Chapter 20 Henry
Chapter 20
Henry
Henry’s happy to be out of the van and away from the conversation. Breathing fresh air relaxes him, keeps him from thinking back to that rainy night at the inn last year. He doesn’t enjoy the foggy memory, the sketchy details, or the jumble of regret. When they returned home, no one discussed their drunken behavior. Maybe things had gone too far, or maybe they were too intoxicated to care. Since then, Henry can’t bear the smell of tequila, turning to the smooth comfort of bourbon. But now they’re back, and it’s hard to ignore how their routine stay had become overshadowed by a tangled memory.
Today he feels similar discomfort as he crosses over twisted tree roots. Maybe it’s because Lucy keeps repeating, “I should’ve stopped after the third shot.” Or how Adam crudely comments that they should do it again—causing Henry’s skin to itch, making him wonder if he touched poison ivy. And Sienna, Sienna just giggles, her bronzed cheeks turning pink.
Henry didn’t need the guidance of the stars to predict that night wouldn’t end well. The steady rains had been so abrasive that the other guests had cut their trip short, leaving the four friends indoors for most of the week. Their days began with Jean-Paul’s home-baked muffins with bellinis and mimosas. Enjoying a morning buzz, they’d hunkered down for movies. If he remembered correctly, they watched Castaway , and the girls spent countless hours discussing the rainy kiss between Helen Hunt and Tom Hanks, wondering what might have happened had Helen hopped in that truck with Tom. Their debate dug into the layered complexities of relationships and fate’s cruel hand. And of course, there was Adam being Adam: “It’s a fucking movie.” From there, they moved to the less provoking backgammon and checkers, puzzles and playing cards, while Jean-Paul fed them copious amounts of food.
Henry wonders, if the other guests had stayed, would the night have unraveled as it did? They were playing with a dangerous mix of alcohol, boredom, and secrets. Twice, Lucy urged him to tell their friends about his father, but he refused. Sienna kept asking why Henry was so quiet. Cooped up in a vacation house that felt like their own created a strange sense of belonging and bravado. Of course things would escalate. After they wolfed down plates of oysters, finishing them off with flaming bananas foster and a few bottles of Casamigos reposado they’d sneaked in—the inn served only wine—the rain had subsided, and with an almost manic case of cabin fever, they set out for the damp firepit, using some kindling to help get it started. The flames heated their bodies and sparked a dare. Which was how they ended up playing strip poker.
Henry shakes his head at the memory, shakes the vision of another man’s bare-breasted wife out of his brain. He remembers checking the lunar calendar, but they hadn’t even been close to a full moon.
In the months leading up to the trip, the stress over his father had taken its toll. Lucy pushed him to talk, to open up, but he resisted. They’d started to sleep apart and argue about the toothpaste cap and hair in the shower (ridiculous things), and that week her anger was palpable. His father’s crimes had divided them, and after leaving the firepit, when they returned to their room, the anger and blame effortlessly poured out, ending with a sensational blowup of shoes and clothes thrown across the room. That night, he slept in Le Beau .
It turned out they weren’t the only ones feeling the pressures of marriage. Sienna had confided in Lucy her frustration over Adam’s excessive travel. Lucy had remarked to Henry about the tiny chink in their golden armor, “Maybe they’re not so perfect after all.”
At the falls, Lucy interrupts the memory by nudging him toward Adam and Sienna. He hesitates, the dampness and their half-naked bodies an unwelcome reminder of that night. He breaks into a light sweat.
She tugs on his arm. “Let’s get a picture.”
Why she feels the need to document the end of their marriage, he’ll never understand, and that’s what he’s whispering to her when Simone points toward another fall, a slick plume of water jutting from the stacked boulders. “It’s a short walk,” she says as Lucy glides past, and he reluctantly follows. The sunlight dances along her black workout pants, and the memory of her naked in bed flashes through his mind before he can extinguish it.
They’re walking single file, carefully stepping along the path, when Lucy slips. At first, it seems harmless, but when Henry gets closer, he sees her ankle has contorted unnaturally, and she’s wailing. Penny and Leo, Simone, and Cassidy circle around while Henry kneels on the slippery rock beside her. This isn’t good. Lucy’s a strong woman, two natural labors with hardly a whimper. Yet here she is writhing, squirming under his touch. He whispers in her hair, “I’m here.”
Penny’s on the other side, stroking Lucy’s back. Cassidy’s searching in her bag for something, finally pulling out a pill bottle. “You’re going to need one of these.”
Leo snatches it and reads the label. “Whoa.”
Adam shows up, Sienna not far behind, maneuvering the rocks with an ease that emphasizes the others’ clumsiness. Adam shoves Henry out of the way—not Penny. “I’ve seen every injury on the field. Let me take a look.” Standing on the NFL sidelines is the furthest thing from being a doctor, but Adam tries, somewhat convincingly, to assume the role of one. Henry, a doctor by degree, though not in medicine, fumes. He can tend to his wife. But Adam’s being Adam, and he sweeps his irritation aside to watch as Adam pokes and prods, his fingers running up and down Lucy’s calf. She’s borderline hysterical, screaming at Adam not to touch her when Adam recommends she take the pill Cassidy offers.
“It’s definitely broken.”
“How am I supposed to get back?” Lucy squeals.
And it wouldn’t be Adam if he didn’t throw in a story about the famous linebacker he helped to the sidelines at a recent practice. “You’re a lot lighter than him.”
They help Lucy stand up, her arms over both Henry’s and Adam’s shoulders. Henry’s annoyed. When they get Lucy to the bridge, he’s confident he can take care of his wife, and he scoops her in his arms and carries her along the trail. They eyeball him in disbelief. Who’s he kidding, and why the sudden urge to stake his claim? There isn’t a chance in hell he can carry her the entire way.