Chapter 39 Luca
There’s something weirdly familiar about waiting for Emery to get home. I finish unpacking and move both our bags back to the closet. I work in the yard for a little bit and play with Honey and stare at my phone, waiting for anything from my wife.
The silence is unsettling.
It feels familiar again, when I walk through the house, looking for ways to keep busy, Honey’s nails ticking softly on the wood floors behind me.
The dishwasher needs to be unloaded so I start there before working my way through the rest of the kitchen.
Em has an office, but the built-in desk in the kitchen is apparently mine.
I realize I haven’t even gone through it yet, so I pull out the chair, waiting for a sense of familiarity to rise.
But it doesn’t. I open the drawers and begin sifting through the contents. Past Luca clearly wasn’t a junk drawer kind of guy, and the various items are neatly organized in clear plastic containers: pens, batteries, charging cords, Post-it notes. Nothing exciting.
The bottom drawer is a filing cabinet, with folder tabs neatly labeled and sorted by year, month, and project name.
Crash and I seem to be doing okay, with all invoices paid within thirty days and a lot more recurring customers than I would have imagined.
No wonder Crash is staying so busy. I itch to get back to work.
My fingers pause on a single unlabeled manila folder all the way in the back. Pulling it out, I open it on the desk in front of me. It takes me a beat to process what I’m seeing.
Brown, Pitt, and Yoon Family Law
Family law? I scan the page, my eyes skimming over and then flying back to the heading under the letterhead:
Re: Engagement Letter—Divorce Representation
Dear Luca Martín,
This letter confirms that you (the “Client”) retain Brown, Pitt, and Yoon Family Law (the “Attorney”) to represent you in your divorce proceedings. Please review the terms below; your signature will serve as our formal agreement.
My heart pounds as I search for a date. July 10.
Seven days before our anniversary.
I push back and stand, staring down at the words until they blur together.
I was going to leave Emery, or at the very least, I consulted an attorney because I was considering it.
My stomach recoils at the idea, but my heart… it aches like a broken bone, one that’s been badly set and healed so the pain never really goes away.
Reaching for my phone, I text Crash and ask where he is.
An hour later, the door opens. “Yo,” calls a deep voice.
“Crash?” I reply from the bedroom.
“Yup. Sorry it took so long.”
By the time I make it to the kitchen, he’s already rummaged through the cupboard and has half a cookie in his mouth.
“It’s fine. Thanks for coming over.”
“No problem. Before I forget, we won the bid on the pool landscape for the Anderson place. It’s a big job, so I might need to hire on a few temps.”
“Actually, I want to come back next week.”
He looks unsure. “The leg’s good?”
“It’s fine, yeah.” I’m not a hundred percent sure that’s true, but I do know I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing.
“Well, that’s awesome.” Crash walks as he types out a text.
“How was the second honeymoon? I brought your truck over, by the way. It’s in the garage and keys are on the hook.
” Tucking his phone in his pocket, he stops in front of the desk.
Every file is open, every random piece of paper or notebook spread out on top of it.
He looks up at me from the chaos. I can only imagine what I look like: eyes tight, expression bordering on frantic. “Everything okay, man?”
“I don’t know.” I’ve tried to call Emery a half dozen times, but every time it goes straight to voicemail. I left two messages telling her to call me back.
Not that I have any idea what to say.
Does she know? Had I talked to her about it? Maybe we worked things out… but is it possible she’s keeping me in the dark about this, too? That doesn’t feel true, but it’s possible.
Perhaps sensing the mood and the quiet in the house, Crash glances around. “Where’s Em?”
“She had to go into work.” Honey is curled up, sleeping in front of the door to the garage, waiting for Emery to come home, too. “I have to ask you a question.”
He pulls out a chair at the kitchen table and spins it around, sitting in it backward like a dumbass. “Shoot.”
“Was I going to leave her?” I suspect that if I was, Crash definitely knew, was maybe even hinting at it when I asked him if Emery and I were happy. When he doesn’t immediately respond, I know I’m right.
“Luca,” he says, and like a reel on fast-forward, I’m inundated with another flash of memories.
Crash and I getting in a fistfight together.
Getting thrown out of a bar together.
Clinking glasses and celebrating our first job as business partners.
“Fuck,” I say, gripping the edge of the counter, feeling lightheaded.
“How did you find out? Did you remember?” he asks.
“I found a letter of engagement from an attorney. It looks like I was just starting the process.”
His gaze moves back to the mess of papers on top of the desk. “I see.”
I think back to Emery in the sun, my beautiful, genius wife trying to differentiate between a carrot and a weed.
The way she stared at the coffee machine as if praying at an altar.
Her sweaty, smiling face on a hike in Yosemite.
The curve of her spine when she came around my fingers last night.
Her I love you. I shake my head, trying to clear it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Should I have?”
Honestly, I don’t even know.
“You guys went on a real family vacation,” he says. “I assumed that meant you were working things out.”
I nod.
“Did things not go well on the trip?”
“They did.” I think about the drive, the pool, the sex, the waterfall, our dance. “It was perfect.”
“Then why should some random papers change anything?”
“I don’t know. I keep thinking the same thing.” Pulling my lips between my teeth, I try to think this through. Do I trust the person I’ve been all my life or the new, attentive version of the woman I’ve only been in love with for a handful of days?
God, I hate not being able to trust my instincts.
So I ask Crash the one thing I’m not sure I want him to answer: “Did she know?”
“I don’t know,” he says with a helpless shrug, his hands going to his hair. “All I know is that you were an open book. I guess the question is, how much did the old Emery let herself see?”
Crash leaves for a job, but before he does, we agree that I’ll be back to work next week. I’m not actually sure I’ll be ready, but my world suddenly feels like a snow globe tipped on its end, and I needed at least one thing I could set in stone.
It’s only when he’s gone that I realize I forgot to tell him about the memories that have come back.
I head for my phone in the kitchen, hoping to catch him before he’s out of the neighborhood, but it’s already ringing.
I can’t find it at first, buried under everything I’ve pulled from the drawer, but I reach it before it’s stopped ringing.
“Hello?”
“Is this Luca Martín?”
It’s a man, but I don’t recognize the voice, and pull the phone away to look at the screen. Unknown Caller.
“It is,” I say, instantly wary for a reason I can’t explain. “Who is this?”
“Listen to me carefully, Mr. Martín. Your wife has gotten herself into some trouble.” The man pauses before adding, “I think you know what I’m referring to.”
“Who is this?” I ask again.
“That’s unimportant. What is important is that I know about her little experiment, and if you don’t want me to talk, you’ll do what I tell you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do,” he says with a laugh. “I think you do, and your wife does, and even your dog does.”
My eyes fly instantly to where Honey is still asleep by the garage door.
“I’m going to send you an address and I want you to be there in twenty minutes. Alone.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck off, I don’t even know who you are.”
“Come, or don’t come, but the clock is ticking either way. And a word of advice, Luca. Don’t tell anyone. We’ll know.”
My phone chimes, and I look to see that the call has ended and there’s a text with an address I don’t recognize.
I sit for a beat, feeling anger rise like steam in my chest. Fuck these papers and fuck whatever was happening between us when I had them drawn up.
I love Emery. I love the woman she is now.
That’s all that matters. I stand from the chair and slip my phone into my pocket.
It’s one thing to threaten me; it’s another to threaten my wife.
God help these people if anything happens to her.
Reaching for my keys, I kiss Honey on the head, make sure she has food and water, and head for the door.