Chapter 2
Theo
THE FLASHING BLUE AND red lights were visible long before I reached the intersection.
I pulled my car to the curb and climbed out.
David paced beside his pickup truck with both hands buried in his hair, the front bumper crumpled where he’d backed into the side of a silver SUV.
Neither vehicle looked badly damaged, though the other driver stood with crossed arms while a police officer took notes.
Mom spotted me first. “Theo.”
Relief flooded her face so quickly it almost hurt to watch. She hurried toward me before I could say a word, wrapping both arms around me.
“I knew you’d come,” she said.
I hugged her briefly. “Is everyone okay?”
“Yes.”
I looked past her. “No one’s hurt?”
She shook her head. “No.”
A knot loosened in my chest.
David looked up and strode over. “I screwed up.”
“What happened?”
“I didn’t see the car.”
“The police report?”
“They’re finishing it.” He rubbed both hands over his face. “The other driver says his insurance premiums are going to go up. What if he sues me?”
“He isn’t suing you because you backed into his parked SUV.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
His breathing stayed uneven. David had always been this way, every problem becoming the end of the world until someone else, usually me, put it back into perspective.
I rested a hand on his shoulder. “Take a breath.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
He closed his eyes for a second before inhaling slowly.
“Good,” I said.
The police officer approached us. “You his brother?”
“I am.”
The officer summarized what had happened, explained that no one had been injured, and confirmed David would receive a citation for careless driving. Paperwork, and nothing beyond it.
I thanked him before walking over to speak with the owner of the SUV, who turned out to be reasonable. We exchanged insurance information, talked through the repair process, and within ten minutes the tension had gone out of the whole thing.
“I appreciate you coming out,” he said.
“No problem.”
“Your brother’s lucky to have you.”
I glanced toward David, who looked exhausted. “So am I.”
When the tow truck finally pulled away, Mom let out a long breath. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
I smiled automatically. “You’d figure it out.”
“No, sweetheart.” She squeezed my arm. “We always know you’ll take care of everything.”
The words settled over me with familiar weight.
Growing up, Dad had worked overseas more often than he was home, and by the time I was sixteen I was driving David to baseball practice, helping Sofia with homework, paying bills Mom forgot about, and fixing whatever happened to be broken that week.
When Dad died, nobody had to ask who would step in, because I already had.
It simply continued into adulthood, MacArthur Capital and the board and investors and employees and my family, all of them depending on me. That was who I was.
David shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry you had to leave your anniversary.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t.” He looked ashamed. “I really did try handling it myself.”
“I know.”
“I just panicked.”
“I know.”
He sighed. “You should go home.”
“I will.”
Mom frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“We’re okay.”
“You and Josephine?”
“We’re fine.”
The answer came automatically. Jo had been disappointed before, she’d be disappointed tonight, and tomorrow we’d celebrate instead. She understood my family, she always had.
Mom smiled weakly. “Tell Josephine I’m sorry.”
“I will.”
“And thank her.”
“I will.”
David gave me another quick hug before climbing into Mom’s car, then looked at me through the open window. “Seriously. Thank you.”
I nodded once. “Get home safely.”
They drove away, leaving me standing alone beneath the streetlights. I checked the time. Nine-fifteen. Our dinner reservation had been for seven-thirty.
I pictured Bellamy’s, the candlelit tables, the bottle of wine I’d asked them to have waiting, Jo in the green dress she’d mentioned buying months ago. Guilt twisted sharply in my stomach.
I pulled my phone from my pocket. The screen lit up with a dozen missed emails from MacArthur Capital, three voicemails, a handful of texts, and nothing from Josephine. No message asking where I was, no complaint, not so much as a period.
I frowned. Usually she’d at least ask if everything was okay.
I tapped her contact, and she answered on the second ring.
“Hi.” Her voice was calm, almost too calm.
“Hey.”
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“It is now. I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“David wasn’t hurt.”
“I’m glad.”
“I’m heading home.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll leave the porch light on,” she said.
She sounded tired. Only tired, without anger or upset underneath it.
“I love you.”
There was the briefest pause before she answered. “I love you too.”
The call ended. I stared at the dark screen for another second before slipping the phone back into my pocket.
Everything was fine. Jo wasn’t the kind of person to hold grudges, and she knew my family needed me.
Tomorrow I’d make tonight up to her, book an even better restaurant, take the whole weekend off.
She’d smile and forgive me the way she always did, and we’d move on.
By the time I reached home, that’s exactly what I’d convinced myself would happen.
I killed the engine and stayed in the car a moment longer. The porch light glowed against the front of the house, warm and familiar, and on most nights it meant Josephine was waiting for me. Tonight it read as an accusation.
I grabbed the flowers I’d picked up on the way home. The florist had still been open, and I’d convinced myself they were a good idea. White roses, her favorite. Not a fix, but something.
The front door unlocked with a soft click. “Jo?”
No answer came. I stepped inside and set my keys in the bowl by the entryway.
Normally the television would be on in the living room, or music would be drifting from the kitchen while Josephine finished cleaning up after dinner.
Instead the only sound was the grandfather clock in the hallway marking each passing second.
“Josephine?”
“I’m upstairs.” Her voice floated down the staircase, soft and even and somewhat distant.
“I’ll be right up.”
I loosened my tie as I climbed the stairs, the bouquet still in my hand. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in her pajamas when I reached the bedroom. The emerald dress she’d worn earlier hung neatly on the closet door, put away the moment she got home.
She looked up and smiled, a small polite one, smaller than usual.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey.”
