“No? I still do all the time.” She leaned forward to where I’d placed my handbag on the coffee table. The spec-sheet our realtor had given me along with the postcard stuck out from the bag. “May I?”
I nodded. Davena unfolded the paper, turning it over to see more pictures. “It’s a nice, easy house. What exactly is it you don’t care for?”
I glanced over the interior photos. “I just didn’t get a gut reaction. You know, when something feels right?”
She cocked her head. “Is that usually how you operate? Off your gut? You’ve always seemed more practical than that.”
I nodded slowly. “My father is practical . . .”
“And Leanore is as irrational as they come,” Davena completed my thought.
“There isn’t room for two of my mother in any family.”
“I agree,” Davena said. “But why the sudden need to trust your instinct over your sense? This isn’t about finding the right house, Liv. If it were, you’d be able to step back and see that this”—she handed me the flyer—“is perfectly fine. So what else is going on?”
I fidgeted with one corner of the page. “Once I make this decision, then Bill and I will go down a path I can’t come back from.”
“You can always come back,” Davena said gently. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that nothing is permanent. There’s always time to start over, especially at your age.”
“But if I’m already thinking of starting over, then I don’t think that’s a good sign.”
“You can’t stay in limbo, Liv.” She took my hand. “I drive Mack crazy the way I bounce from thing to thing. I constantly make mistakes—sometimes they pay off, but I never regret them. I do the best I can with the information I have. But you only have one shot at life, Olivia, and take it from me, you don’t want to miss anything. If you want something, say it out loud.”
I looked at her frail but manicured hand on mine. Ifmylife were ending, would I even think to do my nails?
For Bill, the question wasn’tif. It waswhen. He’d offered me the only thing I’d wanted—security. Had he recognized the risk in me, or had I made him feel safe, too? Could I take that from him without becoming someone I resented as much as my mother?
I’d entered my marriage sure I’d be ready for all of this one day. Butone daystill seemed so far away. Buying the house meant I was all in on our future. I’d be trading the city and my freedom to be a wife and mother.
“And if what I want—or don’t want—would hurt others . . .?” I heard myself ask Davena. “Break promises? Destroy lives?”
“That’s something only you can answer,” she said.
Her eyes lingered on mine a moment while her words hung in the air. Perhaps sensing that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—answer just then, she looked away. “Listen, sweetie. Can I keep this spec-sheet? I know Mack would love to put in his two cents.”
“Of course. Bill has one up on the refrigerator,” I said, setting my tea on a coaster as I stood. “I’d better get home.”
She walked me to the door, kissed me on the cheek, and hesitated. “If you’d asked me years ago if a person’s own happiness was worth destroying many others’, I might’ve paused. But now, knowing my time here is limited . . . you can’t hide from your desires. You can suppress them, ignore them, maybe even kill them off. But they’ll stay buried and rotting inside you.” She drew back to look me in the eye. “What kind of person will that make you over time?”
My throat closed. I’d seen firsthand what rotting emotions could do to a person. To a marriage. To the lives of the people you loved.
Even when Davena had revealed her diagnosis to me, her expression hadn’t been so grave.
Everything I’d asked for, wished for, worked for, stood within reach. To say that any of this had fallen in my lap would be a lie. I’d chosen Bill. I’d willingly started down the path I was on.
To walk away from it all for the unknown? To turn my back on a perfect house for one that might have a faulty foundation with deepening cracks, that could be moments from crumbling—and expect an architect with nothing invested and even less to lose to swoop in and fix it?
I’d be a fool to pursue any of that. But after so many years of trying to keep every hair in place, and the sudden, growing feeling that I might be trapped . . . maybe foolishness was the only way out.
14
Iwalked through the doorway of Lucy’s small but organized office—and froze, one foot in the room. My best friend, myengagedfriend, kneeled in front of a man in a tuxedo, her hand inside his pant leg.
A man who, known for his bachelorhood and playboy ways, was likely all too familiar with his current view.
Even with his back to me, I recognized the broad shoulders, jet-black hair, and towering height before me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, retreating. “Your receptionist said—”
