Experiencing it again—while married to her—lit a fire in my stomach. I was right back to wanting my hands around her neck and requiring some apologies from her, preferably while on her knees, for the torture of this evening.
The knots in my shoulders were climbing up my neck and turning into a headache. “Who the hell is this lacrosse guy?”
She held up her hands, tissues balled in each palm. “I don’t know. Something Gagne.”
“I’m going to fuckin’ find out who he is,” I muttered. Little Star would not be sponsoring that team this season. I turned toward a shopping plaza and headed for the fast food drive-thru. “We’re getting you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Fries it is,” I replied. “What do you want to drink?”
“Anything but Sprite,” she said through a shuddering breath.
I pulled through the lane and placed the order. Waiting on the car ahead of us, I glanced at Shay. She wasn’t crying anymore, which reduced my murderous urges, but she looked miserable. Like this night had well and fully crushed her. “Are you warmed up?”
“I think so,” she said. It was about as believable as saying she wasn’t hungry.
I twisted around, knowing I had a sweatshirt or something in there from earlier in the week. September days were hot but the mornings carried the early whispers of winter. “Here. Take this.” I handed her a hoodie with the farm’s logo across the chest. “You’re going to need a real coat soon enough.”
She arranged the hoodie over her legs like a blanket and slipped her hands inside the neck. “I have real coats,” she said. “Several of them. I’ve been in Boston, Noah. Not Barbados.”
I rolled toward the pickup window and passed the fries and soda to Shay. When I was back on the main road, I said, “I need you to stop choosing inadequate people, Shay.”
“Don’t you think I’m trying?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t have a single clue what you’re trying to do here but I know you need to stop spending all your time wondering what you did wrong when these half-assed people leave you. Stop giving yourself to people who have no hope of ever playing on your level. Stop chasing people who don’t know how to show up for you. It’s a waste of your time and so are they. Let them go. Let the door hit them on the ass on the way out. They’re the ones who fucked up. Not you.”
“Then I’m going to be alone.”
“How the fuck did you get that from what I just said?”
She rustled in the bag of fries as she spoke. “You said I choose people who don’t play at my level. If that’s true—and I don’t think it is—there’s no one here.”
I’m here. I am right here. All I need you to do is notice me.
“And I don’t think I’m on any different level,” she continued. “I’m…I don’t know what I am but it’s not something that people want. They wouldn’t keep leaving if they wanted me.”
“Have you run this theory past Jaime? Because I can’t believe she’d tolerate one minute of this bullshit. And you need to know I’m not standing for it either. Don’t mourn the loss of people who don’t deserve you.”
Shay didn’t respond. She sipped her drink and stared out the window as I drove through the silent streets of Friendship.
Then, “Where’s Gennie?”
“She’s asleep. Mrs. Castro is at the house with her. She plays poker with the orchard crew on Friday nights. I caught her before she headed home.” I paused, trying to find the calm to speak without unleashing the mess of worry and anger and fresh jealousy gathered inside me. “We probably should’ve discussed this up front but I don’t want my wife driving around with people she doesn’t know and getting stranded in dive bars on the other end of the bay. Don’t do that again.”
“We should’ve discussed this up front but I don’t want my husband telling me what to do with my Friday evenings.”
“As long as you’re my wife, I won’t have you making careless decisions.”
“As long as you’re my husband, I won’t have you telling me how to make my decisions.”
A rasp sounded in the back of my throat as I rolled down the lane to Twin Tulip. “As long as you’re my wife, I won’t have you dating lacrosse coaches.”
“As long as you’re my husband,” she shouted, “I won’t have you restricting my social life.” She reached for the door handle. “And it wasn’t a date. It was a bunch of teachers and coaches. It was your basic buck-a-beer happy hour.”
I pointed at the door handle. “You’ve already proven that you can’t walk on your own. Stay there. The last thing I need is you falling in the wildflower garden.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted at me with her whole face as I rounded the hood. She was fucking adorable and I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t busy being furious at her. I opened the door, held her hand, and looped an arm around her waist to keep her steady. The restraint it took to keep from throwing her over my shoulder was considerable.