I crossed the room and held out the flowers. “I’m sorry.”
“They’re beautiful.”
She accepted them, bringing them to her face for a brief moment before setting them on the dresser. No teasing, no reminder that flowers didn’t get me off the hook. Just quiet gratitude.
“I really am sorry,” I said.
“I know.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Everything took longer than I expected.”
She nodded. “Was David okay?”
“He was just shaken up.”
“And your mom?”
“She’s fine.”
“I’m glad.”
That was all of it. She asked nothing else, offered no frustration, and simply listened.
“I should’ve called sooner,” I said.
“You called.”
“I know, but—”
“It’s okay.”
The words should have made me feel better, and they didn’t.
I sat beside her on the bed. “I ruined our anniversary.”
“You didn’t ruin it.”
“I canceled it.”
She looked down at her hands. “We’ll celebrate another night.”
“Exactly.” The relief came too quickly. “I’ll clear my schedule.”
“I know you will.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” She smiled again, that same small smile. “I believe you.”
I let out a breath. There it was. Josephine understood, she always had.
Most people would have argued, demanded explanations, made me choose.
Jo never did. She knew my family and she knew how things were, and she’d been there through my father’s funeral, David’s divorce, Sofia’s custody battle, Mom’s surgeries.
Every crisis had eventually passed, and we’d always found our way back to each other. Tonight was the same.
I reached for her hand. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For understanding.”
She looked at our joined hands for several seconds. “I love you, Theo.”
“I love you too.”
“I’ve always understood.”
Something about the way she said it stayed with me, the exhaustion underneath rather than the words themselves. Before I could ask what she meant, she leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“We should get some sleep,” she said.
I nodded. “Tomorrow?”
She met my eyes. “Tomorrow.”
I smiled. “We’ll make tomorrow perfect.”
She smiled back. “I hope so.”
I believed her. I believed tomorrow would fix tonight because it always had before. What I couldn’t see was that Josephine wasn’t giving me another tomorrow, she was quietly counting how many she’d already spent waiting.
The bathroom door closed behind her, and a few seconds later the shower started. I sat on the edge of the bed listening to the rush of water, loosening my tie, looking at the flowers she’d left on the dresser.
She’d always arranged them as soon as I brought them home.
There was a cabinet in the laundry room where she kept half a dozen glass vases wrapped in newspaper, and no matter how busy she was, she’d trim the stems, fill a vase with fresh water, and find the right place for them.
Tonight they were still wrapped in brown paper.
I stood, carried them downstairs, and searched the kitchen until I found one of the vases.
After filling it with water, I cut the stems the way I’d watched her do dozens of times.
The roses looked better once they were arranged, and I placed them in the center of the kitchen island.
She’d smile when she saw them in the morning. I hoped she would.
My phone buzzed across the countertop.
Mom
I answered without thinking. “Hey.”
“I just wanted to make sure you made it home.”
“I did.”
“Thank you again for tonight.”
“Mom—”
“I mean it.” Her voice had steadied since earlier. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
I leaned against the counter. “You’d manage.”
“I don’t think we would.”
I smiled faintly. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.” She hesitated. “I feel terrible about your anniversary.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was David’s.”
“It was an accident.”
“I still hate that Josephine had to spend the evening alone.”
“So do I.”
“You’ll make it up to her.”
“I will.”
“I know you will.”
We talked for another minute before ending the call. As I slipped the phone back into my pocket, the time caught my eye. Ten-forty-three.
The board meeting I’d postponed until Monday would have to be rearranged, three investors wanted updates before the market opened, two contracts still needed my approval, and my assistant had left four voicemails.
Normally I’d have walked straight into my office and spent another hour catching up.
Instead I looked toward the staircase. Those emails would still be there tomorrow, and Josephine deserved one uninterrupted night.
I switched the phone to silent and left it on the kitchen counter before heading upstairs.
The bedroom was dark except for the lamp on Josephine’s nightstand. She was already beneath the comforter, lying on her side with a book resting face down beside her.
“You still awake?” I asked.
“A little.”
I changed into a T-shirt and climbed into bed beside her, the mattress dipping beneath my weight.
“I’m proud of you,” I said.
She turned her head slightly. “For what?”
“You waited for me.”
A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. “I always do.”
The words were quiet and simple, and something about them made my chest tighten.
I always do.
I reached for her hand beneath the blankets. “I’m going to do better.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
There it was again, quiet acceptance without doubt or sarcasm in it, as though she’d heard those words enough times that they no longer carried anything.
I squeezed her hand. “I’ll start saying no more often.”
“To your family?”
“When I need to.”
She studied me for a long moment. “I’d like that.”
“So would I.”
She smiled gently before leaning over to kiss me. “Goodnight, Theo.”
“Goodnight.”
She turned away again, facing the window, and within minutes her breathing settled into the slow rhythm of sleep. I assumed she was asleep.
I lay awake beside her, staring at the ceiling.
The house was unusually still. Usually, after we’d worked through a disappointment, we’d talk for another hour, watch an episode of something, laugh about whatever had gone wrong.
Tonight we’d barely spoken. She hadn’t cried or argued or asked why I always left. She’d simply accepted it.
I told myself that was because Josephine knew me better than anyone else, that she understood the responsibility I carried and that family came first in a crisis. Tomorrow I’d take her to breakfast, maybe drive out to the lake for the afternoon, make sure the entire weekend belonged to us.
The thought finally quieted the unease that had been following me since I left Bellamy’s. Convinced everything between us would be fine by morning, I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep, never knowing that while I planned another tomorrow, my wife had quietly reached the end of waiting.