What’s wrong with today? You busy?
She should be writing, could’ve used that excuse. But she didn’t.
Today’s fine. I’ll be there in an hour.
He gave her a thumbs-up, and she closed her laptop.
“What is it?” her mother asked.
“Cliff wants me to pick up my mail.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re going over there?” She didn’t sound excited by the idea.
“Just to get my mail,” Charlotte reiterated, but what she was really after was answers.
“Would you like me to go with you?”
“No, I’m afraid that’ll make it too hard for us to talk.”
“What about looking for apartments?”
“We’ll do it after we have lunch with Dad.”
Her mother finished wiping the counters. “Okay.”
Charlotte thought about Julian as she went to put on her makeup. She doubted he’d think it was a good idea for her to go over to Cliff’s house. But Cliff’s house still felt likeherhouse—likehome. And a small part of her couldn’t help wishing that when she got there, everything she’d been through during the past nine days would simply dissolve into the past.
Even if it did, however, even if he wanted her back, could her heart ever truly forget how pitiless he’d been when he told her he wanted out of their marriage? Or that picture of him with Marija Vidmar?
After ringing the doorbell, Charlotte clasped her hands tightly together. She’d used her key card to open the gate so she could drive onto the estate. Fortunately, Cliff hadn’t changed that, probably hadn’t even thought about it. But she felt so estranged from him that she wasn’t comfortable just walking into the house any longer—although ringing the doorbell at the home she’d shared with him for more than three years felt odd, too.
While waiting for him to answer, she imagined him reclining on the couch, a remote in one hand, as he watched the Golf Channel. When she lived here, she’d always been the one to get the door. He hadn’t cared enough to bother interrupting whatever he was doing.
She knocked in case he hadn’t heard the bell, and he finallyopened the door looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts with no shirt or shoes. Clearly, he’d been lounging around, probably watching TV as she’d imagined. They’d had so much fun together on days like this—going out to get coffee and a doughnut or bagel, spending time barbecuing in their backyard, entertaining his family or friends.
Seeing him so relaxed and accessible again made her miss him. But she didn’t move in for the hug she craved. “Looks like you have a new tattoo.” She pointed at his right shoulder. She knew every inch of his body, would’ve noticed it no matter what, but the plastic wrap that protected it from getting infected made the new ink obvious. “You went for an alien, after all, huh?” She tried to keep the censure from her voice. He’d been talking for a while about getting aPredatortattoo—from the old Arnold Schwarzenegger movie of the same name—but she’d always managed to discourage him with the question “Are you sure you want that on your body for the rest of your life?”
Now that he was unfettered, however, he’d apparently decided to disregard her advice.
“Yeah. And I like it,” he said defensively.
She nodded. “That’s... good.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to make me feel bad?”
She blinked innocently. “No!” She just thought it looked ridiculous—exactly as she’d imagined it would when he first started talking about it—and was having a hard time pretending otherwise. She kept seeing it through Julian’s eyes, knew how hard he’d laugh and felt her own mouth begin to twitch. She could hear her friend’s voice:Do you really want to be with a dude who has aPredatortattoo?
“Then why do you look like you’re about to crack up?” Cliff demanded.
Because shewasabout to crack up. Covering her mouth to try to stop herself, she said through her fingers, “I don’t knowwhat you mean. I’m just... smiling,” but busted up right in the middle of that statement. It was terrible timing—not the smartest thing she could’ve done when hoping to have a heart-to-heart with the man she loved. But the harder she tried to stop, the funnier his tattoo seemed.
He looked stunned. Not many people laughed at him—at least not to his face—and that it was her, hiswife, who’d always done all she could to protect his ego, had to be a shock. “That’s it. I’m not even giving you your mail,” he said and slammed the door in her face.
Thewhamstartled her enough to bring her out of it. Sobering, she wiped her eyes. What was wrong with her? She’d never get him back by making fun of him.
But did she really want him back? Wasn’t it already too late, anyway?
She couldn’t answer that question; her emotions were all over the place.
