Chapter 2 #3
Alex Brinkman was a good guy. He was the kind of administrator who supported his teachers and really listened to students and parents.
Alex had been my principal at Kirby Falls Elementary for the last five years, and I valued and respected him and the work he’d done in our community.
He’d been a transplant from Wilmington, looking for a smaller school and a slower pace.
And, if April was to be believed, the tall, handsome educator was looking to settle down.
But he’d never once made a move on me. I’d been married, after all.
He was just . . . pleasant and attentive. Plus, he smiled a lot.
“Mmhmm,” April hummed meaningfully.
“He’s just being friendly,” I argued, pushing open the front doors of the school and breathing in the fresh autumn air.
Thankfully, April let it go as we made our way to our vehicles.
“See you tomorrow, Jensen,” she called out, like she did every day.
Only this time, she froze as realization set in. April’s eyes widened as they met mine over the tops of our cars.
Being in a school setting, we tried not to use first names around the kids. So most teachers tended to call one another by their last names.
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “It’s still my name. I heard it fifty times from students all day long today. I’m okay.”
Some of the panic left April’s face, her brown eyes softening as she nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m being dumb.”
“You’re being a good friend. But I promise you I’m alright.” I threw in a smile for good measure, one that even showed the slight gap between my two front teeth.
“Okay. Night, Bonnie.”
“Good night,” I offered, hurrying into the front seat and pulling out of the parking space before she could see the tears welling in the corners of my eyes.
When I stepped into my mudroom ten minutes later, all I could hear was .
. . quiet. There was a ticking sound coming from the kitchen, the modern cuckoo clock I’d saved up for and bought myself three years ago.
My eyes adjusted to the dimness of the interior, and I scanned the rooms I could see from where I stood.
I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Everything was still and silent in the house I’d fought so hard for, the place I’d gone into debt for and just had to have. The one stable thing I’d thought I needed to get me through this transition.
When Danny had finally lost his patience with me and demanded a divorce, he’d asked me to leave. And I had. Not because I’d wanted to. Not because I’d stopped loving him. But because I’d been too shocked and ashamed to fight back.
I felt like a failure, adrift and unmoored. He’d cheated, but I’d been the one to cause our separation because I hadn’t forgotten fast enough or been able to move on in a timely fashion.
So, I’d escaped. At first I went and stayed with Mac and my grandparents at their home over at the farm.
But when things started happening with our lawyers, I decided that I wanted the house. I made it a priority. Like if I could just hang on to this one symbol of my past life, I could cobble together a new one.
In the end, Danny had given up the house amicably, and I’d bought him out. Now I had a bright, shiny mortgage with my name on it. I hadn’t wanted anything else from my husband, not part of his paycheck or retirement funds. Most people would think I was crazy to demand nothing.
But I didn’t want anything from the man who no longer wanted me.
Now, though, I took in the living room that was too dark, thanks to the wood paneling I’d never liked, and the empty space where the television had been. The wall of faded rectangles, where framed photos once hung, now blank and barren because I’d shoved them under my bed in a moment of weakness.
It didn’t really feel like home anymore. The walls and furniture held the heavy weight of regret and history, as if a battle had been waged here and there’d been no survivors.
I felt like a ghost, haunting these halls, lonely and adrift.
There were little pieces of me scattered all over this house. Hopes and dreams broken apart, collecting like dust in the corners. I was trying to decide if it was worth bothering to gather them all up again.
If I was being honest, it hadn’t felt like home in quite some time.
My relationship with Danny had been strained for nearly a year, ever since he’d cheated.
I’d avoided my husband, needing space. And he’d given it to me.
But when he’d tried to be affectionate or initiate any sort of intimacy, I’d frozen up, physically ill at the idea.
I became so fixated on what I couldn’t forget.
The visceral pain and betrayal of Danny with another woman.
Danny touching and being touched. My husband of thirteen years fucking some stranger in a hotel room two hundred miles away.
