Sail (Wake #2) (22 page)

Dead silence. I glanced at my phone to see if the call had dropped. And after what I’d just said, letting my temper get the better of me, I sort of wished it had. I called him to ease my guilt, and to possibly feel like I was doing my share of the clean-up. Blake was working her ass off. Fighting for both of us.

Then I heard him question, “The therapist?”

My mouth had no shut off at that point.

“Yeah, the therapist. She’s seeing a psychiatrist. I told you, it isn’t like she’s proud of herself.”

The laugh I heard over the line inflamed my already simmering blood. What was so fucking funny?

“I can’t believe she told you about that.” His tone was condescending and superior. “She’s gutsier than I thought.”

“What?” I shook my head. What did he say? Did he know she was seeing someone? Had he talked to her family?

I was lost.

“We’re seeing a
couples
counselor.”

Couples counselor.
Couples
counselor. Couples. Fucking. Counselor?

I didn’t believe him.

I couldn’t believe him. That wasn’t right. She would have told me. She wouldn’t have left that out.

“I’m sorry, Casey. I suppose I’m not the only one she hides things from, but we’re working on it. I have a client coming in. It’s been nice chatting with you.” And he hung up.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel like daytime drinking was all that bad.

In fact, I drank my lunch. My day off turned into my noon-time drunk and afternoon nap.

I had to talk to her, but I needed a little time. I needed to know the truth.

Here we go again.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

“Here we go again,” I said sarcastically, as Reggie told me, for the millionth time, he and Nora were only ever just friends.

“Don’t you have work to do? How long is your lunch break?” he asked steering the topic away from himself.

“Don’t change the subject, Reggie. I liked her. Why don’t you ask her out?”

“I told you she moved. I don’t even see her anymore. Why don’t
you
drop it?” He grew annoyed with me every time I wanted to talk about Nora and him.

I’d never seen my brother like that with a woman. The way he looked at her and her at him. Their chemistry, from what little I saw, was reminiscent of Casey and me. I wanted that for him. That connection. That spark.

“You said you saw her. You brought it up.”

“She was with someone. Besides, I have a date tonight,” he told me in a clipped tone that implied the discussion was almost closed.

My call waiting beeped and it was Grant, which was unusual. He rarely called before everything fell out, why would he call now?

“Hey Reggie, Grant’s on the other line. I better answer it.”

“Let it go to voicemail. Did you give him the papers yet?”

“No, but I’ve been meaning to. I’m procrastinating,” I answered truthfully, as I continually clicked the retractable button at the top of my pen.

“What does lover-boy think of that?”
Lover-boy?
That kind of had a nice ring to it, a much better nickname than the robot. I smiled.

“Lover-boy understands.” The line beeped again. “I’ll call you later. Love you.”

“Okay. I love you, too.” I switched over to Grant’s call. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Hi,” I said, even though I’d already said hello. I was still dumbfounded and didn’t know what to say.

“Do you have a minute?” Grant asked. There was no distress in his voice and I wished he’d just left a message instead. I didn’t want to talk to him.

Something had changed in me.

Maybe it was having everything out in the open with my family. It might have been the talks I’d had with Dr. Rex. I wasn’t sure, but where my feelings were always conflicted in the past—where I’d felt obligated to Grant—I didn’t feel that anymore.

Sure, he looked like a fool at Micah and Cory’s wedding, but so had I. It had been dirty laundry night at HLS. Still, it wasn’t like he’d done anything majorly wrong. Even when I’d gone to the house, other than getting a little upset—which was understandable—he didn’t yell and scream at me as much as I’d felt I’d deserved at the time.

Yet, there he was calling and I was answering. And it was sad I didn’t care to talk to him anymore, but at the same time I felt like I owed it to him—and myself—to not hide.

“Sure. What’s up?” I said, as nonchalantly as I could, while my heart thumped powerfully in my chest. I sat at my desk and began doodling mindlessly to stave off the anxiety blooming in my stomach.

Was he going to yell now?

Was he calling to let me have it?

I prepared for the worst.

“We need to get together and talk. Get some things settled.”

Things.
I had things to settle with him, too. Things like a packet of divorce documents I needed him to sign. It wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant, but I had my eye on the goal.
Casey.

“All right. I can come by the house later. Are you going to be there?”

“No. Let’s go out to dinner,” he amended.

I didn’t want to. I drew a breath and let it out slowly to compose myself. It didn’t fucking work, so I did it again. But breathing didn’t calm nerves. It just kept you alive.

Grant didn’t say anything. He simply waited for me to talk.

I yielded. “Where did you want to go?”

“We could go to Michael’s? It a little too cool to sit outside, but you like the food there.”

I liked the food there better when I enjoyed the company. My intuition told me nothing I ordered would taste right and it might never taste good there again.

