even wrap my mind around it.”
Calm. Direct. Rehearsed.
“Sawyer . . .” Chelsea stopped beneath a streetlamp and drew a deep breath. “I want a divorce.”
Sawyer stopped and exhaled, his large frame shrinking before Chelsea’s eyes. “Chelsea . . . please . . .” he sputtered in a pained whisper.
His reaction took her off guard.
“I, uh . . .” She struggled to remember the next line in her script. “I have every reason, Sawyer. You put us all at risk. You lied, cheated, lost our money, and acted with utter disregard for your family. You were supposed to be the one protecting us. And I can’t think of anyone who has done us more harm.”
Chelsea was breathless by the time she finished her speech. She paused, bracing herself for Sawyer’s usual sidestepping and deflecting.
“You’re right,” he said.
“What?”
Sawyer looked his wife square in the eye. “You’re right. You said all the things I should have said. It’s not easy to hear. But it’s a fraction of what you lived through.”
Sawyer’s admission disarmed her. She hardly recognized this version of her husband.
“Chelsea, I can’t take back the things I’ve done, and it’s time I start owning my actions. Believe me, if that blog of yours had a delete button for regrets, I’d use it in a heartbeat.”
“You and me both,” Chelsea said. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be in the upgrade.”
Sawyer tried to smile, but his sadness wouldn’t permit it. His lower lip pressed against his upper. His voice choked as he said, “You’re a good person, Chelsea. And mom . . . and wife.”
“Sawyer . . .”
“I know, I know. But it’s true. I had all the ingredients of a great life, and I blew it. Why? Why did I do that?”
Chelsea had given up trying to answer that question months ago.
“Could we . . . is there any chance we could try again?” Sawyer said, taking a seat on a nearby bench. Chelsea eased herself down next to him.
Her silence was her answer.
Sawyer lifted his eyes to the stars. “I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask God.”
“Don’t we all?”