Chapter 10
I just dropped Quinn off at Maria’s house.
The others were already there. A quiet caravan of women with haunted eyes and wrung-out hearts, all headed to Fort Cavazos where maybe, just maybe, someone in uniform would give them a straight answer.
Or any answer at all. Even just being close to the base feels like a lifeline to them. A tether to their missing husbands.
God, I feel sick.
All day I’ve been trapped in this spiral of self-pity and betrayal, crying about my marriage and my perfectly safe husband while Quinn had been holding her breath for a phone call that broke her heart. I feel so small. So petty. So self-absorbed. Could I be any more selfish?
I’ve barely stepped through the door at Quinn’s when my phone rings.
“Aiden, I’m really not in the mood.”
“Where are you?” he asks, out of breath.
“Quinn’s. Why? What’s wrong?”
“I’m gonna be there in twenty. Meet me outside.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there,” he says, then hangs up.
Son of a bitch.
Twenty slow, agonizing minutes crawl by. I’ve been sitting on the curb for the last ten, jittery and cold despite the evening warmth. When Aiden finally pulls up, the car barely stops before I’m in the passenger seat, slamming the door shut.
“Now are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Is it the boys? Oh my God—”
“Calm down and buckle up.”
I give him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. He sighs, gripping the wheel like he’s bracing himself.
“It’s your dad. He had a heart attack.”
“Oh,” I say. That’s all I can manage.
“He’s okay. They took him into surgery. Jack called me. He didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Right,” I murmur. “Because it’s my father.”
Silence. The city rushes past outside, but I can’t feel any of it. I stare straight ahead.
“You okay?” he asks, glancing at me sideways as he merges through traffic.
I don’t know what I am anymore. “What are we going to say?”
“What?”
“When they ask how we got back from Bora Bora in one hour.”
“Aren’t you… he’s your dad.” Aiden’s looking at me like I'm gonna break. I won’t. I don’t want anything to happen to him, but Don Wilson is less father, more stranger to me at this point.
“We’ll just say that we came home early for Quinn?” I offer up the lie.
“What happened to Quinn.”
“Markus has been declared MIA. I just dropped her off with the other wives, they’re going to Fort Cavazos to get more information.”
“Shit. Is she ok?” he asks sounding concerned. Markus is his friend too. I wonder if Aiden told Markus about the stripper.
“She’s scared,” I say staring out the window, “and I don’t blame her.”
“Kate?” he says but I don’t turn around just give a “mhh.”
“What are we going to say… about us?” he sounds scared now, good.
I still don’t turn around, “We’ll say nothing. That’s usual for us anyway.”
He makes a sound of exasperation, “You not even being able to look at me is not usual.”
“Would it make you feel better if I stared into your eyes.” I snap turning to him. “Would your life be easier if I pretended you are not a cheater, that you are still the loving devoted husband I made you out to be all these years.”
“No. Kate are you really going to throw all these years away over a mistake I made ten years ago.” The audacity.
“Just because it happened ten years ago does not make it any less of a betrayal. It just means you’re a really good liar.”
He opens his mouth but I cut him off, “this is not the time. We’re going to go in there, pretend everything is ok and take care of our children, clear?”
“Aye captain.” Motherfucker.
The hospital looms ahead, all glass and steel under the hazy Houston dusk, the name stencilled in blue letters that seem too calm for what happens inside. Aiden pulls into the loop near the emergency entrance. I’m out of the car before it’s fully stopped, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes.
Inside, the air is cold, too clean. I ask the woman at the desk for Don Wilson. She clicks at her keyboard, asks for my name, then tells us he’s out of surgery, in recovery, stable for now. Family is in the third-floor waiting room.
Aiden joins me as I move to the elevator. I can feel him looking at me but I keep my eyes fixed on the doors. When they slide open, the hallway stretches long and quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing above us.
I walk down until I spot Jack, my oldest, pacing outside the waiting room. He looks older since I last saw him. Maybe it’s the tension on his face which melts away when he sees us.
“Mom,” he breathes and then I’m hugging him before either of us says another word. His arms wrap around me tight. Too tight. I feel him tremble just once before he lets go.
“Where’s your brother?”
“In there,” he says nodding toward the waiting room.
