Chapter 14 #2
Danny smiles affectionately. “I remember her saying that. Mae’s probably the bluntest person I know, besides you.”
I nod absentmindedly and yo-yo between wanting to tell him the news and waiting to tell him the news. I ultimately decide that it’s not the right time.
“Other than 5Ks, I watch a ton of baseball games in the offseason with friends. I still enjoy action movies.” Danny pauses for a moment, but his gaze rests on me. “And, um, I also go to therapy.”
My hand flies to my mouth, covering my jaw drop.
He was always a firm believer in working through his shit himself.
He stopped having panic attacks entirely when we started dating, so he considered himself cured.
I mostly kept my thoughts to myself at the time, but I’d always felt he’d benefit from therapy. “That’s amazing, Danny.”
“Yeah, well. About five years ago, I realized I was using some really bad coping strategies to deal with my anxiety. After Tessa saw some pictures of me at a nightclub, she told me my behavior was ‘cringe’ and I needed to ‘get my ass to therapy.’”
I laugh, imagining Tessa’s personality now.
“It’s been really good,” he adds. “After working through some stuff, I feel ready for bigger things in my life.”
“You should be proud of yourself.” I anxiously twirl one of my curls.
Should I share some of my truth, too? Part of me feels like being vulnerable with him might help, but the other part worries that continuing this conversation might make things worse. Yet Danny is being open with me, and I think it’s only fair to reciprocate.
“I don’t see a therapist anymore, but I did see the on-campus counselor all four years at Easton.”
He looks thoughtful, no doubt wondering about the timing. In a slightly higher pitched voice, he says, “I don’t remember you seeing a therapist freshman year, actually. When did you start seeing them?”
“Um, a few weeks after we separated.”
He frowns. “Were you…okay, Gracie? After I left Easton?”
I consider how much I want to divulge at this point.
He said he wants to know everything, but I feel like this next part will cause him to feel some misplaced guilt.
Therapy taught me that Danny isn’t responsible for my feelings; I’m accountable for mine, and he’s accountable for his. How we cope with them is personal.
“I was fine,” I say carefully. “But, um, I started stuttering regularly for a bit afterwards.”
His initial confusion transforms into devastation before my eyes. “What…how?”
I anxiously brush non-existent dust off the chair. “Well, my therapist said that going through major life transitions, especially if they reopen feelings of trauma, can trigger old habits like stutters.”
Danny rubs a hand down his face, looking horrified. I hear his voice becoming more hoarse as he continues. “You were traumatized?”
“I mean, yeah. It was an agonizing time for me.”
He cracks his knuckles, a nervous habit for him. “You could’ve reached out. I would have…I would’ve done something.”
“Short of you taking back everything you did and me taking back everything I said, I don’t think there’s anything you could have done that would’ve made a difference.”
Are his eyes misty? He looks down quickly, and I can’t tell. It’s probably just the lighting.
“Danny, I understand now that there were things both of us could have done differently. Let’s drop this for tonight, okay? I’m going to brush my teeth, but I’ll be downstairs for a little while before bed.”
He nods, but his expression is wrought with anguish. “Whatever you want, Gracie.”
I stand up and start heading for his bedroom door, pausing mid-step when I hear his voice.
“I know you want to drop it for now, but I need you to know that I’m sorry. I didn’t fully understand the bigger picture back then.”
Standing in the doorway, I turn around. He opens his mouth to speak again, but quickly closes it with a defeated look in his eyes. “Can you promise me that we’ll talk about this later?”
“I promise you that we’ll talk about it sometime before I leave. My flight isn’t until tomorrow evening,” I say softly. “I think we’re both emotionally spent right now, and it’s been a really long day. Okay?”
“Okay, Gracie girl.”
Drawing in a long breath, I head down the hallway.
While I’m craving some distance between us, I also wonder what it would be like to crawl under the covers and hold his hand until we fall asleep.
Instead, I find myself standing in a perfectly staged guest room, complete with a bedside table zen garden.
But I feel anything but zen. One thing at a time, I remind myself.
First, I decide to unpack what little I brought.
I open my clear backpack and sigh. For the first time in my life, I only packed what I needed for one boring night by myself in a random hotel near the stadium.
A rookie move. My usual giant suitcase, filled with everything from a thong swimsuit to a ball gown, is nowhere to be found.
