I saw him on Wednesday, briefly, but he stayed in the kitchen for most of my visit. Kelly had no doubt told him what I’d done. I’ve disgusted him too.
“Can I get you a coffee?” Kelly asks me, and her tone is softer than I’m used to.
“Yes, please,” I reply.
Everything feels so strained, but I’m trying to force myself back into our routine.
I walk through to the living room and sit down in front of Laurie.
“Hey.” I pick up her hand, detesting how hollow my voice sounds. “You’re so cold.”
She’s always cold. I think of Wren, of how warm she was, and snap that trapdoor shut.
I squeeze Laurie’s hand, trying to warm her up, and then I feel this horrible compulsion to squeeze her hand so hard that she’ll pull it away from me, just so I can get some sort of human response from her.
I don’t do it, of course. I feel cruel for even thinking that I might. But sometimes I wish she’d work harder at showing me that she’s still with us.
“Laurie,” I whisper, entwining my fingers with hers.
Cold.
I flash back to lying on the blanket with Wren, hands linked between us, and the pain is so acute I stop breathing.
Laurie coughs, startling me.
“Are you okay, my darling?” Kelly asks Laurie, coming through with two coffees, one for me and one for herself. She rubs Laurie’s back and I watch Laurie’s mouth as she coughs again.
My eyes travel up to hers, but they’re vacant, dull, and I have to look away again.
I remember Wren staring into my eyes as I held her on top of me, the look on her face as we moved together. Goose bumps race down my neck before I can block out the memory. I feel alive again, just for a few seconds, and I’m still trying to stamp out the thought, but I can’t stop seeing her face. So I force myself to look at Laurie, at mywife, and I want her to fucking look at me too, to see what I’ve done.
She’s on her way back to England. I’ve hurt her so bad. I’m so incredibly sorry.
Look at me, dammit!
I duck my head, feeling like I’m losing it because I’m trying to get into Laurie’s line of sight, to try to get her to meet my eyes.
“What are you doing, Anders?” Kelly asks, all snippy.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, sitting back and scrubbing my face with my hand.
“Has she gone, then?”
She means Wren.
I nod and look away at the wall. “Yeah. She left today.”
“Good.”
And I can’t help it. I turn to stare at her, at Laurie’s mother, and I feel such intense loathing for her that it scares the living daylights out of me.
She’s oblivious, taking a sip of her coffee, but before I can tear my gaze away, she meets my eyes and visibly recoils.
I look down at my hands as shame washes over me, overpowering dread and guilt for a while to become the most dominant emotion.
“Did you see her yesterday?” Kelly asks, and I wish that she’d drop it, because honestly, I don’t know how much more I’m going to be able to take.
“No. She didn’t want to see me.”
