“No,” I interrupted, getting up and heading to the kitchen, where so much needed to be done.
“OK,” Caroline said softly. She hugged me in the entrance hall and went out to the guesthouse. She had conceded for now, but I knew this wasn’t over.
My thoughts wandered to the house next door, to what Jack might be doing.
Later that night, after the dishes had been washed, the crystal had been put away, the tears had all been shed, and my children were all sleeping, I walked onto the front porch and sat on my steps. I thought again about what I had to lose if I chose Jack. Then I had another thought. All this time I had been thinking I couldn’t be with Jack, but it was certain I could never be with anyone else. I had a secret I could never share with another man, a lie that, if I ever pursued another relationship, would always be between us. I knew I could never, would never, lie to another man like that. I had learned the hard way what a secret of this caliber does to a person, how it wears away at your soul.
All this time I had been thinking that Jack, the man I had always loved, was the only man I couldn’t be with. That night, so full of sadness, grief, and angst, it hit me: instead of his being the only man I couldn’t be with, I realized that Jack was the only man who knew the whole truth and loved me anyway, the only person who had carried the same weight I had for all these years.
With that, I crossed the yard, retrieved the key from inside the conch shell by the back door, and tiptoed upstairs. I slid into bed beside Jack, and in typical Jack fashion, he didn’t say a word, only pulled me closer. He kissed my forehead, and I closed my eyes. In the moments before I fell asleep, I knew that this was it for me. I would never leave his side again.
THIRTY-THREE
coming home
sloane
April 16, 2010
Dear Sloane,
The guys and I were talking tonight about the importance of good-byes. Doing what we do, we become acutely aware of how to do them right, how to live every moment like we might not get the next one. So I promise you, Sloane, every day of my life, I will make sure to tell you how I feel. I will kiss you and savor the moment. Every single day, I will do that good-bye well so you never have to question how much I love you.
All my love,
Adam
EVERY TIME MY PHONErang when the boys were at Mother’s Morning Out, I imagined a million worst-case scenarios: they had fallen off the jungle gym, choked on a Goldfish, gotten pummeled by a kid on the swings, and most horrific of all, an active shooter was in the preschool. I know. But, due to my past, I’m allowed to have these irrational fears.
So, when Emerson, out of breath from sprinting, appeared at the top of the guesthouse stairs where I was sitting with Caroline, my phone in her hand, and eked out, “Scott,” I was panicking before it was even time to panic.
“Why didn’t you just answer it?” Caroline asked disdainfully, as I said, “Hey Scott!” My tone was supposed to be breezy but ended up sounding forced and high-pitched.
I think he said, “Hey, Sloane. I made it,” but the reception on the other end was staticky, so I only got about half of what he was saying. Then I heard, “mumble, to, mumble, civilians.”
“What?” I asked, putting my finger in my other ear and running downstairs, as if it were my reception that was bad.
“I’ve talked to a couple of townspeople about the accident,” he said. “I think I might be able to get some—”
“Hello!” I shouted. “Scott! Hello!”
He was gone. I sighed and walked back upstairs, tossing the phone onto the bed, where Emerson was now lying and Caroline was saying, “You’re so sweaty. Get off my clean-ish sheets.”
Emerson shot up when she saw me. “So?”
I shook my head. “He’s there. He’s talked to a couple civilians. I think there may be more, but he got cut off.”
“He’s there, Sloane,” Caroline said excitedly. “He’s looking.”
Emerson took the sweater she was holding and cuddled it to her chest, saying, “Oh my gosh... Scott is going to find Adam and bring him home. Then Scott will win a Pulitzer for the story he writes, I will get to play Sloane in the film adaption, I will win an Oscar...” She sighed, dreamy-eyed, and Caroline and I laughed.
“But you’re ready to give up acting?” Caroline asked, a note of teasing in her voice.
“Well...” Emerson said.
“Now if only my sister would go to the doctor—” I began, but Mom’s loud, “Girls!” from downstairs interrupted my sentence.
“Up here, Mom,” I called.