I step in and there they are. My mother, sitting stiff and small in the corner chair, wringing a tissue into shreds. Alex, standing by the window, arms crossed, trying to look calm and failing miserably. The room smells like old coffee and lemon disinfectant.
My mother looks up, her eyes red-rimmed and tired. “You came.”
“Of course I came.”
I go to Alex first, hugging him despite his objections then I move to crouch beside her chair. She touches my cheek like she can’t quite believe I’m real. Her hand is cold.
“How is he really?” I ask.
“They said the blockage was bad but they got to it in time. He’s in the ICU. They won’t let anyone in yet.”
I nod. My throat feels too tight to speak.
Alex finally speaks. “You guys got here fast.”
“Yeah,” I say. “We were already on our way. Your aunt Quinn needed us.”
He nods slowly but there’s something in his eyes. Suspicion maybe. Or just exhaustion.
Aiden hangs back by the door. This is what I'm talking about, even when he’s here, he’s not really here.
I take the seat across from my mom. Jack sits beside me, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Alex wanders over to sit on my other side and we just… wait.
The doctor makes his rounds three hours later. We’re all half-asleep in the waiting room when he walks in, clipboard in hand, and tells us they’ll be keeping Dad in the ICU overnight. He’s stable, doing well, and the overnight stay is standard given his age and the severity of the blockage.
“He’s okay,” the doctor assures us. “You can come back in the morning. He’ll likely be moved to a regular room by then.”
My mom nods, polite but firm. “I’ll stay.”
“Mom…” I start, but she cuts me off with a look.
“You’ve come a long way. The boys need sleep. Take them home.”
I can’t argue with her. None of us can. She’s made up her mind and there’s no changing it now.
We say our goodbyes and head out. The hospital parking lot feels quieter than when we arrived. Jack’s dragging his feet and Alex looks hollow.
It’s well past midnight by the time we pull into our driveway. The porch light clicks on automatically. Jack offers to help with the bags, but Aiden looks at him like a deer caught in headlights.
I cut in quickly. “We dropped everything at Quinn’s.”
That seems to satisfy Jack, who shrugs and heads inside. Alex follows him without a word.
As the door swings shut behind them, I turn to Aiden.
“I thought you were good at lying,” I mutter under my breath before walking in myself.
Our house is my grandmother’s, the one I grew up in. We built an addition years ago when the boys got older, four bedrooms now. Two more than when it was just me and Grandma.
But here’s the conundrum.
I can’t exactly kick him out of our bedroom. My parents are staying in the guest room. The boys are already in theirs. And we never did put a sofa in the master.
Great. I get to share a bed with my lying husband. I head upstairs without a word, already hating every second of it.
Aiden comes upstairs while I’m pulling back the sheets. He lingers in the doorway for a moment, like he’s not sure what to say or where to go. I pretend not to notice.
Stepping inside, he heads straight to the closet. I hear the familiar slide of a hanger, the soft rustle of clothes, the muted clink of his belt hitting the doorknob as he strips down. Then the bathroom light flicks on. Water runs. He brushes his teeth. I slip under the covers, my back to the door.
I would almost be fine with all of it, this quiet choreography of cohabitation, if he would just stop talking.
“So,” he says through the bathroom door, “I went to Orange Cove today.”
I don’t respond. My hands grip the edge of the blanket.
“The people there were really kind,” he continues, like we’re catching up after a normal day. “Even had a session with a woman doctor. That was… interesting.”
The bathroom light goes off. He walks into the room, climbs into bed on the other side without missing a beat.
“I figured we’ll go to the hospital together in the morning,” he says, settling in, “then head to our joint appointment after.”
I roll over just enough to glare at him. “What are you doing?”
He blinks at me. “Getting in bed.”
“No,” I snap. “Why are you talking to me like everything’s fine? Like we’re fine?”
He exhales, raking a hand through his hair. “Kate, I was just trying to, I don’t know… talk. We have to talk about this.”
“This isn’t something I’ll just get over by talking about it,” I bite out. “You don’t get to smooth it over with a few check-ins and therapy sessions. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. Let me.”
His mouth opens, then shuts again. For once, he doesn’t argue.
I reach behind my head, pull the pillow out from under my neck, and shove it down between us. A soft wall. A clear line. My very own Great Wall of China.
He gets the message and neither of us says another word.