Michael’s food. Another casualty.

“I don’t know, Grant. Maybe it would be best if I came over and we talked in private,” I said, even though I was certain he wouldn’t cause a scene. At least, the man I married wouldn’t. Who in the hell knew what the one I was divorcing would do?

“You can’t have dinner with me now, or something?” His tone was cold, but I absorbed the frigid bite. I reminded myself he was hurting.

I scrambled to smooth it over. “No, it isn’t that.”

“Are you angry at
me
for something? Last I checked, it was you who had an affair and didn’t come home.”

Wow.

Being in public wouldn’t be so bad, I decided.

He added, “It’s the least you could do, Blake. It’s just dinner.”

It
was
just dinner. Well, dinner with a side of divorce.

“What time do you want me to meet you at Michael’s?” I asked, hoping it was sooner than later. I wanted to get it over with and move the hell on.

“I have a showing this evening. Is five too early?”

Perfect.

“Nope, that’s fine with me. I’ll be there at five.”

I finished my work for the day, and since I was the last person in the building to leave, I went through the practice of closing up shop.

I shoved my arms into my coat and searched for my damn keys. I didn’t want to go, but the voice inside my head kept telling me, “You can do this. You’re almost there. Do it for Casey.”

And so I did.

I drove to Michael’s and I sat in the parking lot, until it was almost five on the dot. I said a silent prayer it would go well and I slipped the manila envelope into my bag. Then walked inside.

As predicted, it didn’t smell as good. Or maybe, it was that my appetite went straight home after work. When I approached the hostess I said, hopefully for the last time, “Kelly for two?”

She scanned the list in front of her and looked over her shoulder to confirm, that yes, he was already seated. Grant sat by the big windows which overlooked the water that was growing darker by the minute—just like my attitude.

I didn’t like the way he’d manipulated my emotions, regardless of his right to. The more I’d thought about it all afternoon, the more I should have stood up for myself.

“Right this way,” the hostess instructed and I followed her. After leading me to the table, I was left to seat myself, when she quickly pivoted and returned to her post.

Grant didn’t even bother to look up when I approached.

He wore a dark blue button-down shirt and dark gray trousers, looking much more together than the last time I saw him. That was an improvement.

“So you have a showing later?” I asked. Small talk would be my saving grace. I took my coat off and hung it on the back of my chair, taking a seat across from him at the table set for two. There was a candle lit in the center, and had it not been under those circumstances, it might have been romantic. But as it was, it annoyed me.

“Yeah, showing a condo. I already ordered some appetizers,” he said.

Everything felt forced and difficult,
had it always been that way?

When the server arrived, I ordered water with lime; Grant ordered a rum and Coke. I noticed he had an empty one in front of him.

Maybe he was as nervous as me?

I fiddled with the table linen and began, “Grant, I owe you an apology.” I’d get the hard stuff out of the way. If he didn’t respond well to what I had to say, I’d leave. There was no point in waiting for dinner to lay it out there.

The waitress placed the beverages on the table and left without saying a word. The service was awful. I hadn’t noticed before.

He leaned back and took a sip of his drink.

I continued, “I know what I’ve done to you is unforgivable and wrong. And I’m sorry I hurt you.”

His gray eyes met mine, but the Grant I knew was dim and hard to find inside of the stare. I’d done that. I’d caused that change to him and then my guilt covered everything within reach.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, running a hand over his face and around the back of his neck.

“I don’t know and I know that’s a crappy answer, but it’s the truth.”

“If you’d just tell me what it was that made you go to him, I can give it to you. I can be what you want, if you tell me how, Blake,” he negotiated. Did he really think it was that easy? Like I could rattle off a few things and everything would be fine?

“It isn’t like that. It isn’t something I can describe.”

“You’ve really hurt our marriage and you’ve broken my trust. How am I supposed to trust you now?”

I processed the question, but it was irrelevant. I didn’t want his trust. I wasn’t planning on repairing our marriage.

“Grant, I want a divorce.” I’d already told him at the house. It made me uncomfortable he didn’t acknowledge that was where I saw us headed. He pinched at the bridge of his nose and leaned back farther in his chair. It creaked under his weight and I felt like I was creaking too.

“Just like that? You’re giving up? Just like that?” he alleged, with a snap of his fingers.

“Not
just like that.
I’ve been trying for a long time.
We
aren’t what I want.”

“Well, what do you want? Let’s see if we can get
you
what
you
want, since your feelings are the only ones that matter here.”

I leaned in to speak quietly. “I didn’t say that. You know I’m not like that, I care about you.” My sweaty hands balled into fists in my lap. “I didn’t love you like I should have. I shouldn’t have married you,” I admitted softly. I didn’t want anyone to overhear our discussion. “Like I said, I care about you and I’m sorry about how I’ve treated you. I’m not proud of it.”