“Where are you going?”
“I’ll get a motel.”
“Which one?”
She came out of the bathroom with her toiletry bag. To think he’d actually asked the question. Which one?!
“What difference does it make?” she said, pulling bras and panties from the wardrobe in their bedroom. “Are you going to recommend a motel?” She laughed nastily.
“If it’s far from here, I’d suggest you wait till tomorrow morning.”
He would never be able to understand her.
She concentrated on packing her bag and getting out.
Every line of her body screamed that she had been wronged. In her mind, she urged him to pity her, complained that he was so cruel that he didn’t even try to rush over and hold her back, forcing her into his wide and warm chest or blocking the door that stood between a safe haven and deep, unknowable night.
Instead, she was at the front door, despairingly slipping on her shoes, taking as long as she possibly could to give him a chance to say something, to pull her back, and then everyone could go back to normal without losing face. But he was illiterate when it came to her body language, she realized as she put on the second shoe.
She left. No matter how bad this was, she could only keep walking forward.
The elevator crawled up toward her, floor after floor.
Glen appeared behind her, pulling on his coat, the collar twisted inside out.
He said, “It’s so late. I’ll give you a lift.”
She said, “Do you know where I’m going?”
He said, “No matter where you’re going, I’m worried you won’t be safe.” He produced a card. “Here’s my AAA membership. It’ll get you a discount at most roadside motels.”
He looked serious and responsible, without a hint of sarcasm. His collar was rubbing against his neck, and he turned his head uncomfortably. She couldn’t help reaching out to straighten it. Now he finally grabbed her hand and pulled it against his chest. She thought Glen’s eyes would always stare at her like this, perplexed. He had no idea how, at this moment, she was treating him like a big brother in order to reconcile with him.
Right then she’d wished Glen dead. Looking at the row of knives on their wall, she had thought only these could end the painful differences between them. Maybe she’d kill herself—that would make things a lot simpler. Before the secret talker showed up, before she’d known there was an intelligent person in the world who understood her, she’d never realized what torture it was not to be able to communicate.
She’d never been so utterly disappointed.
She had told the secret talker stories she would never reveal to Glen. She recounted the loss of her baby. Compared to now, even then, she hadn’t felt so let down by her marriage.