I slipped my shoes off without putting them away in the closet the way Danny had liked. Then I dropped my sweater and purse on the floor and left them there, too. No one was going to walk through that door and scold me for being a slob. Not anymore.
I hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to untangle over a decade of marriage, logistically.
So many bills to switch over. Cell phone lines and family plans to cancel.
I’d needed to open a new savings account and update insurance policies, change points of contact and beneficiaries, and notifications for everything.
All my recommendations on every streaming service were basically screwed up for life.
Plus, there was the fact that I’d known Danny since kindergarten.
Our friends and families were tied together in a snarl that I didn’t know how to pick apart.
As a result, I’d ignored most everyone who wasn’t related to me by blood.
I had my school friends, but they’d always been just mine.
Distancing myself from my husband’s family had been harder.
Danny and I had started dating when we were kids. He’d been my first crush, first date, first everything. I had a grand total of one person I’d ever kissed in my whole life. Ironically, that wasn’t something that had ever bothered me. I’d always thought it was romantic or something.
So the idea of dating—even someone as nice as Principal Brinkman—made my nausea from the weekend look like nothing.
What did you do when you lost the love of your life? Find a replacement? Try again?
I wasn’t there yet and didn’t know if I’d ever be.
I wasn’t the only woman who’d ever been cheated on. Some couples managed to recover from heartbreak and infidelity. But it hadn’t worked out that way for Danny and me.
With a sigh, I grabbed my pajamas off the guest-bedroom floor where I’d left them this morning and wondered where I’d be if I’d managed to just put my marriage first.
You are never going to let this go. You’re never going to forgive me. Danny’s accusatory tone was easy enough to pick out of my memories.
And so was my stilted reply. I’m trying, Danny. I swear. But it’s hard to—to forget, even worse to remember. I just need time.
You’ve had time. Months and months. I made a mistake and I apologized.
You won’t even let me touch you, he’d spat.
I need to move on since you refuse to. You can’t expect me to wait around on you forever.
And maybe—maybe people aren’t meant to only be with one person their whole lives.
I think I want more. I want to see other people. I want a divorce.
I blinked back into awareness, my East Tennessee State University hoodie clutched against my chest. With an angry swipe at my wet cheeks, I finished changing and went into the kitchen to grab a flavored seltzer water.
With snacks acquired, I got settled in bed with the remote control. It was late afternoon, but there was no sense in going through the effort to make dinner for only one.
I’d moved the television from the primary bedroom into the guest room as soon as I’d moved back into the house a few weeks ago. I couldn’t sleep in the bed I’d shared with Danny. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I pulled up my favorite streaming service and selected the next episode of Sons of Anarchy. I’d seen this one plenty of times, but it was easy, and I already knew what was going to happen.
Before I got too involved in watching, I grabbed my phone and fired off a text letting my sister, MacKenzie, know that I wouldn’t be at trivia tonight.
Kayla would be there, and while I did want to talk to her about the other night at Magnolia so I could piece together what had happened, I wasn’t willing to do that in front of my sister and my cousin Laramie, who made up the rest of our weekly brewery trivia team.
Mac: Everything okay?
Her reply was immediate, and I fought a wince.
Mac had been worried about me since my separation from Danny.
I supposed having a panic attack in front of your little sister would do that.
But in my defense, that had been the night Danny had asked for a divorce, and I’d been upset and overwhelmed, seeking comfort from someone I knew I could rely on.
Nevertheless, the incident had made Mac hyperaware of me and my actions and moods and responses. I appreciated her vigilance and concern, but I was the older sibling. I should be looking out for her, not the other way around.
Mac checked in with me often and usually invited me to dinner with her and her boyfriend, Brady, at least once per week.
And in order to put her at ease, I usually agreed.
But she would undoubtedly question my absence at trivia tonight.
I’d been so good about attending, even with everything going on, but I didn’t have it in me tonight—still emotionally and physically worn out from the weekend.
But I’d show up for softball later in the week to keep her from worrying too much.