Chapter 12 #3
“And you couldn’t . . . salvage the business part of things at least, start over somewhere else?”
“No. I didn’t want to, actually. I thought we’d been working toward something together, you know?
A home, a successful business, a tight-knit family of two, with love and friends, a good life .
. . but it was all, every bit of it . . .
a lie. I always wanted kids, but she said she couldn’t have them, and that was that.
I loved her and thought she was my family; she was enough. More than enough.”
He looked down at his hands. He had picked up his wineglass and was gripping it too hard.
He set it down again. “When I found out she was pregnant and that not only was the baby not mine, she had always been able to conceive, just hadn’t wanted to—and didn’t disclose that to me—something inside me broke, I think.
And I haven’t been able to fix it.” Bitterness and pain roughened his voice to a scraping whisper, and the kinship Madeline felt with him at that moment made her shiver.
“And it wasn’t just losing her that was hard . . . it was realizing I’d never had her love the way she had mine—and being forced to let go of every dream I’d had for the future for us, ones I hadn’t even known I had until they came crashing down around me in one horrible evening.”
Madeline discreetly nudged the outer corner of her right eye, willing away the creep of saline.
Grant noticed, however, and dismay, bordering on alarm, creased his face. “Sorry, that’s too doom-and-gloom for a celebration night. Instead of throwing shade on the house or food, I should’ve warned you about an even bigger flaw: I’m a terrible host.”
“Not at all. It’s been lovely in every way—but I should probably call a cab, get going.”
“I’m sorry I can’t offer you a ride home, but I have a strict no drinking and driving policy. I don’t drive even when I’ve only had a couple—and as you know, we’ve each had more than that.”
Madeline laughed. “I’ll say.” Then she grew serious. “I appreciate that policy. Thank you.”
Instead of picking up her phone, however, she plucked her wineglass from the table again, took another long, appreciative sip, and elaborated. “I enjoyed the meatier bits of our conversation. I don’t actually talk to a lot of people these days, except for light chit-chat.”
Grant nodded and studied her intently, as if wondering about something but unsure how to put it into words.
Madeline raised her eyebrows in silent encouragement for him to speak.
“You really just woke up one day, packed everything you owned, and moved to a new town where you knew no-one—a place you’d never even visited before?”
Well, she hadn’t really woken up, per se, since her insomnia had been a ravaging beast at that point. Still, his general summary of the events she’d shared in scant detail earlier was on point. She nodded.
“How could you do that? I mean . . . why?”
Such simple questions. No simple answers. And it was . . . getting late. She shrugged and gave a wry grin. “Well, you know how it is. It was either Greenridge or jump off a bridge.”
Grant didn’t laugh. He made a finger gun and pretended to shoot her. “I can do it too, you know—play shrink.”
“Oh, how’s that?”
“How I use anger, you use humor. To deflect, I mean.”
Even though he was as drunk as she was, he wasn’t wrong. “Well, there is that, I guess, but don’t let it muddy the more important and much bigger truth.”
“Which is?”
“That I’m freaking hilarious, of course.”
Grant’s eyes crinkled in a way she liked and looked forward to seeing more of. “Oh, yes, undeniably.”
When Madeline was thirteen or so, her family had lived in a subdivision built very close to an electrical tower.
Her mother said she was imagining things, but Madeline always insisted she could feel the current humming through her.
And that’s how she felt now, with Grant’s gaze heavy upon her and his hand resting so close to hers on the couch cushions.
Like there were waves of energy arcing between them.
“Anyway,” he finally said, breaking the buzzing silence, “I’m very glad you didn’t jump. It was a bold move, maybe a little crazy . . . but I’m happy to have met you. I think I needed to.”
Madeline’s throat clogged, and she felt dangerously close to another scarier cliff . . .
A moment later, Grant spoke again, and Madeline was pulled safely away from the precipice—for the time being. “What I said about my marriage and how it exploded . . .”
“Yeah?”
“If I’m honest, it wasn’t all on Holly. I wasn’t perfect or totally innocent in the whole thing either.”
“Really?” Madeline said softly, voice serious. “You weren’t? That’s shocking.” Then, unable to keep a straight face a second longer, she burst into laughter.
“What does that mean?” Grant frowned deeply, his brow furrowing. It was his first grumpy look in an hour—so probably a new record for him. The thought triggered fresh peels of laugher.
Finally, Grant cracked a small smile. “My shared responsibility in the demise of my marriage isn’t a complete surprise to you, I take it?”
When Madeline could speak again, her voice was still soft—but this time, she meant what she was saying.
“Who in any marriage that lasts any duration at all is ever wholly blameless when troubles come? Holly sounds terrible. And how she hurt you”—Madeline shook her head—“was really terrible, but . . . ” She shrugged.
“Knowing you, especially how you like to bottle up what’s really bothering you and overreact to things that are nothing in the grand scheme of life, that must’ve been hard for her. ”
“Like maybe even drove her into the arms of other more communicative men, you mean.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. Those were all Holly’s poor—and cruel—choices, especially the deceiving-you parts of the whole mess. I only meant . . . it’s hard when people you’re supposed to be intimate with don’t share themselves honestly or openly.”
“Are we still talking about Holly and me, or are we talking about you and Lyle?”
Madeline shrugged. “Or are we talking about every couple everywhere that has ever existed—at least at some point in their relationship?”
Grant laughed. “Nice.” He nodded deeply. “I like you when you drink wine. You’re almost as cheerful and optimistic as I am.”
“Just refill my glass, will ya?”
Grant did as he was told, still grinning—but a moment later, he grew somber. “In my defense, I always thought, I don’t know, like I was being the bigger person, not airing every little complaint, or whatever.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me, ever.
I get it. I did the exact same thing with Lyle .
. . thought I was being kind. Towards the end, though, I kind of wondered if we would’ve stayed closer if I’d just blasted him in once in a while, or been honest at least, about the things in our life that were making me less than happy.
I hated conflict though . . . and it cost me closeness. ”
Grant was staring at her so intensely she shied away a bit. “What?”
“Nothing really. Just it’s hard to picture you holding back anything you think or avoiding conflict.”
Madeline laughed ruefully. “Lessons you learn the hard way . . . that some things—like keeping the peace, for example—don’t matter. But also, that some things that drive you up the wall—shouldn’t. There’s just a lot of stuff I don’t give a shit about anymore.”
“And yet you’re very kind.”
She bit her lip and met his eyes. “That’s nice of you to say.” And it was nice of him to say—but was it true? She desperately hoped so because it was one of the only things she knew she still believed in for sure. That kindness mattered. And she definitely hadn’t always been kind.