Chapter 7
Bennett left the charger cable on the kitchen counter the following Tuesday.
Beside it sat a note in his handwriting.
Didn't want you thinking I'd taken anything else. Call me.
He had taken two bottles of wine, his tennis racket and the cashmere throw from the den. I added them to the list Elise told me to keep and changed the alarm code.
A locksmith changed the cylinder on my office, the one room Bennett had no right to enter. I was fastening an earring that evening when the front door opened.
“Claire?”
I closed my eyes.
I'd told him to call. He'd decided that meant anyone but him.
He appeared in the bedroom doorway as I stepped into my shoes. Nate and I were going to a tiny theater in the Village, followed by whatever food we could find after ten. I wore a black dress Bennett had once called severe. It looked better without my wedding ring.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“You need to leave.”
He didn't move. “Is this a date?”
“Yes.”
His disbelief was almost funny. “With who?”
“Whom.”
“Don't do that. Who is he?”
I picked up my coat. “Someone I'm going to a play with.”
“Does he know you're married?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know this is temporary?”
I stopped beside him. “What is?”
“This situation. You and me living apart. We're trying something, Claire. We haven't separated.”
“You left with Laurel.”
“Because you made it impossible for me to stay.”
“I told you that you could stay without her.”
“You knew I couldn't humiliate her like that.”
“But humiliating me was manageable.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Have you slept with him?”
I walked past him and down the stairs.
He followed. “I'm entitled to know for health reasons.”
“I had a screening. I emailed you the clinic details and asked you to do the same. You haven't replied.”
“I haven't needed one.”
“Then neither of us has anything else to discuss.”
“Wait.” He reached the hall before me and stood between me and the door. He wasn't threatening. He was simply accustomed to believing his body could end a conversation.
I held his gaze until he stepped aside.
“We need another rule,” he said. “No mutual friends or professional contacts. That's common sense.”
“Is Laurel a professional contact?”
“That's already happened.”
“How convenient.”
“I mean people connected to our shared life. It would be messy.”
“Our shared life was the only life I had time to build. You don't get to fence it off now.”
“So he is someone I know.”
“Good night, Bennett.”
He watched me open the door. A black car waited at the curb, sent by a client whose driver owed me a favor. Bennett looked from it to me.
“You're actually going out?”
The question held more injury than anything he'd said since he left.
“That was your idea.”
“I never said you had to.”
“That's the problem. You never believed I could.”
I walked down the steps without waiting for an answer.
Nate was waiting beneath the theater marquee when I arrived. He took one look at me.
“What happened?”
“Hello to you too.”
“Hello.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek. “What happened?”
“Bennett came to the house.”
Nate’s expression changed. “Is he still there?”
“No. And before you offer to go back and throw him onto the pavement, I handled it.”
“I wasn’t going to throw him anywhere.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was considering the pavement.”
I slipped my hand through his arm. “I don’t want to talk about Bennett tonight.”
“All right.”
“That’s it?”
“What did you expect?”
“Questions. Concern. An offer to fix something.”
“I can do all three over dumplings later.”
I looked up at the poster above us. “For now, I want to watch married people with terrible judgment ruin their lives.”
“Excellent choice.”
“You know what we’re seeing?”
“Edward Albee. I read the ticket.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I also know it lasts three hours, which feels excessive for a domestic argument.”
Inside, the usher sent us to seats with almost no legroom.
For the first twenty minutes, I expected my mind to return to Bennett.
Instead, I watched two married people find increasingly creative ways to wound each other.
Beside me, Nate's little finger brushed mine.
I turned my hand over, and he took it without looking away from the stage.
At intermission, we joined the queue for wine.
We carried plastic cups into the lobby.
“You still don't want to talk about Bennett?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good. I didn't want to waste the interval on him.”
The second half was louder and uglier.
We found a dumpling shop and took cartons to a bench. Nate told me his first scholarship-interview suit was brown polyester, too short and squeaked when he walked. I told him about accidentally seating a man's first and second wives together. They switched the cards so he spent dinner between them.
Nate laughed until a dumpling fell into his lap. Sauce remained on his chin.
“You've missed some.”
I leaned closer and wiped it away with my thumb.
Nate went quiet.
I could have removed my hand. Instead, I kissed him.
His hand came up behind my neck, and the kiss deepened until someone walked past us and muttered about people blocking the pavement.
I pulled away laughing.
“We’re on a bench,” Nate said.
“Apparently we’re using it incorrectly.”
“I’m comfortable with that.”
When we finally stood, my legs were stiff and Nate's jacket had a streak of sauce. I checked the time and realized I hadn't looked at my phone since the lights went down. For two whole hours, Bennett's jealousy hadn't been the most important thing that happened.