Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CORINNE WILDE - PRESENT DAY
There isn’t really anything to discuss.
Lewis is in my house with me again. He’s here, he came because he still cares, because underneath it all he is still Lewis, and I am still me, and there’s no part of me that feels strong enough to send him away.
The next morning, I’m awake early despite being exhausted. I couldn’t sleep with Lewis in the house. It was as if every cell in my body was acutely aware he’s here. That he’s just feet away. That this is really happening.
And then there’s the text and the blocking of his number.
The second I left Lewis on the couch, I uncovered my mattress and made space for it on my bedroom floor.
Then I texted Greta to ask for an explanation and unblocked Lewis’s number to be safe.
I won’t be angry with her, no matter her reason.
I know she was doing it to help, and that she genuinely thought she was protecting me or keeping us safe somehow, but it’s not okay.
She can’t manipulate this process and our emotions this way.
Greta isn’t married and therefore hasn’t been divorced.
For so long, we’ve just been Lewis and Corinne, and she doesn’t understand how complicated this is now.
We’re still just us in her eyes, still her friends.
Her family. Even if she has taken my side, she doesn’t hate Lewis, and I’d never ask her to.
After herself, I know she trusts him the most with me, and I have to admit that I do, too.
As the morning sun floods the kitchen, I stare into the fridge.
I’ve always loved to cook. I love knowing that there’s a clear place to start and end with each recipe.
That it becomes a simple thing to check off a to-do list. I love that it allows me to be creative and experiment without the risk being too great.
There are few recipes I haven’t been able to save.
But lately, I’m cooking more than usual and enjoying it less than I ever have.
These days, each meal feels like a test. Like a burned panini or soupy stroganoff would be enough reason for Taylor to decide to leave me for good. After all, the person she looks up to most in the world already has.
I weigh the breakfast options, ignoring the obvious one.
Lewis’s favorite breakfast is an omelet with hash browns, but I can’t bring myself to make them.
Doing so could cause him to think I want him here, and I don’t.
It’s too hard to have him in this house, and as much as I might be glad to see him, it will only make it harder when he inevitably has to leave.
Because he does.
Because we are divorced.
Because he left me.
We left each other.
We changed our minds about all the plans we made, and we walked away. We aren’t meant to know each other anymore.
Him being here right now, him running to us, driving so far to see us, doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t mean anything.
Fifteen minutes later, the scent of freshly baked blueberry muffins fills the house. It’s no one’s favorite, but it’s a safe option that everyone will enjoy. For now, that has to be enough.
The smell must rouse Lewis from sleep, because a few minutes later when I turn around from the sink where I’ve been mixing up the sweet tea, he’s sitting up on the couch. His brown hair is messy, blue eyes red and glassy, face swollen.
He’s so beautiful—so familiar and safe—I have to look away.
I clear my throat. “Sorry if I woke you.”
His voice is gravelly from sleep. “Guess we’re even, assuming I woke you last night.”
I smile a bit to myself, but he can’t see it as I slip the pitcher of tea into the fridge.
“I’m making breakfast. I wasn’t sure if you were planning to stay.
Not that you have to. Really, I’m sorry you drove all this way.
You must’ve been… I’m just, I’m going to talk to Greta about this.
She meant well, but it wasn’t okay, and I’m sorry. ”
“Are you sure it was—”
“Dad?” Taylor’s voice carries down the hall. She’s heard us. My heart sinks.
What am I going to tell her? How am I going to explain this?
Moments later, her door swings open and she runs down the hall. Her blonde hair is tied back in a messy French braid as she appears, looking from me to him. Her smile widens—a stab in my chest—and she rushes around the couch, launching into his arms and nearly knocking him over.
He pulls up from the couch, trying to keep from being strangled by her love.
“Hey, Bug.” He kisses her cheek and ruffles her hair as she releases him, and I’m hit with a pang of nostalgia, of missing what was and hating what is. How did we get here?
“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” Her eyes are wide as she stares at him, like she can hardly believe it.
Briefly, I’ve considered that Taylor might’ve been the one to text Lewis, but it was Greta who had my phone when she was shining the flashlight as I changed the lock, and Greta who mentioned calling Lewis to come.
Taylor wouldn’t have done this. Not when she’s technically free to leave whenever she wants.
All signs point to a meddling best friend, and unless she tells me otherwise, she’s my culprit. She has to be.
“He’s not staying,” I warn her.
“What? Why?” she asks, but she’s only looking at him.
“I…” Lewis’s eyes linger on her for a moment before he looks at me.
We are supposed to be a united front here.
This is a decision we made together, but somehow, I feel as if I’m standing on a shore somewhere, watching the two of them sail away, neither one sad to see me go.
Throughout this divorce, I continue to feel like I’m losing things. People. Myself.
I don’t budge, standing across the room behind the kitchen island, gripping onto the corner for dear life.
Eventually, Lewis turns his gaze back to Taylor. “Your mom’s right. I was in the area and needed a place to sleep. She was kind enough to let me crash. I’ve gotta get back home, though.”
“But…no. Come on, you can stay for the day,” Taylor says. “You have to. You’re all the way here, and who knows when we’ll see you again.”
“In the fall,” I tell her.
“Please, Dad,” she begs, ignoring me.
Lewis looks at me again, asking the silent question, but does it even matter? I already know I’ve lost. When it comes to those two, I always do.
“Okay, just for the day,” he says, then adds, “but only if it’s okay with your mom.”
My smile is stiff and strange, and my lips twitch, muscles straining until I look away. “How could I say no now?”
After breakfast, Lewis clears the table. I meet him at the sink, where he’s apparently planning to wash the dishes. I can’t remember the last time he did that.
