“Yes,” I immediately say. I want to leave it at that.
We haven’t discussed it, but I’m pretty sure that Sophia will take our vows seriously, even if she only entered into them out of desperation. But as I watch her staring up into the dark, I realize what that would be asking of her. She’s alone, here, with only Cocoa and me for company, and while Cocoa is a damn good dog, in the end, she’s the only other compa
nion she has here. In Ireland, she has a family she never knew, not right in Dublin, but not across an ocean in a foreign country, either. She’s got a job waiting for her that will make her more money than I’ll ever lay claim to, that will give her opportunities to stretch and grow and be fulfilled in ways she could never have hanging around here all the time, waiting for me.
As much as I desperately want to, there’s nothing I can offer her that even compares.
I take a deep breath. “But I think you should go.”
She looks at me, and I think I see hurt in her eyes.
“It’s a great opportunity,” I quickly add. “And it’s family, real family, which you said yourself you’ve never really had besides your mom.” My voice is getting thick, and I need to stop talking before I lose my resolve and fall on my knees and beg her not to leave me. To tell her I want to be her family, that if she stays with me, I’ll make sure she’s never sorry.
The truth is, I can’t promise that. I can try to make her happy, but I can’t guarantee that if she stays, she won’t someday regret giving up this chance. She’s my wife, and I need to do right by her, even if it means I end up all alone.
“Is that really what you want?” she asks.
I want to say no. “It’s the least I can do,” I say. “After what you did for me and my mom.”
Sophia nods, slowly, still looking up at the stars. “And if I don’t like it? This business? Those people?”
I shrug. I find it very doubtful that she’s going to go over there and wish for this emptiness when she could be involved in all of that. But I understand the fear of the unknown.
I tell her the truth. “You can always come back. I’ll support you, whatever you decide, Sophia. This is ultimately your decision.”
She nods. “Alright, then.”
And we continue staring into the dark for another long while. For once, I have a million things I’d like to say to her, but I’m not sure I can trust my voice to say any of them without breaking, so instead, I leave the words unspoken.
I drive Sophia to the airport three days later; once she made the decision, she didn’t want to waste any time. I understand that. She must feel at loose ends, hanging around my house, now that she has someplace else to go. I’m at once dreading her departure and counting down the minutes. Each one is so painful as I wonder if this is the last time we’ll laugh together, the last time I’ll put my arms around her, the last time we’ll make love? I want to stretch out the minutes into years, to remember every detail, but I also know that when she’s gone, it’s going to hurt so bad that I’ll wish I could forget.
We’re both quiet on the drive to the airport, which I suppose is about par for the course. We haven’t talked about what’s going to happen now if we’re going to stay married if we’re going to get divorced. She hasn’t asked me to come with her, and I think deep down she knows that I couldn’t go. I like the quiet, living on top of a mountain with a thirty-minute windy dirt road between me and anyone who might want to talk to me. I took a lot of pains to get as far from people as I possibly could when she’s ready to be wrapped in the arms of a family that’s waiting for her.
If I went with her, I’d only be in the way.
I don’t bring it up now, halfway because I don’t want to hear the answer, and because I know she’s treating me as a safety net, a comfortable place to go if this inheritance thing ends badly. I don’t mind because of what she did for my mom, and because I want her to feel safe. I don’t want her to suffer, and if she needs to leave this unfinished, so she knows she has a soft place to land, well then I’ll give her that. It is, truly, the very least I can do.
When we get to the airport, I park the car and walk her up to the security line, wheeling her luggage along. She’s taken everything, which I suppose makes sense. People go away for a week and take more than she came here with.
Still, I can’t help but remember that when she left Ireland, she left some of her life behind with a friend.
I put down her bags, and then hug her, burying my face in her hair, which still smells of wildflowers. I try not to think about all the things we talked about—children and our future together. I try not to imagine what it will be like to return to the house and find it empty. Cocoa whined when Sophia stepped out of the truck, and I know it’s because she knows what’s happening. I wish I knew how to explain it to her.
I wish I knew how to explain it to myself.
“Well, travel safe,” I say. “And let me know when you arrive.”
“I will,” Sophia says.
I take one more look into her beautiful blue eyes, and then turn away before she can see the tears brimming in mine.
I don’t cry.
I don’t beg.
I don’t tell her that when we got married, I wanted us to be forever. I mean, I’m not an idiot. I know divorce is a thing that happens. Maybe this would be easier if we had broken up because we couldn’t live together if the time we had together had been long enough to be anything but perfect.
I return to my truck to find Cocoa lying sprawled across the bench. She hops up and looks around for Sophia, and then lets out a soft whine. “I know. She’s not coming back,” I tell her with a soft pat on the head.