Chapter Seven—Julie #2
I think about lunch on Monday. His gaze following my hand when I rubbed my temple. “Did he tell you to ask whether I have headaches?”
Dalen closes his eyes for a second.
There’s my answer.
“Jeez, Dalen.” I press my fingers against my forehead.
“He told me to talk to you. He told me I was watching you too closely.” Dalen sounds miserable now.
I drop my hand. “Your doctor knew you were watching me before I did.”
He flinches.
I walk away from him and pick up the dish towel near the sink. I fold it once, realize what I’m doing, and drop it again.
All those questions make sense now. Sleep. Headaches. Food. The way he watched me lose my place during a story.
I spent the week trying to prove to my husband that I was behaving normally without knowing there was a test.
Dalen takes one step closer. “I screwed this up.”
“You think? You discussed me with my sister and a doctor who’s never even treated me.” I grip the counter with both hands.
“Yes.” He stops behind the island.
“You never discussed any of it with me.” I turn around.
Dalen’s shoulders sag. “No.”
My eyes fill. I wipe beneath them with the heel of my hand because crying is going to make this conversation worse in ways I don’t want to think about.
Dalen reaches toward me.
I shake my head, and his hand falls. “Did you believe Meg?” I ask.
“She’s worried.” His attention stays on my face.
I wipe my other cheek. “That’s not what I asked.”
Dalen looks at me for a long second. “The screenshot was real.”
“So I made a call I don’t remember.” I press my lips together.
“I didn’t know.” He takes a slow breath.
“Did you think I might have?” I ask.
His hesitation lasts a second, and it hurts. I turn toward the counter because I can’t look at him.
The chef’s knife is near the stove now.
I stare at it.
A few minutes ago, it was on my side of the cutting board. I remember moving my wineglass away from it when I got off the counter.
Now it’s beside Dalen. I look at him. “Why did you move the knife?”
He follows my attention. “What?”
“The knife.” I point at it.
Dalen looks down. “I was making room.”
I look at the empty cutting board where it used to be. “No, you weren’t.”
His attention moves from the empty space to the knife. His expression slowly changes.
My stomach twists. “You didn’t even know you did it.”
“Julie.” Dalen starts toward me.
I back away. “Were you afraid of me?”
“No.” He stops immediately.
“Were you afraid I might do something with the knife?” I wrap my arms around myself.
Dalen looks at the knife again. “I don’t remember moving it.”
“That doesn’t answer me.” I wait.
He pushes the knife farther onto the counter, away from both of us. “I don’t think you’d hurt me.”
“You moved it.” My eyes burn again.
“I did.” His voice drops.
“Why?” I ask.
Dalen rubs both hands over his face. “I don’t know.”
I swallow hard. “I do.”
His hands fall.
“You’ve spent a week listening to Meg tell you I’m acting like Mom. You went to a doctor and asked about hallucinations. You’ve been watching whether I sleep, eat, forget things, or get headaches.” I wipe my cheek again. “Some part of you is scared of me.”
Dalen shakes his head. “I’m scared for you.”
I point toward the counter. “Then why did you move the knife?”
He doesn’t answer.
I wait while the sauce bubbles quietly behind me and the music continues playing from the speaker near the windows. Dalen looks miserable, but I don’t rescue him from the question.
Finally, he sits on the stool beside the island and rubs his palms over his thighs. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You weren’t thinking.” I hate how soft my voice gets.
Dalen looks up at me. “No.”
That answer hurts worst of all. I walk into the dining room. Dalen stays in the kitchen for several seconds before following me.
He stops near the doorway and leaves several feet between us. “I believe something is happening to you.” His hands hang uselessly at his sides.
I turn toward him. “Someone was beside our bed.”
Dalen opens his mouth, then closes it again.
I wait.
He rubs his thumb across his palm. “I believe you woke up certain someone was there.”
I stare at him.
His face changes as soon as he hears his own answer. He flinches but doesn’t try to walk back his honest assessment.
“Okay.” I nod slowly.
