“So, will you wear something short and low cut?” he asked.
“I am not going.”
“Of course you aren’t going,” Pati agreed. “Why would you go?”
“Because they invited the whole town,” Stephen informed her. “And I told them we’d be happy to go.”
“There is no we,” I reminded him. “You are free to go, but I am not.”
“Now, Trudy, you don’t want people to think you’re jealous, do you?” he asked, as if he had been inside my head during the entire interaction.
“Why would I be jealous?”
“Clearly you had some kind of relationship with the man. High school sweethearts?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I walked away to wipe down the tables that hadn’t been used all morning. I needed something to do.
“Nana dated Harold right before Edith, but Harold’s kids didn’t approve.”
“Patricia!” I spun around and glared at my granddaughter. “Do I smell muffins burning?”
“No, you don’t, but fine.” She looked at Stephen. “Edith is the one who’s jealous because while Nana got over Harold just fine, he never got over her.” Pati turned on her heel and dashed into the kitchen before I could scold her again.
“I can understand that,” Stephen said as he leaned back against the counter, watching me. His arms were partially crossed over his chest, as his thumb rubbed along his bottom lip, and his eyes tracked up and down my body.
“Understand what?” I demanded.
“Harold not being able to get over you.” As he stalked across the room, every step closer made my heart beat faster, until he was standing directly in front of me. His chest was a hair’s breadth away from mine, and as I looked up into his eyes, he said, “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head for six fucking months.” He leaned in close, and just as my eyes fluttered, he added, “And I haven’t even tasted you yet.”
He stepped to the side, grabbed the journal he’d left on the table, and stopped in front of the door, looking back over his shoulder at me.
“See you tomorrow, darlin’,” he said. “Same time. Same table.”
Then he strolled out the door as if he hadn’t just turned me inside out.
THE THINGS I HID…
I didn’t plan it; I need you to know that.
I didn’t plan any of it. It all just happened, and it was out of my control.
That isn’t true.
I’ve started this entry three times already, crossing out the words because they weren’t honest enough. Because I keep trying to soften it. Make it easier to swallow.
But there’s no easy way to say this.
For years I’ve tried to convince myself that I was a victim of circumstance, carried along by forces beyond my control. But the truth is harder than that. The truth is uglier.
The truth is, I made choices. Every single time.
I could have told you the truth. I could have told you who I was, who my brother was. I could have told you about the whole twisted web of blood and loyalty and violence that I was born into.
I could have told you I wasn’t someone worthy of building a life with. Not an honest life, anyway. ButI was selfish. I wanted you in my life. And then I wanted our daughter.
I wanted to believe I could be different. That loving you would be enough to change me, to erase everything that came before.
God, Stephen, I wanted that so badly.
