Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Jesse moved out on the first Monday in December. They’d spoken about the house on Sunday, Sophie sitting in Kelly’s car to get away from the television. When she said she wanted to go home alone, he asked how soon, then called back two hours later with the address of a furnished studio.
Sophie wrote the address on a parking receipt. “Were you already looking?” she asked. He said no, then asked how soon she wanted the keys.
He would continue paying his share of the mortgage and utilities while they decided what to do with the house. He emailed the arrangements afterward and asked her to check the figures. She found he’d forgotten the insurance, added it, and sent the list back.
She went to the house on Wednesday with Kelly. The front door opened on new locks, the hallway smelled of clean wood, and her wedding photograph stood on the table where she had placed it. Jesse’s boots were gone from the mat.
Sophie walked upstairs. The bed had fresh white sheets, the quilt was gone, and the drawer stood exactly as she had left it after packing. She opened it and saw the red silk set still there, folded in the unfamiliar way Lorraine had folded it. Jesse had apparently been afraid to touch anything.
Kelly waited in the doorway. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” she asked.
“Will you call me later?” Sophie asked. She opened the wardrobe and found the empty hangers pushed to one side. “After you’ve eaten. Or before.”
They unpacked her suitcase together. Sophie refolded every item in the drawer, washed the silk by hand, and hung it in the bathroom. She took the wedding photograph into the study and placed it on a shelf because seeing it every time she entered the house hurt too much.
Jesse called that evening, but only after emailing to ask if a five-minute conversation about the boiler was convenient.
Sophie agreed because the house was cold and she couldn’t remember which valve he had told her not to touch.
He explained what she needed, stayed on the phone until the radiators began warming, and ended the call without asking how it felt to be home.
Sophie stood beside the warming radiator with the phone still in her hand. Then she went downstairs and ate cereal from one of Marianne’s bowls.
The public correction came the next day. Jesse posted it in the family group and sent it directly to the relatives who had contacted him. Sophie read it while standing in the museum’s coatroom, her bag still over her shoulder.
He said Sophie had not arranged the wine spill.
He said Lorraine had refused help that would have allowed her to remain at the wedding, and that he had blamed Sophie for his own disappointment.
He described returning the key after promising not to, made clear that Sophie had taken no money belonging to him, and asked everyone to stop pressuring her to reconcile.
He wrote that he had lied to his wife. Sophie pictured the uncles who called him dependable and the cousins who asked his advice before buying a car, then scrolled down to the replies.
Lorraine said she knew those weren’t his words. Jesse answered with a short video from his office, his work jacket still on and Denise’s telephone ringing beyond the open door.
“I wrote it,” he said. He moved a pile of invoices out of his way. “I’m at work. Sophie isn’t here. You can ring me if you want to hear me say it again.”
He explained the key in four short sentences, stumbling once over the date. Then he said his wife shouldn’t have to answer any more questions about their money and switched off the recording. Sophie put her phone away when a colleague came looking for a scarf.
The letter arrived on Friday in an envelope addressed in Jesse’s heavy handwriting. He’d left it in the mailbox after collecting a box of work papers from the study, and Sophie opened it standing in the hall. There were two sheets inside, folded unevenly.
He wrote about the office first. His mother had asked for the key three times over lunch, and he’d gone to the cupboard for it while she cut Denise a piece of cake. When Sophie arrived later, the cake was still on Denise’s desk.
I thought if you didn’t ask me, I could leave it alone. Then you kissed me before you went back to work. I let you.
Sophie sat on the bottom stair. She read that passage twice, remembering the hotel confirmation he’d folded and put in his drawer while she stood beside him.
You had to tell me to move out of the bedroom door. I should have moved before you asked. You were holding the suitcase, and I could see you wanted to get past me.
Sophie put the page on the stair beside her and went to lock the front door. When she came back, she turned the sheet over without reading that part again.
The second sheet began with the studio. The heating knocked all night and he’d bought a pan that didn’t work on the stove; beneath that he’d written half a sentence about her coming over, then crossed it out so hard that the paper had torn.
I keep getting to six and thinking I should call to say I’ll be late, he wrote. I put a mug out for you yesterday. Then I put it back, which was worse.
Sophie turned the page over and found a question about the house insurance. She answered that part by email, then took the letter upstairs and left it on the bedside table with a book over it. Later, when Kelly called, she said she’d spent the evening sorting things out.
The following week, she saw him by accident at the grocery store.
He stood in front of the frozen meals wearing a work jacket, holding two boxes and looking at the labels as though they contained complicated instructions.
Sophie stopped at the end of the aisle, and he looked up before she could turn away.
“Hi,” he said. He put one box back, then took it again. “You look good.”
She was wearing an old coat and had a headache. He was smiling at her as though she’d come to meet him, and she couldn’t bring herself to say she hadn’t.
“How’s the studio?” she asked. She held the cart handle with both hands.
“Small,” he said. He glanced at the boxes. “I bought a pan. The stove and I are getting along better.”
She nearly smiled. Then she saw that he was still wearing his wedding ring, and the almost-smile collapsed into something else.
“I read the letter,” she said, looking at his ring.
“Okay.” He waited. Behind him, the freezer motor started.
“I can’t talk about it beside the peas.” She tried to smile and couldn’t. “I’ve got frozen food in here.”
He moved his basket out of her way. Sophie pushed the cart past him before he could ask whether she meant they could talk somewhere else.
At the end of the aisle she turned. He’d opened the freezer again and was putting both boxes back. She lifted a hand before he noticed her and kept walking.
He came out while she was returning the cart. Sophie waited beside it, watching him cross the parking lot with a paper grocery bag under his arm.
“I bought these.” He held out a packet of cookies. “For you.”
“You knew I was here.” Sophie kept her hands on the cart. He nodded without lowering the packet.
She took the cookies. He’d found the kind she liked without milk in them, the ones they always argued about because he ate most of the packet and left the broken ones for her.
“I don’t know when I’ll be able to talk.” She tried to fit the packet into her full bag, then held it against her coat.
“I could call Sunday. About the house. Unless you’d rather email.”
She agreed to Sunday. He walked with her as far as the car, then stood beside the open door while she put the cookies on the seat.
“I’m not doing very well at this,” he said. He watched her put the keys into the ignition. “There’s nobody at the other end when I go back.”
Sophie shut her eyes briefly. “I still love you,” she said. “I loved you when I left.”
He drew breath, and she closed the door before he could ask her to stay. In the mirror she watched him put his shopping in the truck, then stand beside it until she drove away.