Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Three months later, Annie stood in the lake house living room with a paint roller in one hand and a smear of warm cream paint on her left wrist.
The room looked ridiculous. Half the walls were still Brooke’s expensive gray, the other half were the color Annie had chosen after bringing home seven sample cards and taping them beside the windows in different light.
Nathan had voted for whatever she wanted, which had annoyed her until she realized he genuinely meant it and was not trying to sound corrected.
Erin had declared the winning shade cheerful without being aggressive.
Maggie had said it looked like the house had finally decided to stop attending board meetings.
Annie had bought two gallons the next morning.
Nathan stood on the ladder near the fireplace, cutting paint carefully along the trim.
His wedding ring flashed whenever his hand moved.
He had worn it every day since Annie gave it back to him.
She noticed the small things now. The way he never twisted it when conversations became uncomfortable.
The way he took it off only when necessary, placed it in the same shallow dish beside hers.
The ring had returned to his hand, but it had not gone back to being simple.
“You missed a spot,” Annie said.
Nathan looked over his shoulder. “Where?”
“Upper left.”
He checked the wall, found the thin line of gray near the molding, and fixed it without argument. “Good catch.”
“I know.”
His mouth curved, but he kept painting. He had learned not to celebrate every ordinary moment as proof they were healed. Annie appreciated that. Their marriage had become quiet work, but it was mending.
Outside, the lake glittered under late-spring light.
The porch lanterns were new, copper instead of Brooke’s blue, and Annie had chosen them from a hardware store without asking anyone whether they suited the house.
The pantry was stocked with coffee, pasta, peanut butter, crackers, cereal, two kinds of soup, and no fig jam.
The guest room curtains were yellow. Erin’s preferred tea, which turned out to be plain English breakfast instead of the bergamot blends Brooke had sent for years, sat in a tin near the kettle.
Maggie’s sweatshirt was folded on the back of a chair because she had visited twice and left it there both times, claiming territory in a way Annie did not mind.
On the coffee table, Nathan’s notebook lay open to the list they had made that first weekend. Most items were crossed out.
Change locks.
Replace pantry.
Remove foundation files.
New porch lanterns.
Ask Erin about tea.
Paint living room.
Invite Maggie.
At the bottom, in Annie’s handwriting, was one final line.
Make it ours.
She had not crossed that one out.
Nathan climbed down from the ladder and stepped back to inspect the wall. “It does look better.”
“It looks alive.”
“It does.”
Annie glanced at him, waiting for him to add something about Brooke’s taste or the old version of the room.
He did not. Brooke came up less now, not because they avoided her, but because she no longer owned every comparison.
Her absence was becoming ordinary in places.
That had taken longer than Annie expected.
A phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Nathan’s, from the sound of it.
He set down the brush, wiped his hands on a rag, and walked into the kitchen. The old Nathan would have angled the screen without thinking. The new Nathan left it flat on the counter as he read. Annie did not need to see it, but the fact that she could mattered.
“It’s Tricia,” he said. “Final update on Brooke.”
Annie rested the roller across the paint tray. “Read it.”
Nathan’s jaw shifted once. “She accepted the plea agreement on the harassment and unauthorized access charges. Probation, permanent no-contact, restitution for the security costs, and she cannot contact either of us, my mother, Maggie, or anyone at Grisham Meridian except through counsel. Martin’s case is still separate.
Dr. Lane entered a disciplinary agreement with the board and is no longer treating patients while the review continues.
ClearPath is closing its retreat program. ”
Annie absorbed the information without the rush of satisfaction she once imagined such news would bring. Consequences had arrived, but they were only the world acknowledging what had already happened.
“Anything about the fund?” she asked.
“Still under review. Tricia says it will take time.”
“Of course it will.”
Nathan set the phone down and came back to the living room. “There’s one more thing.”
Annie looked at him.
“Brooke’s attorney included a written statement. Tricia says we do not need to respond.”
“What kind of statement?”
Nathan’s expression tightened. “The kind where she takes responsibility for very little and explains quite a lot.”
Annie wiped the paint from her wrist with a rag. “Did she apologize?”
“No,” Nathan said. “Not really.”
