9. Scarlett
— ? —
Scarlett
At four in the morning, I hear it.
The helicopter and my whole body goes cold.
He’s coming home, at four in the morning, and he’s going to find the note, the ring and the bags by the door, and then he’s going to find me in this chair with our daughter in my arms.
I don’t move.
I hear the rotor blades slow and stop. I hear the truck door, the porch, the back door. I hear him in the kitchen, and I know the exact moment he finds the note because everything goes silent.
Footsteps on the stairs, down the hall. Stopping in our bedroom doorway, where the bags are. Then moving again, faster now, toward the nursery.
He appears in the doorway.
“Scarlett.”
I don’t say anything and just keep rocking. Josie stirs against my chest but doesn’t wake.
Beck crosses the room in three steps. He kneels in front of the chair, and even in the dark I can see his face. He looks wrecked.
“Scarlett, please.”
“Keep your voice down. She’s sleeping.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I saw the note. And the ring. And I thought…”
“You thought what?”
“I thought you’d already left.” His voice cracks. “I thought I was too late.”
“You almost were.”
He reaches for my hand. I pull it back.
“I heard you, Beck.” I keep my voice low, but I don’t keep the anger out of it. “I heard every word. Easy keeper. Dry lot. I don’t know what I feel about her anymore.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean? Please, explain it to me. Explain how there’s another way to interpret my husband telling another woman that he doesn’t know if he loves me.”
“I was venting. I was frustrated and tired and I said something stupid.”
“You didn’t say it to me. You said it to her.” I finally look at him, and he flinches at whatever he sees in my eyes. “When did she become the person you talk to, Beck? When did I become the woman you talk about?”
He doesn’t have an answer.
“When did I become an easy keeper?” I ask. “Was it when I stopped asking where you were so I wouldn’t be a nag? Was it when I let you answer my questions with sex instead of words? Was it when I sat at table nine and watched another woman take credit for my barn and didn’t say a single thing?”
“Your barn?”
“Don’t.” My voice is sharp enough that Josie stirs. I lower it again. “I’ve known since Tripp showed me the drawings. My name is in the corner. Your crew is telling everyone you designed it. You let Camille say you did it in front of a whole room of people, and you didn’t correct her.”
His face goes pale. “I didn’t know you knew.”
“Of course you didn’t. You don’t know anything about me anymore, Beck. You don’t know what I do all day. You don’t know what I think about or worry about or dream about. You just know that I’m here when you get home and gone when you leave and I don’t ask too many questions.”
“That’s not…”
“Name one thing about my day yesterday. Not the horses. Me.”
Nothing comes out.
“That’s what I thought.” I stand up, Josie still sleeping against my chest. “I want a divorce.”
“Scarlett.”
“I want a divorce, Beck.”
“You’re upset.”
“I’m upset and I want a divorce. Both things can be true.” I step around him, toward the door. “Move.”
He doesn’t move. He stands up and blocks the doorway, and for a moment I see the man I married. The one who goes after what he wants.
“Please,” he says. “Just wait. Just let me explain.”
“You had six months to explain and to let me know. You had countless flights to Salt Fork to explain. You had every night you came home late and every morning you left early and every single time you touched me instead of talked to me.” I hitch Josie higher on my hip.
“You don’t get to explain now. You get to move. ”
Something shifts in his face. The fight goes out of him. His shoulders drop and he reluctantly steps aside.
I walk past him, down the hall, down the stairs. I grab the bags with my free hand. I don’t look back.
“Scarlett.” His voice follows me down. “Please. Just… call me when you get there. Let me know you’re safe.”
I don’t answer. I put Josie in her car seat, load the bags in the trunk and start the engine. Beck is standing on the porch in his socks, the note crumpled in his hand, watching me leave.
I pull out of the driveway and drive toward the highway, toward Dallas, toward my sister’s house and whatever comes next.
Josie wakes up when we hit the county line.
“Da?” she says, looking around the dark car. “Da?”
“Daddy’s not here, baby.”
“Da?” She starts to cry. “Da? Da?”
She says it all the way to Dallas.
I don’t cry until we get to Lucy’s driveway. Then I put my head on the steering wheel and I sob until I can’t breathe. My sister comes out in her bathrobe and opens my door and holds me while Josie keeps asking for her daddy in the back seat.
“I’ve got you,” Lucy says. “I’ve got you. You did the right thing.”
I don’t know if that’s true.
But I know I couldn’t stay.