I could see the sun glinting off Wren’s bedroom windows, sparkling like gems, and I pictured her inside, imagined her falling asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow, and I felt so much love for her.
I could see spiderwebs caught up in the grass on the roadside, millions of crisscrossing silver threads, glistening with dew.
And I pulled over to look back at the barn across fields yet to be harvested, glowing vibrant red in the sunrise. I gave myself a minute to let myself feel it, all of it. I felt happy. I hadn’t felt happy in so long.
I sent Wren a text—See you Friday, with a kiss—already wondering how I was going to get through the week. I hated to leave her. I wanted to turn back.
But I didn’t. And the farther away from her I got, the heavier I felt.
I planned to go to my apartment for a shower before heading into work, but I began to feel weird and shaky. I thought maybe it was the lack of sleep or food, but when I got inside and saw the empty space next to my bed where Laurie’s photograph should have been, this panic started rising up inside me. I went to the drawer and got it out, and then I needed to sit down because the sight of my wife’s smiling face made me feel weak.
How had I put her away, managed to forget for a while that she even existed, how had Ienjoyeddoing that?
I felt like the sky was crashing down on me, so I got in my car and drove straight over to see her.
Brian had already left for work and, like a coward, I wasrelieved to have escaped him, but Kelly suspected the moment she laid eyes on my guilty face that I’d crossed a line.
“What have you done?” she asked me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
And then she knew that the line I’d crossed was reprehensible.
“Howcouldyou?”
I’ll never forget that look on her face as long as I live.
“I don’t want you here,” she said. “Lauriedoesn’t want you here. Go home and get yourself cleaned up. You disgust me.”
“I need to see her,” I said. “Please,” I begged.
“Goodbye, Anders.”
She closed the door in my face.
And fuck if I lost it.
I’ve never felt such rage, such fury. I wasn’t angry ather, I was angry at myself, but I damn near broke that door down. One of the neighbors came outside to holler at me and others must have wondered what the hell was going on, but I didn’t give a crap.
Kelly let me in eventually, if only to shut me up. She yelled at me to pull myself together and her face was red and riddled with repulsion.
Brian had already carried Laurie to her wheelchair, so I fell to my knees in front of her and sobbed. And she stared past me, unseeing, unfeeling, while I felt it all.
Kelly came into the room in the end and tried to pull me to my feet, tried to get me to sit in a chair, but she gave up after a minute and sat on it herself.
As she rubbed my back, I thought that maybe she’d forgive me, but I knew I’d never forgive myself.
I’ve been back every night this week, with the exception oflast night, trying to make amends, trying to reconcile what I did. Every time Wren has come to mind, I’ve thrown her out. Every time she’s called or texted, I’ve felt like I could be sick.
As the days have passed, I’ve grown more and more detached from her. I want to forget all about what we did, erase it, get some distance from her. Sunday feels unreal.
Yesterday morning, I considered calling her to tell her not to come, but it seemed gutless, saying it on the phone. I thought it would be better to tell her in person, but that was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking.
I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done to her either. But I throw that thought out too, because I’m here with Laurie. And I shouldn’t be thinking about Wren. Not now, not ever.
“Anders,” Brian says as he comes down the stairs, hard-faced, grim, his usual greeting.
“Hi.” I force myself to meet his eyes, but can’t help looking away first.