“Julie, I believe you.” Dalen takes a step into the dining room.
I move back. “You just changed what I said.”
He stops. “I don’t know how someone got into the bedroom without appearing on a camera or opening a door.”
“Neither do I.” I wipe my damp palms against my jeans again.
Dalen looks toward the kitchen before returning his attention to me. “I’ve been trying to make sense of that.”
“I’ve been living it.” My voice cracks on the last word.
His shoulders drop. “I know.”
I shake my head because he doesn’t. He can’t. My husband has always been the safest person in my life. He checks the doors now because I’m scared. He changed the locks. He came to my office the minute I called and has done a hundred things to help me.
He also moved a knife away from me without knowing he’d done it.
I press my lips together until I can speak. “I need some space.”
Dalen glances toward the stairs. “Do you want me to leave?”
The question hurts enough that I have to look away. “I don’t know.”
“I can stay downstairs.” He moves back toward the kitchen instead of coming closer.
I nod and start toward the stairs. Halfway there, I stop with my hand on the banister. “You don’t call Meg.”
“I won’t.” Dalen remains near the dining-room doorway.
I look back at him. “You don’t call Dr. Petrov.”
His face tightens. “I won’t.”
“You don’t call anybody about me.” I grip the banister harder.
Dalen’s face crumples for an instant before he gets himself under control. “I won’t.”
“If you’re worried about me, you ask me.” I hold his gaze across the room.
“I will.” He doesn’t move.
I swallow around the ache in my throat. “You should’ve done that Monday.”
“I understand.” His voice follows me as I turn toward the stairs.
I go upstairs. The bedroom is exactly the way we left it this morning. Dalen’s reading glasses are on my nightstand because I forgot to move them back to his side. I pick them up and carry them around the bed.
For years, he has reached across me every night to turn off my lamp. His glasses end up beside my phone, and I return them every morning.
I set them on his nightstand.
Then I sit on my side of the bed and cry. I don’t bother trying to be quiet. Dalen already knows I’m upset, and I’m finished worrying about whether my reactions look reasonable.
Twenty minutes later, I wash my face and change clothes. The house is quiet downstairs. I pick up my phone twice and put it down twice.
Meg has texted.
How was dinner? Did he poison you?
I read it again.
My sister spent the week talking to my husband about whether I was mentally ill.
I turn my phone face-down without answering.
Another half-hour passes before someone taps lightly on the bedroom door. “Can I come in?” Dalen asks from the hallway.
I pull the blanket over my legs. “Yes.”
He opens the door and stays beside it. His T-shirt has a damp spot near the hem, probably from cleaning the kitchen. “I put dinner away.”
“Okay.” I watch him rub the back of his neck.
“I also put the knife in the drawer.”
I close my eyes. “I don’t need a knife report.”
“Right.” Dalen lets his hand fall. “Sorry.”
I look at him. He looks awful. I love him anyway, which makes me angry all over again.
Dalen gestures toward the hallway. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.”
I look toward his side of our bed.
Sunday night comes back too easily. I woke with his arm around me and screamed because I was certain somebody stood inches away. The guest room is twenty feet down the hall.
I hate needing him after what happened downstairs. “You can sleep here.” I move the blanket away from his side.
Dalen doesn’t move. “Are you sure?”
The question comes from concern. I know that. It still hurts.
“Yes.” I slide farther toward my side.
He walks to his dresser and gets clothes, then changes in the bathroom. I pick up my phone while he’s gone and set it on the charger without checking it again.
When Dalen comes back, he gets into bed carefully. He leaves space between us and reaches toward the lamp before stopping.
“I can get it.” I reach past my pillow and switch it off myself.
Darkness covers the room. I immediately look toward the empty space beside my nightstand.
Dalen stays on his side.
I lie down facing away from him. The mattress shifts when he settles onto his back, and several minutes pass without either of us speaking.
He doesn’t reach for me, and I don’t reach for him either. I miss him from two feet away, but I’m too hurt to let him touch me tonight.