Chapter 4
CLAIRE
On the afternoon of the third day, I waited for Ethan in Mia’s living room. Nora was still at school. Mia put water within my reach and said she’d be in the kitchen if I needed her.
I hadn’t had the energy to talk the day before. I’d only answered his message to arrange for him to come today instead. He’d agreed quickly. I’d gone over what I wanted to say several times, but when the doorbell rang, every sentence I’d rehearsed disappeared.
When he came in, he looked at my arm before my face. He wore the dark blue shirt I’d picked out for him, the cuffs unevenly folded, his chin not quite clean-shaven. Mia turned toward the kitchen. He remained standing, as if waiting for me to tell him where to sit.
“Here.” I pointed to the armchair beside me.
He came over, but first he bent to lift the cushion that had slipped down behind my back. The familiar scent at his collar reached me, and I almost leaned my forehead against him. His shoulder was so close. I even knew where he would feel warmest beneath the shirt if I pressed my cheek to it.
“Is that okay?”
I nodded. His hand hovered beside my neck without touching it.
“Did you sleep well last night? Does it still hurt?”
“Better than the day before yesterday. I woke up twice in the night.”
He frowned at once. “Is the pillow wrong? The one at home?—”
“It’s not the pillow. Recovery takes time.”
“I know.” He sat, clasped his hands between his knees, then let them go. “I just want you to feel better.”
His eyes were red. You didn’t sleep well either was already on my tongue. I picked up the water and took a sip. The cup was too full, and the water touched my upper lip. I looked down for a tissue, but he’d already pulled one out and offered it.
At moments like this, it was hardest to remember why I wanted to leave.
Ethan waited until I’d finished wiping my mouth. “That day at the hospital, I shouldn’t have let you go home on your own.”
My hand stopped.
“Sam was frightened, and Vivian couldn’t calm down. Her mother talking beside her was only making her more anxious. I thought I’d take them home first, wait until she settled down?—”
“And then?”
He looked at me.
“After you got them home?”
“I stayed and ate something, then took a call from my father. It got later than I’d expected.” He leaned forward a little. “Claire, Vivian and I don’t have that kind of relationship. I’ve never touched her. Not once. If that’s what you’re worried about, I can?—”
“I know.”
My voice was louder than I’d intended. There was a faint clink of dishes in the kitchen. I swallowed, but my throat stayed tight.
“I know you haven’t slept with her. That’s not what I’m asking.”
“Then let’s not make her a problem between us.”
“I’m asking where you were that evening.” I put the damp tissue down. “You took her home, ate with her, took a call. Did you think about me at all?”
“Of course I did. I knew the car was bringing you home and the caregiver was there. You didn’t have to do anything. I was afraid I’d call just as you’d fallen asleep.”
“So you never once asked.”
He opened his mouth. I didn’t wait for an answer.
“How did you know I was asleep? You didn’t see me lie down. You didn’t ask if I’d eaten. You didn’t even know I hadn’t gone home.”
“The people I’d arranged to look after you were at the house.”
“But I needed you!”
The force of it pulled painfully at my shoulder. I tensed without meaning to, and he was on his feet at once. I raised my hand to stop him. He halted beside the coffee table, the urgency on his face making me feel worse.
I didn’t want to need him to take care of me even when I was angry.
“Sit down,” I said. After a moment, he did.
“I wasn’t unhappy with the caregiver, and I don’t blame the driver,” I said. “They both did what they promised.”
He lowered his head and rubbed his hands together.
“I thought it would be the same if I came home and stayed with you after you’d rested.”
“But I told you beforehand that it wasn’t.”
“If there are other things I haven’t done right, you can tell me,” he said. “You don’t have to wait until now and bring everything up all at?—”
“My birthday, six months ago. Do you remember?”
He glanced at my wrist. There was no bracelet there.
I remembered the little box it came in. The next day, he’d fastened the bracelet for me and bent to kiss my wrist. I’d loved that kiss, and the bracelet really was beautiful.
But the night before, there should have been two place settings at our table.
Instead, he’d called to say his mother had unexpected guests and needed him to come over.
“I told you I wanted to have that dinner with you.”
“I said I’d make up for it.”
“Did we?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“We went out to dinner several times after that.”
“The time with your father, and the time your colleague brought his wife. Which one do you want to count?”
Hurt flickered across his face. I couldn’t make the words gentler. I’d already said them gently once.
“I said it then,” I told him. “Ethan, I already told you.”