In its place is a small backpack containing one comfortable lounge set, a fitted white T-shirt, and approximately seven pairs of underwear. Just the essentials.
As I strip off my jeans, the letter I brought—the sole reason I’m here—sticks out of my right pocket. Obviously, I have to give it to him when the time is right. Is there ever going to be a “right” time, though? Maybe I should just leave it here, and he can read it after I’m gone.
No. I have to face this head on.
Just not tonight.
I don’t want to leave the letter out in the open in the unlikely event that Danny comes in here, so I do what any other well-adjusted adult would do—hide it under the bed.
Crouching down to the floor, I start to slide the envelope underneath the frame, but my hand is stopped by something.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I reach a little further, realizing it’s some sort of book.
Oh no. There is a zero percent chance I’ll keep this mysterious book under the bed and forget about it.
My biggest toxic trait is snooping. I’m not proud of it, but at least I’m self-aware.
Swiping the book out from below the bed, I brush the dust off.
It’s a large, leather-bound scrapbook. I lift the cover and slowly thumb through the pages.
Everything in here is football-related: certificates from high school, ticket stubs, an autographed picture of his favorite player, and a handful of articles outlining Danny’s successes.
I roll my eyes. All that suspense for nothing.
Serves me right for snooping to begin with—of course it would be a snoozefest.
As I close the book, another newspaper article falls out. I flip over the article and gasp. It’s not a football story.
This article, from the Columbus Dispatch, covers the grand opening of my animal clinic.
I brush my fingers across the paper, which looks worn, like someone held it in their hands more than once.
My heart is racing, and I’m in disbelief as my brain tries to process how he got this article.
Has he been back to Ohio since he left? Did Janie give this to him?
My stomach drops—did Mae send him the article?
This leaves me with many questions and no answers.
I weigh my options. I can’t bring this up casually, because then he’ll know I snooped.
But maybe I could bite the bullet and just ask him?
Shit. Which option would a somewhat mature thirty-year-old woman choose?
I pace across the room, back and forth, mulling my options over.
There’s so much swirling around in my mind right now, and I need to talk this out. I whip out my phone and call the only number that makes sense for this situation.
I wait impatiently for him to answer.
“Hello?”
“Ben!” I whisper-scream into the phone.
“Grace?”
“Yes! It’s me! Obviously!”
“Why do you sound like you’re in an active hostage situation? Should I get Mia on the phone? Out of the two of us, she has more experience in criminal law. Unless you’re in a very tense situation that requires an environmental lawyer. Are you in an area with illegal pollution, Grace?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Benjamin. I’m calling because not one house in the rich neighborhood I’m in has solar panels. Can you believe it?”
“Are you being serious or not? I can’t tell…”
“Jesus Christ. Put your wife on the phone, I can’t take this!”
“Okay, I will,” he says absentmindedly. “Mia, can you come? Grace is going through another crisis of sorts, maybe a criminal law situation…”
I hear shuffling in the background. “Before I hand you over to Mia, Purrlock Holmes has been hacking up this weird type of hair lately, and—”
“Not the time, Ben. Ask me your cat questions later.”
“Alright, alright. Jeez. Here’s Mia.”
“Grace, everything okay? Ben said something about a crime?”
“No. The only crime is your husband’s inability to read a room!”
“Oh,” she says fondly. “I was kind of worried, but that makes much more sense. What’s up?”
“I am freaking out. I’m in Danny’s guest room, and—”
“Wait. Your Danny’s guest room? The Danny? I—”
“Dan Thompson?!” Ben shouts in the background. “Mia, give me my phone back. This is a Winfield High Defcon Level One Situation.”
“Mia, I swear to God, if you give Ben his phone back…”
“Calm down, the both of you! I’m putting you on speaker. Go ahead.”
I inhale slowly, staring at the zen garden in an attempt to absorb all the zen I can. It doesn’t help. The garden mocks me, and I give it a vicious little rake in retaliation before turning my back on it. “So, long story short, you know how I came to New York to give Danny The Letter?”
“Yes,” they answer in unison like a freaky married couple.
I nervously twirl a curl. “Well, when I got here, one thing led to another, and I kind of just came back to his giant house with him.”
“Back all the way up,” Ben loudly interjects. “What did he say when he saw you for the first time in ten years?”
“He said, ‘Hi, Gracie.’”