Annie nodded. “I don’t want to read it.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
Nathan looked toward the window. For a second, Annie saw the old pull move across his face. Not longing. Not love. Habit. A reflex trained over decades to turn toward Brooke’s version, to see whether she was hurt, whether she was angry, whether she had one last key hidden in her hand.
Then it passed.
“No,” he said. “If there is anything in it I need to know legally, Tricia will tell me. If there is anything in it meant to reach me emotionally, I am not available for it.”
Annie stood still with the rag in her hand.
Nathan met her eyes. “That one was rehearsed too. Practiced in therapy.”
“I could tell.”
“I’m leaving it anyway.”
“You should.”
He gave a faint smile and picked up the brush again. “Upper right?”
“Yes. And the corner near the bookcase.”
They painted until the room smelled of fresh walls and open windows.
By late afternoon, the gray was gone except for one narrow strip behind the radiator neither of them could reach.
Nathan lay on his stomach with a smaller brush, trying to get at it while Annie stood above him eating crackers from the box.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said from the floor.
“I am.”
“I can feel you judging my technique.”
“Your technique is fine. Your suffering is the main attraction.”
He turned his head enough to look up at her. “I deserve that.”
Annie ate another cracker. “You do.”
He laughed quietly and returned to the wall. The laugh did not ask her to join it. That made her want to. She let herself smile, and when he stood a few minutes later with paint in his hair, she pointed it out “You have paint on you.”
“Where?”
“Hair.”
He reached for the wrong side.
“No, the other side.”
He tried again and made it worse. Annie stepped closer before thinking too carefully about it. Nathan went still, his hand lowering to his side. She reached up and brushed the paint from his hair with her thumb, then saw the look on his face and felt the air change between them.
Their physical life had returned slowly, in fragments.
His hand at her back in a crowded room after she nodded permission.
Her shoulder against his on the sofa during a movie neither of them finished.
A kiss at the front door two weeks ago that had lasted longer than planned and ended with Annie stepping back because desire had arrived tangled with grief.
Nathan had let her step back. That was part of why she had kissed him again the next day.
Now, in the half-painted living room, with the lake beyond the windows and the afternoon light on his face, Annie kept her hand near his temple for a second longer than necessary.
Nathan did not move.
“Annie,” he said, voice low.
She lowered her hand. “I know.”
His eyes searched hers, careful and wanting. “What do you know?”
“That I want you to kiss me.”
He exhaled as if the words had gone through him. “Are you sure?”
“No. But I still want it.”
A pained smile crossed his mouth. “That is very clear and not clear at all.”
“It’s what I have.”
“Then I’ll take only what you give.”
Annie reached for him first. She took the front of his paint-stained T-shirt in one hand and pulled him down to her.
The kiss began softly, almost formally, as if both of them were afraid of startling the room.
Then Nathan made a sound against her mouth, restrained and wrecked, and Annie felt the want she had been holding at a distance move through her with heat and sorrow together.
She broke the kiss first. Nathan’s hands were still at his sides.
“You can touch me,” she said.
His hands came to her waist, gentle and steady. Annie closed her eyes for a second, feeling the weight of them.
She kissed him again.
When they separated, Nathan rested his forehead near hers without pressing closer. “I love you,” he said.
Annie opened her eyes. The words did not frighten her the way they had in the first weeks after the truth came out. They still carried weight. They still required proof. But they no longer felt like a sheet thrown over damage.
“I love you too,” she said.
His face changed, and she lifted one finger before he could speak.
“Do not make a speech.”
His mouth closed.
She almost laughed. “Good.”
He nodded, eyes bright, and for once obeyed without turning obedience into performance.
They finished painting at dusk. Nathan ordered from the terrible diner, and Annie changed into an old sweater while he picked up the food.
When he came back, they ate meatloaf, grilled cheese, fries, and two slices of blueberry pie at the coffee table because the dining table was covered with drop cloths.
Nathan had bought flowers from the grocery store on the way back, not peonies because they were out, but tulips in a color Annie would not have chosen and somehow liked anyway.
“These are crooked,” she said, arranging them in a pitcher.
“They were the least tragic option.”
“Romantic.”
“I’m trying for honest.”
“Then yes. They are crooked.”