Then I tell him to park next to a fire hydrant.
“Rhoswen—”
“It’s fine. Park. We won’t be here long.”
“There’s literally a sign?—”
“Charlie, trust me.”
He pulls in, muttering something about how I’m going to be the reason we get towed in broad daylight but the minute he shifts into park, something in my chest tightens.
Because we’re here and I can’t keep avoiding the reason I brought him here to understand. I unbuckle my seatbelt and get out of the car, my gaze locked in on the place I regained my sense of self worth.
He notices instantly something’s wrong. Quickly following me out of the vehicle, Charlie’s immediately protective. His voice gentles, “Rhoswen, whatever it is, you don’t have to if it’s?—”
“I do.” My voice comes out smaller than I intended. “Because when you told me about your second marriage… about what she did…it made me think of one word.”
He stiffens. “What’s that?”
“Betrayal.”
He doesn’t speak. He just waits knowing there’s more I’m about to share.
I point at an old brick building across the street. “The paint is fresh instead of the way it’s always peeling in my memory. I have no idea if the second-floor balcony is permanently crooked from the parties we threw. The bay window was my bedroom. It used to have cracked glass in one corner.”
“This was your apartment?”
“Senior year,” I add. “Holy Cross. I lived there with another girl. We had one bathroom, a mouse we refused to name because we were determined to eradicate it, and a fire alarm that went off whenever someone toasted bread on any setting above four.”
A faint smile touches his lips. Good. I need the softness for what’s coming next.
“Before that, I lived off campus with my husband.” I feel Charlie stiffen next to me. I force myself to remain calm as I continue. “We’d dated since I was a freshman. Got engaged in the summer between our sophomore and junior years. Married just before senior year. It felt like…everything.”
Charlie’s smile disappears. His brows pull down. He reaches for me, but I sidestep him. I can’t have him hold me while I tell this story. My voice takes on a distant note. “I had a work-study job as a TA. He’d pick me up in our beat up car when it was lateat night. Sometimes, we’d sit on the couch and imagine what our future would look like. Hell, there’d be times we’d pick out names for our future kids even though we weren’t planning on having any for like seven or eight years.”
Charlie’s jaw works, but he says nothing.
“One night,” I continue, “I came home early. I must have caught something from one of the students. I tried to suck it up until the projectile vomiting started. I called a cab. The ride home was hell.”
“I know that feeling. The kind of bug where your bones hurt and your skin feels like it’s humming?”
“Exactly.” I swallow. “I never thought I could feel that awful until I walked into our apartment. That’s when I heard the sounds coming from our bedroom.”
Charlie sucks in a breath. “Who?”
“I was just in time to see him get off with my former roommate.”
“Your former roommate?”
I nod.
“He did that inyourbed?”
“Yes.”
“And she?—”
“Didn’t even bother to get up,” I say. “Just pulledmyblanket over her tits and said, ‘We didn’t expect you back yet.’ Like I was the intruder.”
