35

FINALLY IN SAVANNAH, I agonized over the sleeping arrangements in our adjoining rooms as Stephen scanned the keycard. He and I had been able to dance around any awkwardness at dinner, and it was clear Maggie enjoyed reminiscing about Granby, emotional as that was.

But the last thing I wanted was to share Stephen’s bed—even his room.

“Thanks again for dinner, you guys.” Maggie headed for the door standing open between our rooms.

“Actually, honey,” Stephen said, “if you don’t mind, I’ve got a lengthy brief I need to review tonight. So I thought you and your mom might share this room and have a little slumber party.”

Maggie smiled. “That sounds like fun, but I’m pretty beat. I didn’t go to sleep until late last night. Mind if we do the slumber party tomorrow night, Mom?”

I pasted on my best fake-hurt face. “Oh, come on, babe. It’ll be fun. I promise not to keep you up too late. And I know how much you love room service. Whatever you want, it’s on Dad!”

Maggie looked away, her expression sheepish. “Okay, busted!” She wrinkled her nose. “I kind of have a date tonight. An online date. It was going to be in person before . . . Granby.” She held up a hand. “We’ve only been going out a month or so, but now I’ve got about five minutes until we’re supposed to talk.”

I didn’t know which bothered me more—that she hadn’t told me about this guy or that I had to spend the night with my soon-to-be-ex-husband.

“A date,” Stephen said in a fatherly tone. “And just when are we going to meet this young man?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “That is exactly why I didn’t tell you guys. I mean, it’s nothing. Not yet, anyway. And it may never be anything. Too soon to tell. He’s a sophomore, and he’s from Atlanta.”

“A Southern boy,” I teased as a blush crept into her cheeks.

“He’s really nice.”

“And does this nice boy have a name?” Stephen asked.

“Eric.”

“Eric what?”

“Oh, no, you don’t. You’ll be googling him as soon as I leave the room.”

Stephen pulled out his phone, smiling. “I’ll do it now, if you prefer.”

“Dad!”

“But you do like him,” I said, feeling the warmth of her happiness even as I heard the tick of the bomb about to go off in her life.

“I do. A lot.” She looked positively lit from within, the way I remembered feeling when I first fell for Stephen.

I kissed her forehead, wishing I could turn back the clock. “Tell you what, come back in here when you’re finished, and I’ll have crème brûlée and decaf cappuccinos waiting. How does that sound?”

“Delicious!” She reciprocated with a kiss to my cheek. “But Eric and I are going to watch a movie together, so why don’t you share that with Dad? Then tomorrow night, we’ll order something chocolatey!”

She kissed Stephen, then waved as she closed the adjoining door to her room, the click of the latch taking any last hope of this plan with her.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

“I can sleep on the sofa, Claire,” Stephen whispered.

“And what if she walks in in the morning and finds you there?”

“Well, we can just lock the door. But it wouldn’t be the first time she’s found me sleeping on a sofa, would it?”

“And all those times were my fault, I guess.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” I sighed. “We should have gone with my plan.”

He grabbed his carry-on and headed for the bathroom. “You two staying with Bev and Michael while I needed to stay in a hotel to work on a brief? Right. That sounds legit.”

He closed the door before I could respond.

I massaged my temples, my head beginning to ache.

I heard the shower and figured it would be a while. But scarcely five minutes later, he walked out wearing pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. I wondered how recently Susan had seen him like that. He’d sworn he wasn’t seeing her anymore, and I wanted to believe him. But . . .

I grabbed my own bag and disappeared into the bathroom. When I saw his toiletries lined up neatly on the right side of the double sinks—his side—emotion welled inside me. I turned the water on and pressed my fingertips to my eyes, determined not to cry. But this trip, being together as a family, was far more difficult than I’d imagined.

I showered, washed and dried my hair, and spent as much time in the bathroom as I could, hoping he’d be asleep when I came out. He wasn’t. He was lying on the sofa, which was a good foot shorter than he was. Well, he should have thought about that before he decided to— Stop thinking about them!

Eager to end this day, I plugged my phone charger into the receptacle on the nightstand and set my alarm. The muffled sound of Maggie’s sweet laughter drifted through the closed doors and cut right through me.

“Sounds like she likes him,” Stephen said quietly.

I turned off my lamp and got into bed, leaving only the soft glow of the floor lamp by the sofa. Hoping he’d turn off the light soon, I got my wish.

As soon as I closed my eyes, I was back in Colorado, at Life Springs Cemetery, where the sun hovered low over the western peaks and cast a yellow-orange glow across the neat rows of gravestones. In my mind, I breathed in the sweet smell of freshly mown grass. I saw Bryan’s grave, yet I knew the little train book I’d left more than two months ago was long gone. I bet the little squirrel who’d eaten the waffle fry was still there. Did he romp and play and run up and down the trees beside Bryan’s grave? I hoped so. I reached deep for a memory of my son that I hadn’t already relived a million times over, but there were none. So I dwelled on the endless blue of his eyes, the way his little nose scrunched when he giggled, and the softness of his chubby cheek against mine.

I opened my eyes, wishing I were alone so I could turn on the light again and read my Bible. Or maybe Charlotte’s journal. Anything to distract me from the grief that always seemed to await me at the end of the day and at the torn, frayed edges of my life.

“I hate having to pretend like this with her,” Stephen said softly.

I clenched my jaw, tempted to lash out, to blame. But instead, I whispered, “Me too,” and prayed he would say no more. I turned away from him and hugged the pillow close to my face.

“You’re good at it though—”

“Stephen!” I sat up. “I do not want to talk about this right now. In fact, I don’t want to talk at all. Especially not with you.”

My heart pounded and my chest constricted until I could scarcely breathe. Was this what a heart attack felt like?

“I’m sorry, Claire.” His gentle voice floated toward me in the darkness, and a heavy weariness descended. “But would you please just let me finish?”

Tears squeezed from my eyes. Wishing I were anywhere else, I let the silence answer for me.

“I was saying you’re good at pretending, but only because I’ve given you so much opportunity for practice. And for that I apologize with all my heart.”

So many responses came to mind. None of them kind. None of them what our former counselor would have labeled “productive for healing.”

“Did you hear me?” he finally asked.

“I did.”

“And?”

“And you can’t just keep apologizing, Stephen. It doesn’t work that way.”

“But I want you to know that I am truly sorry.”

“Okay. You’re sorry. And I forgive you as much as I’m capable of doing right now, but you can’t just apologize and expect me to pick up the pieces of our marriage. You gave yourself to another woman. And I’m not just talking about sex with her in your car. You took what was mine”—my voice broke, but if I didn’t get this out I would implode—“that part of you that you promised to share only with me, and you gave it away. And every time I look at you, I see you with her. In your car, in a park, on the phone—wherever you did what you did. And it makes me ill. So please, stop with the apologies. And stop pretending we can ever have a life together again. We need to tell Maggie the truth, then move forward with a divorce. Then get on with our lives, whatever that’s going to mean.”

I waited, the silence crowding in. I finally lay back down. “Did you hear me?”

Only darkness. And a shaky breath across the room. “I did.”