FORTY-TWO

“AFTER you and I split, Clare, I thought I’d feel free, unburdened.”

“That’s certainly the way you acted, relieved to be rid of us.”

“That’s not true! I always loved you and Joy, and I never stopped. It was the obligation of being a husband and parent—all those expectations put on me—that I was relieved to be free of.”

“Matt, that’s what it means to be in a relationship! You have to be willing to compromise. Accept expectations from people who love you—”

“Stop. I know that now. Listen. Will you just listen? It didn’t take long before I realized what I’d done. I no longer had you and Joy to come home to. Whenever I came back from my sourcing trips, I started to feel lost. And, well, lonely. The kind of lonely that no amount of partying or traveling can fix . . .”

He glanced at me. “I tried, many times, to rekindle what you felt for me, but—” He looked away. “It was ruined. I ruined it. And I’ve been living with that regret ever since.”

My ex-husband’s quiet words were moving. I knew he was sincere, but he wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. In many ways, Matteo Allegro was a good man. He just wasn’t the kind of man who should be married. That was why I was shocked to hear he’d tried it again, and I told him so.

“Like I said, Clare, I wanted someone to come back to, a place to hang my Akubra. You made it clear that you wanted to move on. And when I met Bree, she and I worked as a couple. For a while, anyway.”

“Were you unfaithful to her? Like you were with me?”

“She agreed to an open marriage.”

“I see. And how did that work exactly?”

“We had an understanding. My . . . uh . . . extracurricular activities could only take place outside of the country—and never close to anyone she knew. As long as I was back in New York when she needed me as an escort to parties or formal functions or whatever, she was happy. The way she put it to me was that she’d reached an age where having a spouse was an asset in her social and professional circles. It looked good for her stability and squelched unwanted gossip.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

“You were a trophy husband!”

“You know, Clare, that is incredibly insulting, and I’d argue the point, but—” He shrugged. “I guess I was.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to insult you.”

“I know you’re not. In all honesty, I did complete Bree’s checklist: good in bed; expert travel companion; dressed up nice for parties; cool profession—even if it didn’t earn me the kind of bank the top dogs here throw around. That fact never did sit well with her.”

“So you served a purpose for each other.”

“We did.”

“Then what went wrong?”

“We had fun. And then we didn’t.”

“Deep.”

Matt smirked. “Are you mocking me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s more like the old you than the older you—if you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“And?” He gave me a sidelong look. “Are you feeling any differently toward me?”

“Yes. I admit I am. But only because of your honesty. You really have matured, Matt. I can see that. Unfortunately, I still feel like I belong in New Jersey, that Joy is waiting for me to cook her dinner, and I’m behind schedule on writing my column.”

“Your column? Oh, you mean the In the Kitchen with Clare thing?”

“That’s right.”

“You actually haven’t written that in years. And the paper you wrote for went out of business.”

Great. I glanced out the window, but there was nothing to distract me from my own anxious feelings of disappointment and displacement. Not in this dismal darkness.

“Should I find another oldies station?” I asked.

“No need.”

After making one last turn, Matt slowed the van.

The tree line was so dense here that I couldn’t see beyond it. Finally, a narrow gap appeared between two thick trunks. Matt hit the brakes, and steered us into that dark gap.

“Is this it?” I asked. “Are we there?”

He answered me with an enigmatic smile. “Almost.”