Ever practical Becky.
“We need to talk anyway.”
Oh man.My entire body freezes up. “Becky, I promise it meant?—“
“Stop!” She shouts. Then quieter. “Stop. I’m just going to ask you some questions. Your job is to be quiet and listen and then answer only those questions. Do you understand?” I watch her steel her spine for my response.
“Yes.”Anything. Just don't leave.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“Hell no!” I burst out. “It never went that far.” The idea makes me sick.
She starts moving toward me, finally stepping off the porch. Almost like that question knocked down some invisible wall between us.
“Why did you spend so much time with her if it wasn’t for sex?” She surprises me with the next question. A little less accusatory, a little more curious.
“Becky. First of all, when did I have time to sleep with her when I was literally always working?”
She gives me a skeptical look, arms crossed, and I hate that she can no longer trust my word. “You were home late almost every night.” She states, flat.
“Yeah? Cause I was workin’!” I bite out, and shake my head.This isn't her fault, but will it always be like this? Me talking and her not believing?
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to believe that.” She soundscompletely resigned and frustrated, so without thinking, I pull my phone out and hand it to her.
“Here, check it. Conversations with Paul and…Taylor about when I’m leaving work and other stuff.”
She takes my phone and then gives me a look.Déjà vu.“And all the deleted messages. I get to see those too?”
Well shit.“Yeah, those too.”
She goes to contacts first, and I think I hear her “hurumph,” and say, “Sure, now you fix it.” Then louder, “you’ve been in contact with her.”
“Not really. I’ve had to call her a couple times about a few things but not, like, in person.” I fumble through my explanation and know immediately that it was the wrong answer.
She straightens, and her knuckles go white on the phone. Thinking about any deleted messages she might see, I realize I’m going to have a lot to answer to.
Her hand relaxes and she meets my eyes. “How did all of this even happen, Carter?”
I look at my Becky, like really look at her, and I see the damage I’ve brought to her life. She didn’t deserve anything that happened to her, so I know I’m going to tell her everything, even if it does end up putting that final nail in the coffin of our life together.
Becky
“I’m…” he stutters, “I guess I’m embarrassed. I’m mortified by everything that happened, and by what set it off.”
Becky
“You should be.”We could be planning our wedding.I look at Carter wearing a headlamp standing in our yard, and I just getso sad.
He looksterrible. For once, his aged hair seems to match the rest of him. His eyes have luggage stacked up under them, his mouth turned down in an unnatural frown. Mostly, though, the exhaustion plays out in his posture. The way he’s standing is so not Carter. This man has his shoulders hunched down and in like he feels smaller and needs to look smaller too. His head is cast downward, and the ever-present humor is nowhere to be found. He lookswrecked.
Yet, this Carter, right here? This man showing up for me in the little silent ways is the man I fell in love with. The man that always made me feel taken care of. Special. Loved.
I just wish it was enough.
“What happened, Carter?” I prompt again. I don’t want to know, but I do? I don’t think I can understand it.
With a deep sigh, he rolls back his shoulders and meets my eyes. “I went to the bank a few weeks ago. Wait—I guess by now it’s been about two months. Late May. So, I went to the bank late May, and I asked them about getting a loan to buy out Paul from Billy‘s Auto Shop, but they denied me.” He casually meets my eyes when he finishes.Casually,like he didn’t just drop a bomb the size of an autoshop on me.
