She stroked Tiny’s head, fingers moving automatically through the loose skin between his ears. “I thought we were tired.”
I swallowed.
“I thought we were in a bad season,” she said. “A long one. But still a season.”
“So did I for a while.”
“And then?”
“And then I stopped believing we were going to find our way back by accident.”
She nodded, looking at the dog instead of me. “And you found someone on purpose?”
“No.”
Her eyes lifted.
I held them. “No. Not on purpose. But after I knew, I still chose. That part is on me.”
Her face tightened.
She looked away again. “I appreciate the honesty. I also hate it.”
“I know.”
“I said stop.”
“Right.”
A long silence followed. It wasn’t peaceful, but it was real. For the first time in longer than I wanted to admit, neither of us filled the space with schedules or travel or work. We sat inside the ruin and let it be ruin.
Finally, she asked, “Do they know about me?”
“Yes.”
“Do they know you’re telling me tonight?”
“Yes.”
“That must be nice,” she said, and this time there was bitterness in it. Earned. “Being the person who gets prepared for.”
I had no defense.
Olivia’s hand stilled on Tiny’s head. “I’m not going to ask you to make me feel better about this.”
“I wouldn’t know how.”
“No,” she said. “You wouldn’t.”
She leaned back slightly, exhausted all at once. Her eyes moved around the living room, the bookshelves, the framed photo from our wedding on the side table, the blanket she had bought in Portland folded over the chair.
Then her gaze returned to me.
“Is it someone I know?”
Everything in me went cold and alert.
Not because I wanted to lie.
