She ran back into the bathroom, spitting and rinsing her mouth. I heard her open the drawer, throw her toothbrush in, and then shut it with a loudcrack!She rinsed thoroughly with mouthwash before she came back to face off with me.
“It doesn’t matter if you threw it out or not,” she said. “I’m leaving.”
“We’ll see.”
My heart started to drum in my chest, preparing for the hunt if she attempted to take off.
“Why would you want me here? If I’m only ruining your life.”
I lifted my pointer finger. “First. I bought this house for us, for you. It’s yours. If anyone goes, it’s me.” I lifted my middle finger. “Second. I’m not going anywhere. You are my home.
“Our vows don’t run, Scarlett. I meant it. Death do us part—and even then, I doubt we will.” I lifted my ring finger. “Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”
We stared at each other from opposite sides of the bed. She hadn’t physically moved, but I felt her move closer to me by her surrender.
“All right,” she said, lifting her arms and letting them fall against her legs with a slap. “All right, I was being childish.” She used her foot to draw an invisible line between us. “My feelings are hurt.”
“Talk to me, baby.”
“You first.”
“No.”
She took a deep breath in and then released it out in a huff. “I—” Whatever track she was on shifted abruptly, and she penetrated my gaze with her own. “You rage because you’re anxious. You’re worried about losing me,mio angelo.”
It was the first time she made complete sense of my behavior, or at least, pointed it out to me in such a blunt way. But it wasn’t the first time she had touched me with the truth. I never liked it.
“Scarlett.” Her name came out as a warning.
As if she were approaching an animal in the wild, she kneeled on the bed, taking cautious movements toward me.
“Spare me the psychobabble bullshit. I don’t need to hear it. Nor do I want it.”
She nodded but kept coming. When we were almost eye-to-eye, she slid her hands down my arms, a bare brush, skin against skin, and then forced me to relax my fingers, so that she could hold my hands. “That bullshit doesn’t change the truth.”
I turned my face—all of my restraint and concentration was on not squirming and stiffening, all at the same time. When she lowered her voice and her eyes saw straight through me, the sensation was close to thousands of ants crawling on the skin. Squirm and they’ll bite. Stiffen and they’ll continue to crawl.
“It’s only me,” she whispered. “Just us.”
Half of the ants disappeared with her words. It was just her. My wife.
I cleared my throat and held her hands tighter. “You speak the truth,” I said in Italian.
“Look at me, Brando.” Her eyes searched mine when I did. “You’re worried.”
“About losing you.” I nodded. “Always.”
She brought one hand between our chests, over our hearts. “The suitcase is empty,” she said. “I’d never—I didn’t mean—”
I nodded and she stopped talking. She had never threatened me with a suitcase before, and the sensation of it didn’t sit right with me. It made me feel hollow and lost. Rage was much easier.
“Tell me, Scarlett.”
“You want to talk about me now?”
“Yeah.”
“All right,” she said so softly that I barely heard her. “Overwhelmed. With life in general. Tired. Both kinds, physical and mental. Torn. Between what I’ve found success in and what I love the most. And before you speak, hear me out. It’s not you. It’s me. I—I know you support me. You’ve always been so proud of me. ButIwant to take care of you now.”
