CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Barb

John was going to Rose Hill. There was room for him, and the facility took every kind of insurance and made up the rest of the cost, thanks to its endowment.

He wanted a divorce. Now, after all these years, when he needed me more than ever, he was divorcing me. I wasn’t sure I could go through with it, but . . . well, my eyes teared up every time I thought of it.

That thing men say when they’re cheating . . . that their wives don’t understand them. The real problem is, we do. And I did. John had said divorce to give me the last thing I wanted from him. When he’d taken my hand and said the words, something happened. He knew we’d failed at marriage, and he was letting me go.

Closure. They say you can never really have it, but here it was.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to file the papers, but my attorney had said we should discuss it. Financial reasons, that kind of thing.

Even if we did get divorced, I’d still look after him, of course. I wasn’t the kind of person who’d turn her back on a sick man after fifty years, no matter what he’d done.

We visited Rose Hill, and John hadn’t wanted to leave. It was a beautiful facility, and when I saw LeVon, I started to cry.

“I’m so glad he’s coming here,” LeVon said, hugging me. “I’ll get to see you all the time.” Gosh, what a comfort that was!

Janet was there, too, since she visited her brother four or five times a week. John’s face lit up when he saw her, and I had to shake my head. Leave it to that old dog to find another woman, even in his current state.

But I was grateful. I didn’t have someone else, of course, and I didn’t even know if I would ever want that. But for the first time in decades, I felt like my husband had really seen me and understood me.

LeVon had suggested easing John into life at Rose Hill, so one night, just before Memorial Day weekend and the big town anniversary, I drove John up there and got him settled, then left. It was harder than I expected, coming back to my quiet, lovely house.

I went out on the patio and thought maybe I’d call the girls, but then decided against it. Juliet had her own family, and I’d just seen her two nights ago at her place. Besides, this is what the future would look like. Quiet and peaceful, maybe a little bit lonely. But beautiful, too, out here on the patio, a glass of wine in my hand.

“You home?” came Caro’s voice.

“On the patio,” I called.

“I brought wine.”

“I already have some, but grab yourself a glass, hon.”

She came out a minute later and sat next to me. “How are you? Did it go all right at Rose Hill?”

“Oh, sure. He seems to like it there a lot.”

“But how are you, Barb?”

I smiled, feeling tears prick my eyes just a little bit. “Doing good. How about you? I feel like we haven’t talked about you in ages.”

She sighed and settled back. “Ted and I are done for good now.”

“Is that right? What happened?”

She shrugged. “Is it callous of me to say I don’t know and don’t care enough to analyze it? We didn’t have anything to say to each other these past few years, and I thought, why am I bothering? It’s not like we’re married.”

“Is he sad?”

“No. He’s dating a forty-eight-year-old.”

“Oh, that’s just gross, now.”

“Tell me about it.” She sighed. “I might get a condo, Barb. The house seems so big these days.”

“Move in with me.”

She smiled. “That’d be so much fun, wouldn’t it?”

I sat up straighter. “Caro. Move in with me.”

She shifted to face me. “Don’t you want to be alone?” she asked. “After all this time? Date somebody, maybe? Join Tinder? Get laid?”

I laughed. “Does that sound like me?” I thought a minute. “I’ve been thinking a lot about marriage these days, Caro. What it means, what love is, commitment, all that.”

“Sure you have. It’s been a rough few months.”

“The thing is . . . well, I’m not a lesbian, you know? I don’t think so, anyway. No, I’m not. You’re beautiful, of course, don’t take it personally.”

She threw back her head and laughed.

My throat grew tight. I always loved her laugh, her smile, those dimples and the way her eyes crinkled, making her look forty years younger. “Caro, I think you’re the love of my life. No one’s been there for me like you have. You’re the best friend I ever had, the person I can really talk to. You can make me laugh at everything, even my husband cheating on me.” I reached over and took her hand. “I can’t think of anything nicer than us sharing a house.”

“I have always loved your house more than mine,” she said. “You know what? I’ll think about it. We could do it on a trial basis, maybe. Let me run it past my boys and see what they think.”

“That sounds great.”

We kept holding hands, listening to the birds as they sang their evening songs, sipping our wine.

“The love of your life, huh?” she said.

“Well, it’s sure not John.”

She laughed. “Then I guess you’re the love of mine, too.”

“Girl power, as the kids say,” I said.

“Friends till the end.”

“I do love you.”

She squeezed my hand. “I love you, too.” She clinked her glass against mine. “Here’s to housemates. Who cares what the boys think? I’m bringing my purple chair, though.”

“You better. I love that chair.”

We chatted until it grew dark and the mosquitoes found us, and then moved inside.

Life partner. Longtime companion. Cherished friend.

Such beautiful words.

Love didn’t have to be romantic to encircle you in its arms. It didn’t have to make your heart race or your toes curl. Love could be just this, the sound of laughter on a warm night, the absolute comfort of being exactly who you were with the person who knew you inside and out.