“Well, anyway. Here,” I say, putting Avery on her lap. I’m sure she’ll protest and hand her back to me with a look of annoyance, but she doesn’t. She holds Avery facing her and bounces her slightly. Avery smiles up at her, trying to grab the hair tie at the end of Paige’s loose braid. Paige takes it out and lets her have it. On instinct, I want to pull her away, explaining that it’s a choking hazard, but I don’t. I watch them play together, Paige pulling it away gently with a thumb and forefinger, and Avery pulling it with all her might in a closed fist. For a moment, I think I see Paige’s eyes glossy with tears. I don’t know if I’ve done a terrible thing, bringing a child here in the space where hers no longer lives, or a good thing, making her happy in this moment.
“The ball was fun the other night. I was glad you could be there,” I say.
“Yeah” is all she replies.
“So I feel like, I mean, I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe the whole, you know, our arrangement isn’t a great idea.”
“Why the change?” she asks, still fixated on playing with Avery.
“Well, you’ve followed him for two weeks and nothing. I think we have our answer,” I say.
“Well, it’s up to you, but two weeks isn’t much. Just because he’s not cheating today doesn’t mean he hasn’t and that I won’t catch him if I keep looking.”
“I know. I just... I feel like he’s proven himself to be honest, and now I’m the bad one, not him.”
“Well, look. It doesn’t cost you anything unless I catch him, right? I haven’t tried my last-ditch effort to trap him in something myself. Because I think we need more time—like, it can’t be obvious to him—but it’s your thing, so whatever you want,” she says, standing, Avery on her hip. She goes to grab a blanket off the back deck and lays it out on the ground. She places Avery on top, and Christopher waddles over. Avery screeches excitedly when the dog sniffs her with his wet nose, and we both laugh. Christopher makes a few circles before lying down and resting his head on Avery’s leg.
I pet his head mindlessly. Maybe it’s that I want to stay in this space that’s been created—a space where I have tried my hardest to find out if he’s lying to me and he’s been proven innocent. I want to hold it up as proof that he loves me—that I was wrong, and now I can move forward without constantly holding back from him in subtle ways every day. I can stop the second-guessing and self-loathing that comes with not feeling good enough. We can be happy.
Once upon a time, we drove straight through the night, on a whim, all the way to Teton National Park to watch the sunrise from the bed of Finn’s pickup. We drank gas-station coffee and talked until our voices were hoarse. When we were just out of college, we crashed a 5K like some might crash a party. We just joined in and started running with everyone else, just for the free craft beer and party at the finish line. I watched him play Iago in Shoreside Community Theater’s rendition ofOthello, and he’d come to all my games when I joined the ladies’ Foxtrot softball team. We shared a mango mousse with a chocolate heart inside on a sidewalk café in Florence, and we made love in a small rowboat on a lake I don’t remember the name of when we visited his parents in Wisconsin. He bought me an engraved thimble from a little gift shop that I still have somewhere. We were in love. We were perfect. I want it back.
“I guess I’m starting to think it was a crazy idea, and I’m so glad it was you and not a private investigator. I mean, what was I thinking, right? I trust him. I shouldn’t have done this. I feel...guilty.”
“If you’re sure, Cor. That’s fine.”
“I’ll pay you for your time, though. Please let me,” I say, but before she can answer, we hear a man’s voice hollering from the front of the house.
“Georgia?” the voice yells.
“Oh, it must be Lucas,” I say. “I told him we’d be here when they were ready to pick her up.”
“Back here,” I call. A few seconds later, Lucas appears. His face is red, and his jaw is flexed but softens as soon as he spots us, and a smile spreads across his face.
“Uh, hi there,” I say. I think about the fact that it can’t be later than three o’clock and he’s usually still at work. I never see his car until after six or so. “You’re home early,” I say.
“Georgia isn’t feeling well,” he says.
“Oh, no, she seemed fine,” I say.
“That’s what happens when she tries to be brave and go out, poor thing,” he says, still smiling, approaching Avery and picking her up from her blanket on the ground. She starts to cry.
“How long have you had her?” he asks, and suddenly I’m a little uncomfortable giving her to him, and I’m not sure why. It’s just a sense. His body language doesn’t match his smile.
“Oh, not long. Georgia’s running a quick errand, I think,” I say.
“Well, that was so kind of you to watch her,” he says. “Wasn’t it?” he asks Avery, kissing her head.
“Anytime. She was just a darling,” I say.
He starts to pull his wallet out and ask how much he owes us.
“No, please. Really. We loved having her.”
“Well.” He smiles widely and nods. “Thanks again.”
“I hope Georgia’s okay!” I call as he begins to leave.
“She will be, thanks,” he says and starts toward the gate. I feel a tightening in my chest, and again I’m not sure why. I know how I can read into things and attach meaning where there isn’t any, so I don’t let myself do that. He’s never been the friendliest person. I know a lot of wealthy men in the community who have a major superiority complex because of their jobs or the senators they have dinner with. That’s how it is around here, so I won’t let myself continue to think the worst of everyone. He didn’t do anything to merit it.
