Contents ( 45)
- Prologue
- 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
- Four months later...
- Acknowledgments
Stuart sits up, too, and we both reach for our wineglasses and sip. Neither of us says anything. There are no words. When I can’t bear the silence any longer, I stand up and drop the ripped pieces of card into the dying fire. We both watch as the edges blacken and crumble.
Eleven
Red wine gives me the absolute worst bouts of paranoia, doubt and self-loathing. Only this time, I wish it was simply hangover-induced. It seemed like such an obvious solution last night, the right thing to do. Now, I fear that I’ve created a huge messy complication. It could be too much, too soon.
I open my eyes. Thank God I’m in my own room. Alone. I pick up my phone and check the time. Five a.m. I lie back down.
What have I done? It made sense at the time. I think of Nina and how she’d react if she were here. A knot of horrible, familiar rising anxiety presses against my chest. The physical pain is real. I sit up and lean over. I feel dizzy. I’m supposed to face the fear, to ride through the attack until it passes. It works for general fears, not real, self-induced, guilt-ridden ones. I place my right hand on my chest as I struggle to get a grip on my trepidation. I thought I could handle this.
I force myself to put my legs to the side of the bed, get up, shower, pull on some jeans, a thick sweater and get my sneakers out of my gym bag (the gym I rarely go to, but should). I head downstairs, deliberately not looking into the living room, and open the front door, embracing the blast of cold. I close the door gently behind me, stand still and breathe. I must remember to breathe.
I don’t have the strength to run, so I brisk-walk. The downstairs lights in the guesthouse are on; Stuart’s parents are early risers. I walk toward the darkness of the woods. I’m not sure why, but it feels like the only thing to do—to keep moving and hope that the fear of what may be in the darkness will help override my conflicting feelings. I rely on my phone’s flashlight to see after I nearly trip over a root. I feel watched, as if Nina can see me, is judging me. My breathing is heavy and unnerving.
Behind me, I think about Stuart and the children. The warmth of the house. His tenderness. It has been a long time since I’ve felt cared for. Although it wasn’t amazing (perhaps guilt held us both back a bit?), it forced me to wake up to how lonely I’ve been feeling for longer than I cared to admit to myself, even. Ben emotionally left me a long time ago, but I wasn’t ready or didn’t have the guts to deal with it.
By the time I decide I have no choice but to return, I’ve made up my mind. It takes two and Nina, well, surely she’d rather me than a stranger? I’m fond of Stuart—more so than I realized—and life does have a strange way of working out. I mustn’t falter from what I believe to be the true and right thing to do.