Chapter 41
When Cherry woke up the next morning, she had three texts from Russ, which she didn’t open, and one from Tom:
“Hi, Cherry, I was wondering if I could walk Stevie today. And maybe finish up the garage.”
Cherry felt a surge of anger. (Everything bad she was feeling was Tom’s fault. The last twenty-four hours were Tom’s fault.
The last year. The last decade.)
The anger was pointless.
“Sure,” she texted. “Did you just get back?”
“I’ve been back a few days. Sorry I haven’t been working on the house.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Stevie was still lying on the bed. She looked up at Cherry like she expected to get kicked off. Cherry got up and put a sweater
on over her pajamas so she wouldn’t have to put on a bra, and went down to the kitchen to make coffee. Stevie followed close
behind—she didn’t even hesitate on the stairs.
While Cherry waited for the coffee to brew, Stevie tried to shove between her thighs. Cherry leaned against the counter so
that she wouldn’t fall over, and absently reached back—half patting Stevie, and half pushing her away. Cherry felt empty,
hollowed out from her fingertips to her toes.
Tom knocked on the door when he got there.
Stevie went crazy, barking and jumping on the front door. It was like she knew it was him.
Cherry opened the door and stepped back to let Stevie have at him.
“Who’s my good girl?” Tom said, petting Stevie with both hands and letting her jump up on him. They were of a height. “I missed you, too.”
Cherry put her hand on Stevie’s kennel, still feeling numb and off-balance.
Tom didn’t come into the house. Or look up at Cherry. “I think I can finish the garage today. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Whatever works best for you.”
He wasn’t wearing a coat—just a hooded sweatshirt and a knit cap. His face was flushed from the cold. “Do you have her leash?”
“I’ll get it,” she said. “Don’t you need a coat?”
“I think my coats are still here.”
“I can get you one.”
He shrugged.
Cherry went to the hall closet and got out his wool peacoat. She brought him the coat and the leash.
“Thanks.” Tom still didn’t look up. He clipped the lead to Stevie’s collar. “We’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Long walk,” Cherry said.
“It’s a good day for one.” He clicked his tongue. “Come on, Stevie.”
Stevie followed him eagerly out the door and down the walk.
Cherry watched them for a minute. Until she started to cry. She closed the front door and leaned against it, rubbing the space
between her eyes with her free hand. She was still holding her coffee. She took it to the couch and cried some more. She missed
Stevie—it had been a long time since Cherry had cried alone. She kept rubbing her forehead.
She thought about texting someone, but there came a point when you’d been so sad for so long, and so repeatedly, that you
couldn’t actually bear telling people anymore. When it felt like you were retelling the same story.
Russ was just a new wrinkle.
Her sisters would feel sorry for her if she told them what he’d said. And Stacia would, too. But Cherry didn’t actually want them to feel sorry for her. She was tired of being the recipient of so much pity.
When Tom came back—after more than an hour—he knocked on the door again. Cherry was upstairs, wrestling with her laundry.
She walked to the top of the stairs and shouted, “Come in!”
He didn’t come in. After a few minutes, he knocked again.
For Christ’s sake. Was Cherry going to have to tell her ex-husband that it was okay that he’d tried to kiss her? That they could still be civil?
That she had other, more lacerating problems at the moment? “Just come in!” she shouted.
When he knocked again, Cherry grabbed her basket of clothes and started down the stairs. She held the basket on her hip and opened the door. “You
can just let yourself in. It’s fine.”
Russ looked confused. “The door was locked.”
“Russ . . .” Cherry breathed out. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to get my car,” he said. “I tried to call.”
She’d ignored his calls.
“Okay.” Cherry glanced past him. The Polestar was in her driveway. “Take your car.”
“Can we talk, please?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk.”
Russ looked clean and fresh. He was wearing a canvas coat with a corduroy collar. She could smell his aftershave. He looked
worried. “When do you think you will want to talk?”
Cherry shook her head again. “I don’t think that I will.”
He put his hand on the doorframe. “Cherry, come on. Please let me apologize.”
She shook her head. “No.”
His eyes got big. “I was not in my right mind last night. I was angry, and I’d had too much to drink.”
She took a step forward. “You shouldn’t have been angry at me.”
He took a step back. “I wasn’t.”
“You were!”
“I was angry at the situation.”
“Well, you’re no longer in that situation.”
“Cherry.”
“Stop saying my name!”
“Are you serious?” He spread his arms in disbelief. “You don’t want to see me anymore?”
She did want to see him. She loved seeing him. “It doesn’t seem like a very good idea,” she said.
“That’s it? I say one stupid thing, and we’re done?”
“Some things are nonnegotiable.”
“What are you talking about?”
Cherry held on to the laundry basket. “My body is nonnegotiable. I never want it on the table.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“You were.”
“Cherry, I’m sorry,” he begged. “I wasn’t thinking. It just came out.”
“I don’t have to make myself available to your stray thoughts about my body.”
“Stop talking about your body!”
“You stop talking about my body!”
“Fuck.” Russ’s hands were in his hair. He turned around and faced the street. “This isn’t about your body. I know you think that I have a problem with your weight, but that’s not what bothers me—I swear, it isn’t.”
Cherry stared at his back.
“It’s that you’re already part of someone else’s story . . .” he said quietly. “You’ve already got your Camelot.” Russ put
one hand on his hip and scrubbed at his hair with the other. When he turned back to Cherry, his face was red. “When I go out
with you, people don’t even see me. They see your husband, and I fucking hate it. I hate it.”
“I can’t help that,” Cherry said.
“I know. I swear, I know.” Russ’s eyes were wide and bright.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to feel how I felt last night.”
“I won’t make you feel that way again.”
“No,” Cherry said. “What I mean is”—her voice broke—“I don’t even want to risk feeling that way. I can’t be with you anymore.”
“Cherry,” Russ said in a low voice. “Please don’t do this. I’m in love with you.”
Stevie started barking. Cherry looked up. Tom had just turned the corner onto their street.
Russ followed Cherry’s attention—to Tom, in his hooded sweatshirt and peacoat, hunched against the cold. She saw the recognition
land on Russ’s face. He looked back at Cherry.
Cherry wasn’t sure what to say. What was worth saying.
Russ nodded and turned to walk down the steps.
Tom stopped, still a house away. Stevie was barking and pulling at her leash, the way she did when she wanted to get closer
and say hello.
Russ got in his car and pulled out. Safely and sensibly. He waved at Tom as he drove past.
Tom lifted his hand to wave back.
Cherry went inside. She went upstairs. She left the front door open.