“You don’t need to wash our dishes.”
“I don’t mind.” He shrugs. “You never told me why you changed the lock.” His eyes narrow on mine again, and my stomach betrays me like always.
I look away. “I just wanted to make sure we were safe.”
“I never liked the idea of the two of you being out here alone in the woods.”
“We didn’t have much choice, did we?”
“Now, don’t say that like it’s my fault. I would’ve sold the house, you know that. It would be enough for us to split and—”
I put a hand up. “I can’t do this again.
” My voice is calm and cordial, but he seems to sense I’ve drawn a line in the sand.
I’ve spent months in negotiations explaining why I can’t let Taylor’s childhood home be sold, why one of us should keep it.
Lewis had nowhere else to go, and I have Foxglove. This was the only path that made sense.
My phone buzzes, distracting me.
“It’s Greta.” I put the phone to my ear as Lewis shuts off the water. “Hey.”
“Hey, so um, got your text. What are you talking about, crazy pants? I didn’t text Lewis.”
“You didn’t?” I swallow. “From my phone?”
“Um, no. Why would I?”
“You mentioned having him come here, after…” I pause, hoping she remembers our conversation. “I told you no, but I thought you might’ve texted him anyway because you were worried.” My eyes flick to Lewis. “Because of the storm.”
“Babe, I asked you and you said no. I wouldn’t just…text him without permission. Come on.”
My blood runs cold as I look at Taylor, sitting across the room, nose in a book. “You swear it?”
“Swear. Is he there right now? Seriously? Are you freaking out? Do you need me to come?”
“No. We’re good. I have to go, okay? I’ll call you later.”
“Is everything okay?”
“We’re fine,” I promise her.
Once the call has ended, I look at Lewis. “So Greta says she wasn’t the one who texted you.”
“Do you think she’s lying?” His brows rise.
“She doesn’t lie to me.”
He bobs his head with a slow nod. “Why did you think it was her?”
“I told you. Because she was here yesterday, and she mentioned—” I cut myself off, trying to decide how to tell him the truth. Do I even owe him the truth? About any of this? It’s not his problem anymore. “It doesn’t matter. She was mostly worried about the storm coming in tonight.”
“Who texted Dad?” Taylor asks, suddenly interested in the conversation. “Was it before the police got here?”
Lewis balks. “The police?”
Moths flutter through my veins. “It’s nothing—” I try to say, but Taylor is already telling him everything, laying bare my every flaw.
“Someone broke in and ruined all of my stuff. And then Mom had to change the lock so they couldn’t come back.
The police were here and everything, and we found all this trash like someone has been living here.
It was, like, straight out of a horror movie.
And”—she takes a deep breath, as if the worst is yet to come—“we still don’t have internet. ”
Lewis looks back and forth from her to me in a state of shock. Finally, he lands, rather firmly, on me. “Someone broke in, and you had to call the police, and you didn’t think you might want to let me know?”
Something in his tone switches something in mine. “It’s not your concern anymore.”
“It’s my concern as long as my daughter is involved. If she’s in danger—”
“She’s not in danger.” I run a hand along my face, my voice powerless. “She’s fine. We don’t even know that anyone broke in.”
“But someone damaged her things.”
“Water. Water damaged her things. The police told me to change the lock to be on the safe side, which I did. We’re fine, Lewis.”
“It doesn’t look like it.”
“The house has been empty. There are bound to be road bumps. I’m a big girl. Her parent. An equal part of this, don’t forget. I can handle things just as well as you can.”
His eyes shift between mine, reading me. “Taylor, could you go to your room for a minute?”
“What? Why?” she argues. “What did I do?”
“I need to talk to your mom.”
“There’s nothing left to talk about,” I say, but Taylor is already getting up. If it had been me, she would’ve fought much harder.
The second she’s gone, Lewis’s voice softens, both in tone and volume. “Maybe she should come stay with me for a while.”
The sentence is a punch to the gut after everything I went through to ensure she would be with me this summer. “What? No. Absolutely not. She’s fine. We’re fine.”
He puts his hands up. He knows, of course, he doesn’t have a leg to stand on here.
It’s already been agreed upon that she’ll be with me until school starts back.
At which point, if she’d like to go to school here, she can.
And if she wants to return to her old school, I’ll either have to buy a house in that district, or she’ll stay with her father for the term and visit me during holidays.
The latter isn’t an option, obviously. If it comes to it, I’ll do whatever it takes to have an address that allows her to stay with me.
“I’m not saying you aren’t. I just know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” He looks around at the mess of boxes yet to be unpacked. “Let her come with me for a week, give yourself time to settle in, and then I’ll bring her back.”
“Absolutely not. She’s old enough to help.”
“Right. Just how every teenager dreams of spending their summer.” He turns back to the sink, flipping on the water, but I grab the faucet, pulling it to the opposite side and flicking it back off.
“I don’t need you to do the dishes. We’ve had breakfast. I think it’s time for you to go.”
“Are you really going to do this? We agreed to be civil. I’m trying to help.”
“I’m being civil.”
“Let her come with me.”
“I’ve already given you an answer.”
“You aren’t even thinking about what she wants.”
“You think she wants to come back with you?”
He hesitates, but we both know the answer. Does it make me a bad mother, a selfish mother, to fight to keep her where she doesn’t want to be? Is that what I’m doing right now? Pushing her? Making her miserable?
My thoughts, though, are drowned out by Taylor’s voice, the answer to all of my questions, though she doesn’t realize it. From down the hall, there’s an enthusiastic scream. “Yes, Mom! Please let me go with Dad!”