He leaned back, as though he could no longer find anywhere to put his hands. After a moment, he said quietly, “I remember you liked that restaurant.”
“More than that, I wanted to go with you.”
“But you were still wearing the bracelet that day.” He spoke slowly, as if checking something he distinctly remembered. “You said it was beautiful.”
“It was. So you thought I was fine?”
“I thought you were at least a little happier.”
“I was a little happier. And I still wanted that dinner. Both were true. Later, I asked if Friday would work. You said that week was too busy and we’d see about the next one.
After that, I didn’t even know how to ask.
I couldn’t wake up every morning and follow you around asking if you had time to celebrate my birthday that day. ”
“You could have just told me you were angry.”
“Wasn’t telling you I wanted to be with you enough?”
He looked at me. I waited, tears gathering in my eyes, until my lips were trembling. Finally, he reached for the tissue box and set it beside my knee.
I wiped my eyes. I still wanted him to understand how easily that dinner could have made me happy. Instead, I was wondering how much louder I should have asked.
He moved to the sofa and lowered himself into a half crouch, bringing his eyes level with mine.
“I’ve cleared my schedule this time. Today, tomorrow. No one else. If you want to yell at me, or if you want me to stay with you, I’m right here.”
I looked at him. He was serious, and I believed he’d really cleared the time.
If I moved over a little, he would sit beside me, and we could spend a quiet afternoon together.
He would cut up fruit for me and complain that Mia’s little knife was awkward to use.
Perhaps he would stay the night, reaching before bed to check whether my feet, sticking out from under the covers, were cold.
I wanted those things so much my chest ached.
“I want a divorce.”
His expression didn’t change at first, as though he couldn’t understand where that word belonged. Then he gripped the edge of the sofa.
“What?”
I drew a breath. “I want to divorce you.”
“Because of the day before yesterday?”
“You heard what I just said.”
“I heard you. And I’m here.” He straightened, then bent toward me again. “You can’t tell me all this and decide we’re over at the same time. Eleven years, Claire. We’ve been married eleven years.”
I knew. I’d just been thinking about how he would pull the covers over me.
“We can talk more. You’re in pain. You haven’t rested. I’m not saying you can’t decide. I’m saying—” He stopped and sought my eyes again. “We can spend a few days apart. Stay here as long as you want. Just don’t talk about divorce now.”
I almost agreed.
He was so close, his voice catching on a word. All I had to say was that we could wait, and he would stop looking at me that way. I wouldn’t have to admit to him that even saying what I’d decided hurt.
I rested my hand on my thigh and gripped a fold of my skirt.
“This isn’t about staying here a few more days. I’ve already contacted a lawyer and scheduled a consultation.”
He glanced toward the kitchen, then back at me. After a long time, he said, “You’ve already done that too.”
“Yes.”
“Yesterday I was still waiting for you to let me come over.”
My eyes burned. “I’ve waited for you before too.”
He reached out and touched my knuckles. This time I didn’t pull away. He turned my hand over and brushed his thumb across my palm. He’d done it countless times: under the dinner table, in the car, in bed in the dark. To my shame, I wanted to hold on to him.
“Come home with me first, okay?” he said. “We can talk there. Nothing here is yours. The things you want are still at home.”
“Mia will help me get them.”
“I don’t just mean things.”
“I know.”
He stared at me, his voice lower. “Do you still care about me?”
The tears fell before I could turn my face away.
“I do,” I said. “I see you like this, and I still worry that you haven’t slept. Just now I wanted to ask if you’d had lunch.”
His grip tightened a little, as if to hold on to what I’d said.
“Then—”
“But I need another place to live.” I slowly drew my hand back and laid it on my skirt. “I can’t go back and wait for the next time you finally have time.”
He looked down at his empty hand. Neither of us spoke. Even the kitchen was quiet. I wanted him to say something else, and I was afraid he would, because then I would have to refuse him again.
Finally, he asked if Nora could call him after school. I said yes; she wanted to tell him about a little presentation. He nodded.
Mia came out to see him to the door. He looked back. I didn’t stand; I stayed seated and looked at him. He seemed to want to come back, his hand pausing on the doorknob before he stepped out.
After the door closed, I let go of my skirt. Deep red marks cut across my palm, and the fabric was crushed and wrinkled.
Mia sat beside me without rushing to speak. I leaned against her shoulder. Only after a while did I realize I hadn’t been breathing properly.
“Help me look at apartments near the school,” I said.