The next morning, I woke just after five in desperate need to pee. I eased out of bed, praying I didn’t wake the monster beside me. He rarely stayed the night in my room. He called the rare gift of his presence all-night love. I called it control. I wasn’t even sure when we split into two rooms. It started with him being up late and not wanting to wake me. We still shared the massive closet and bathroom—for a while. Then he took clothes and toiletries to his new room, again so he didn’t wake me early in the mornings.
I was always to blame, and Graham was the martyr.
Everything ached, right down to my bones. Leukemia had that effect. When I tiptoed back into the room to grab my robe and cover my naked body before escaping to another room, Graham switched on the sconce by his side of the bed.
The light burned my eyes. He twisted from side to side, stretching his back. When he noticed me, he paused. Weeks earlier, I would have called that same look apologetic and regretful. Not anymore.
He wasn’t my husband anymore. I didn’t care what vows we exchanged. I shared my bed with a stranger.
“Have you ever considered boxing? It’s a wonderful form of exercise.” He yawned.
Boxing.
I hadn’t turned on the light in the bathroom, but I suspected his reasoning for suggesting boxing had little to do with my need to get a good workout and a lot to do with the colorful shapes along my skin. Tying the sash to my robe, I padded to the door, turning at the last second.
“Do you like this? The way I look? Because I’ll let go if you will. I won’t have to unintentionally ruin your day anymore. You won’t have to call me Evelyn when you’re fucking me in the most impersonal way imaginable.”
“I’m sorry.” He ran both hands through his hair. “I was tired.”
Tired.
Tired people didn’t want sex. Tired people didn’t get erections. Tired people didn’t call their wives the wrong name.
“Did you ever really love me?” I whispered.
He glanced up, blinking slowly. Had he shown any sort of grimace, any sign at all that my question was absurd, I might have felt a flicker of regret, maybe even a spark of hope. “I loved you then. I love you now.”
Lies.
He couldn’t have said what he said and did what he did and still claim to love me. If that was love, then I hated love.
“I’m not giving up or letting go. ’Til death do us part. And no one’s dying today.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ronin
Lila was depressed.
I was depressed.
Depression didn’t care about the awesomeness of your life. Two spunky kids. And a wife who took up singing in the shower.
“That was my song.” I sipped my coffee while scrolling through the newsfeed on my phone—that was depressing too.
Embarrassing politics.
School shootings.
Reality TV updates.
“Well, if you’re not going to sing it, then someone should.” Evie kissed Franz on the head as he thumbed through a book.
My boy.
“Anya must be growing. She slept through my amazing concert.” Evie smirked, pouring a cup of coffee before dishing up a bowl of oatmeal.
“Why not sleep in? She doesn’t have preschool like big stuff over there.” I jerked my head toward Franz.
“Ugh … I can’t believe he’s starting preschool.” Evie leaned down to kiss me before sitting in the chair next to me. “Franz, did you brush your teeth?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Breakfast. Teeth. Lunch packed.” I shot her a smile.
It felt forced.
Everything felt forced.
Fucking depression.
Since July, I’d talked to Lila twice. I didn’t understand how she was going to go through cancer treatment and keeping it a secret from Evie. I didn’t understand how her mere touch in the Hamptons temporarily took away my pain.
Our two conversations did nothing to reassure me that the secret I kept from Evie wouldn’t destroy my marriage or their friendship. Lila said, “I’m taking care of it.” That was it. No elaboration. No time to talk. Each call ended in under two minutes with a quick, “I have to go. Give Evie and the kids a kiss from me.”
“What’s your angle?” Evie narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you do something wrong? Will I be mad? Did you break something?”
I lied to you.
You’ll be pissed off.
I broke your trust.
“Can’t I be a good dad and get my son ready for school just because? Do my intentions have to be driven by guilt?”
“No.” Her lips pursed to the side. “But I’m worried. All joking aside, you haven’t been yourself. You seem down, but like you’re trying to hide it. Maybe I’m the one who did something wrong.”
“Evelyn, you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m fine. Really. There’s been a lot going on at work. Noah’s considering retirement, and I know they’re going to offer me his job. I haven’t decided if I want it.”