Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Acknowledgments
- P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
- About the Author
- About the Book
- Also by Alison Gaylin
- About the Publisher
“I told you,” he said. “I told you she’d be okay.”
“Eric.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not in trouble, are you?”
He pulled away, his features tensing, as though he were bracing for a blow. “What do you mean?”
Robin stared at him. She could tell they weren’t on the same page. “You left work in the middle of the day. I don’t want you to be in trouble with Shawn.”
Eric’s face relaxed. “Oh, I can handle Shawn,” he said. “He’s the last thing you need to worry about.”
“What’s the first thing?”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” She sat back down. He sat across from her, taking both her hands in his. “Renee’s life is more important than Shawn,” Eric said. “You’re more important than Shawn.”
Robin gripped Eric’s hands and shut her eyes and thought of her mother, the rise and fall of her chest. “I hope she makes it.”
“She will,” said Eric. “I told you. She has to.”
Robin opened her eyes and gazed across the table at her husband—those sparkling blue eyes that had roped her in from the first time she’d seen him, sitting across the table from her in RW1, which stood for Reporting/Writing 1—the most time-consuming class in journalism school. He’d winked at her—winked—and she’d told herself that he was too pretty, a player, not to be trusted. He’d spent the better part of that year convincing her otherwise. He’d been single-minded back then. Believing fully that if he willed it, it would happen. And it had happened. Of course it had. They’d had sex for the first time after talking all night, sharing their corniest dreams, their most embarrassing experiences, their goals, their fears, their deepest wishes . . . Unrealistic as only young, in-love people can be. This is going to make me sound like a jackass, Eric had said, but I want to write stories that save lives.
She smiled at him, remembering the earnestness in his voice, wishing she could bring back that night, when there were no filters between them and no secrets, when there were no unexplained late nights or suspicious Twitter exchanges. When nothing went unsaid and all they both wanted was to know each other thoroughly.
Eric said, “I think it’s going to be hard for her to go home.”
“Huh?”
“Your mom . . . I mean. Because of everything that happened there. Your dad . . .”
“Yes. You’re probably right.”
“If she wants to stay with us for a while. For as long as she wants, really, it’s fine with me.”
“Eric.”
“I know, I’m putting the cart before the horse. She’s not out of the woods after all, and . . . man, could I use any more pastoral-themed clichés?”
Robin smiled. She stroked Eric’s stubbled cheek. “Thank you,” she said.