Chapter 22
I t was a week later when I finally saw Frankie's car in our driveway.
Like a stalker, I'd changed my running route so that I’d purposely pass by our home. A home I hoped would be ours again. Every day, I’d run by on my usual evening run, slowing down to a slow jog when I reached our address. The house was always dark and still appeared locked down. Her car was parked at Nellie's for safe keeping—I'd learned through Sene that Frankie had stayed there the night before she left for Mexico. Nellie had driven her to the airport in Frankie’s car—usually my job.
I could’ve moved back into our home while Frankie was gone, but I couldn’t bear the thought of living in our empty house without my wife. The only time I entered was to empty our mailbox and place any important letters addressed to her on our hallway table. And then I got the hell outta there. It didn’t seem right without her. It still carried her sweet scent within the walls. Walls that were too silent. Too big. Lonely.
That evening, I could sense something was different as soon as I entered our street. An anxious flutter had kicked up in my chest, and I pumped my legs harder, turning my casual jog into a full-blown sprint.
Her car was the first thing I noticed; before the familiar lights of the porch and the soft glow of our bedroom caught my eye.
She was finally home.
And here I was; a sweaty, smelly mess. But I didn't care. My heart sped up to a fast beat, and without hesitation, I ran up our paved driveway and pounded on the door. I missed her so much. I was desperate to lay eyes on her because, even though I followed her social footprints, the only photos she posted were of other people or landscapes and nature. Never her.
It took a while for the door to open and I began to worry that she wasn't home. Or maybe she was in the shower or sleeping off her travels. But she never slept with the light fully on; she needed darkness in order to relax.
Just as I was about to lift my hand to knock again, the door finally opened. And I had my first glimpse of Frankie in three months.
A deep longing lanced through me as I took my time soaking my wife in. Her long, silky hair was up in a high ponytail, and she wore jeans and a plain black t-shirt. For the first time in months, everything felt right again. Frankie looked beautiful; barefoot with her face void of make up. Although her normally warm brown skin looked a little pale. And had she lost weight?
"Baby," I breathed, the air rushing out of me. I could finally breathe.
I immediately engulfed her in a hug, my face burying into the soft fragrance of her neck. Shit, she felt good—even though this was clearly a one-sided hug. Her arms remained limply by her side, but I didn't let that deter me. Having her in my arms felt so good.
I felt her worryingly slight frame pull away, and although I wasn't ready to let her go, I reluctantly respected her space. There were dark circles under her eyes, which further fueled my worry. She did not look like someone who had just returned from a relaxing time away.
"Frankie, are you okay?"
"I –" She paused, closing her eyes and breathing deeply before her brown eyes opened again. "Yeah, I'm okay," she croaked.
She didn't sound or look okay, but I didn't want to push her. "I-I missed you."
She didn't respond. The elation I felt at seeing her again started to shift into something more chilling. "When did you get back?"
She shifted on her feet, rubbing at a spot on her elbow. "Yesterday evening."
I was a little hurt that she hadn't called me straightaway, but given the revelations from Nell, I couldn't blame her for keeping her distance.
"Oh."
"Listen, can you come over tomorrow? It's just that I'm still exhausted from my travels, and I need to rest."
I frowned. This was not the same Frankie who usually returned from vacation revitalized and on a cleaning spree. She looked exhausted, and her energy deflated. I had no doubt that I was the cause of some of her weariness, but there was still something off about her. Her pale face, her more petite frame. Something was up more than our separation. Did something go wrong with a shoot? Did something happen during her travels? I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight while I worried about her.
Instead of begging to sleep on the couch, I nodded placatingly and rocked back on my heels. "Of course. I can bring over breakfast?"
Her face turned an interesting shade, and her throat bobbed. "Um, make it lunch. I might sleep in a bit."
"Frankie, is everything okay? It's not like you to be this tired, even after a trip."
I resisted the urge to place my palm against her forehead like a mother hen.
She nodded. "Yeah, it was just a long few days. Um, so I'll see you around lunchtime. I do really need to talk to you, Drew."
I nodded, remembering Nellie's comments about Carly. I needed to clear the air with her. "Yes, we do."
Despite her worrying pallor and demeanor, I left Frankie with a spring in my step. My wife was back. We were finally going to communicate and figure our shit—my shit—out.
The next day, bang on midday, I knocked on our door. It felt weird not to use my key in my own home, but I wanted to show Frankie I respected her space.
She greeted me wearing black yoga pants and a white slouch shirt that hung off one smooth brown shoulder. She looked delectable. But still tired and pale. Dark circles still bracketed her eyes. Worry gnawed at me.
"I brought your fav; cream cheese bagel with salmon."
Instead of the delight I'd been expecting, her face turned slightly green, her lips pinching. One delicate hand clutched her stomach briefly before she did that weird breathing thing she’d done last night. "Um, cool. Thank you. Let's go to the kitchen."
Something was definitely wrong. I'd expected a pissed-off Frankie. A hurt Frankie. Maybe even a bit of silent treatment.
Instead, my wife was calm. Polite. Detached. And clearly sick. Did she pick up a stomach bug or the flu?
Frankie sat at the table and stared at her clasped hands. Meanwhile, I busied myself by placing her bagel on a plate and pouring her a glass of orange juice. I slid her food towards her before placing my own down and sitting. I’d ordered just a plain cream cheese bagel but I was too wired to eat.
The silence stretched. Frankie never glanced up, her gaze still on the plate before her.
"Can I say something first?"
She looked up briefly, seemingly relieved. "Okay."
"I went to see Nellie the other day to check whether she'd heard from you."
Frankie nodded. "Yeah, she told me."
Of course she did. "She told me that you wanted to ask me to come with you to Mexico.” I leaned forward in earnest. “Frankie, I would've said yes. Please believe me, I would've. She also told me that you saw me with Carly having lunch, and that's why you never met me to ask. I'm so sorry for lying to you about that. Truth is, I was having lunch alone when she joined me. There's nothing between us, I promise. Things are so strained between us, and I didn't want to mention her and make it worse."
She stared at me quietly for a moment. Her blunt scrutiny unnerved me, especially when her expression remained flat. Bored. There was no light in her eyes.
Finally, she licked her lips. "Is that the only lie?"
I shifted in my seat. "What do you mean?"
"Is that the only lie you told me that day?"
I frowned. "Yes."
Her eyes flashed in disappointment before they lowered down to her untouched plate.
A sliver of cold unease slid down my spine. I leaned forward again, my hand extended to her, even though I knew she wouldn’t accept my touch.
"Frankie. Frankie, I love you. That has not changed. I’ve made so many mistakes over the last few months, mistakes I wish I could take back. I wish I had just spoken to you like you asked, but I was afraid of losing you, and I've done that anyway. I don't know what will happen; I just know I love and miss you and want to work things out."
She sniffed, and her shoulders started to shake. "Frankie?" She shook her head at me as she swiped at her cheeks, silent sobs wracking her small body. She was scaring me. "Frankie, what is it?" I quickly moved around the table and knelt beside her. My hand covered her thigh as she cried. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to make you cry."
Her sobs started to subside, and she sniffed loudly as she wiped the last of her tears away. She still made no attempt to look at me, her body closed off. She gave one last quiet sniff before she glanced up at the ceiling. Anywhere but at me.
"You might not know what will happen, but I do."
She finally glanced at me.
"I want a divorce."