Chapter 4 Henry
Chapter 4
Henry
Henry Rose-Wall peers out the second-floor window of Blanc d’Ivoire , watching Adam and Sienna exit their car. Little has changed about the couple they’ve known since college. They capture attention wherever they go for more than their striking good looks. He watches the other guests stare, how Renée beelines in their direction, arms outstretched. This summer marks their thirteenth trip to Vis Ta Vie, and the number strikes Henry as an eerie premonition. What will Adam and Sienna make of their decision?
He and Lucy have argued about the timing. Henry feels an announcement on their annual trip will be disruptive, a stain on mostly enjoyable memories, but Lucy insisted. Arriving hours earlier and separately from their friends was part of her strategy. Lucy is wired for preparation, always a step ahead.
When Henry and Lucy checked in earlier that day, Renée greeted them warmly, chatting amiably with Henry about recent cosmic activity and his work at Atlanta’s planetarium. “What does the sky have in store for us this week?” she had asked. One of the reasons they’d chosen Vis Ta Vie as an annual summer destination was because there is no light pollution, the sky a blank canvas easily read by the trained eye. Renée De La Rue shares Henry’s affinity for the galaxy, and they’ve spent hours discussing stars or how when the moon is at its fullest, behaviors change and tensions brew.
He was pleased to see the cycles still interested her, and when Lucy passed through the doorway, she waved a hand in the air. “Don’t get him started, Renée. He’ll monopolize your entire morning with his celestial talk.” Which reminds him of that tension. Perhaps they should postpone their news until a new moon.
Henry should have known it would come to this. For years he tried to interest his wife in the rhythm of space, the marvel of an infinite galaxy, but it was a language that flummoxed her. In their early days, Henry would take her to the fifth-floor balcony of his college dorm, where his telescope sat. He’d talk endlessly about the stars, his dark eyes brightening, coaxing her to peer through the lens at the vastness of the universe. She couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. She saw darkness and disarray; he saw light and patterns. That’s when she’d pretend, oohing and aahing, which gave Henry momentary satisfaction. Wasn’t that what you did for love?
While Henry spent hours in the sky, Lucy rooted herself to Earth through the patients in her therapy practice. In some ways, their careers are similar: searching for answers, assessing a larger picture. But then that business with his father. He shakes his head, wishing it away, though the shame of the headlines burns his cheeks. The tentacles of scandal stretched wide, and not even Lucy’s training could save them.
She joins him by the window, and Henry catches a whiff of her scent. Her fresh fragrance reminds him of when they last had sex. Despite their recent issues, she was hard to resist. There had been a strawberry moon that night, bold and beautiful and taunting. Like Lucy.
“We don’t have to tell them tonight, Henry.”
“I’m not sure why we have to tell them at all.”
She cocks her head. “What are you saying?”
“I meant here,” he corrects himself. “We don’t have to announce it here. This week.”
Her gaze lowers to the gray oak floors, and Henry’s eyes follow. Renée loved reminding them how the floors are French oak from Provence, rich with history.
“This is about us, Luce. I don’t know why ...” His voice trails off, but then he can’t stop himself. “I just don’t understand how we got here.” He catches her eyes with his. “Weren’t we good together?”
“We were great together.” Her voice rises when she says this, as though she’s trying to convince herself, to salvage what’s left. And when that doesn’t work, she takes a deep breath and straightens. She reminds him it’s okay to make this leap, that they haven’t failed.
When she spews this sort of psychological jargon, it goes one of two ways for Henry: a direct miss, or some form of resignation. “When a marriage doesn’t work, Henry, admitting it’s best to move on isn’t defeat. Defeat is staying. Defeat is wading through a loveless union where children grow up believing that’s the norm.”
He loves her. That hasn’t changed. But there’s still the matter of telling Adam and Sienna.
“I think we owe it to them,” she says. “They’re our closest friends—they’re practically family.”
After college, the Rose-Walls made their home in Buckhead while the Kravitzes moved to New York City, but the friendship has continued through holiday trips and milestones. Lucy and Sienna were there for the births of each other’s children and have spent hours on the phone confiding in one another. During their visits, the men bonded over their college antics with golf and cigars and discussed the evolutions of their careers. As a sports agent, Adam always has tickets to the best sporting events, which is a definite perk. They are a close-knit bunch, an effortless family, and their annual summer trip to Vis Ta Vie has been a highlight.
“It’s going to be okay.” She drops a hand on his. “These are the best types of divorces. Amicable. Both sides in agreement. We’re in agreement, right?”
But he can’t be sure. He doesn’t like the superlative, hasn’t witnessed any “best divorce,” which is a glaring oxymoron. They’ve had these conversations before, but somehow, whenever he thinks about the dissolution of their marriage, saying divorce out loud, his throat tightens, and the words stick. Fight harder. For the kids. For who we used to be. Except he isn’t sure he has the strength, or if that’s what she wants.
“Henry? We’re in agreement, right?”
“Sure.”
The word is barely audible, but she nods, eyes stuck on Sienna and Adam. “I don’t think this is going to come as a surprise to them.”
He steps back, dropping onto the window seat. “Did you discuss it with her?”
She doesn’t look at him. “God no.”
Lucy and Sienna are kindreds. They used to speak no fewer than ten times a day and didn’t make a single decision without consulting the other, but recently things have changed. “Did something happen between you two?”
She turns around, failing to meet his eyes. She’s in her head, where she often is. “It was just too much noise.”
She’s never referred to her best friend as noise. They were like sisters.
“I’m confused,” he finally says. “You said they wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I don’t know, Henry. Maybe you’re confused because your head’s stuck in the clouds.” She pauses. “Or maybe, maybe you’re just a little broken.”