Page 20 of Something Old

When Madeline was thirteen or so, her family had lived in a subdivision built very close to an electrical tower. Her mother said she was imagining things, but Madeline always insisted she could feel the current humming through her. And that’s how she felt now, with Grant’s gaze heavy upon her and his hand resting so close to hers on the couch cushions. Like there were waves of energy arcing between them.

“Anyway,” he finally said, breaking the buzzing silence, “I’m very glad you didn’t jump. It was a bold move, maybe a little crazy . . . but I’m happy to have met you. I think I needed to.”

Madeline’s throat clogged, and she felt dangerously close to another scarier cliff . . .

A moment later, Grant spoke again, and Madeline was pulled safely away from the precipice—for the time being. “What I said about my marriage and how it exploded . . .”

“Yeah?”

“If I’m honest, it wasn’t all on Holly. I wasn’t perfect or totally innocent in the whole thing either.”

“Really?” Madeline said softly, voice serious. “You weren’t? That’s shocking.” Then, unable to keep a straight face a second longer, she burst into laughter.

“What does that mean?” Grant frowned deeply, his brow furrowing. It was his first grumpy look in an hour—so probably a new record for him. The thought triggered fresh peels of laugher.

Finally, Grant cracked a small smile. “My shared responsibility in the demise of my marriage isn’t a complete surprise to you, I take it?”

When Madeline could speak again, her voice was still soft—but this time, she meant what she was saying. “Who in any marriage that lasts any duration at all is ever wholly blameless when troubles come? Holly sounds terrible. And how she hurt you”—Madeline shook her head—“was really terrible, but . . . ” She shrugged. “Knowing you, especially how you like to bottle up what’s really bothering you and overreact to things that are nothing in the grand scheme of life, that must’ve been hard for her.”

“Like maybe even drove her into the arms of other more communicative men, you mean.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Those were all Holly’s poor—and cruel—choices, especially the deceiving-you parts of the whole mess. I only meant . . . it’s hard when people you’re supposed to be intimate with don’t share themselves honestly or openly.”

“Are we still talking about Holly and me, or are we talking about you and Lyle?”

Madeline shrugged. “Or are we talking about every couple everywhere that has ever existed—at least at some point in their relationship?”

Grant laughed. “Nice.” He nodded deeply. “I like you when you drink wine. You’re almost as cheerful and optimistic as I am.”

“Just refill my glass, will ya?”

Grant did as he was told, still grinning—but a moment later, he grew somber. “In my defense, I always thought, I don’t know, like I was being the bigger person, not airing every little complaint, or whatever.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me, ever. I get it. I did the exact same thing with Lyle . . . thought I was being kind. Towards the end, though, I kind of wondered if we would’ve stayed closer if I’d just blasted him in once in a while, or been honest at least, about the things in our life that were making me less than happy. I hated conflict though . . . and it cost me closeness.”

Grant was staring at her so intensely she shied away a bit. “What?”

“Nothing really. Just it’s hard to picture you holding back anything you think or avoiding conflict.”

Madeline laughed ruefully. “Lessons you learn the hard way . . . that some things—like keeping the peace, for example—don’t matter. But also, that some things that drive you up the wall—shouldn’t. There’s just a lot of stuff I don’t give a shit about anymore.”

“And yet you’re very kind.”

She bit her lip and met his eyes. “That’s nice of you to say.” And it was nice of him to say—but was it true? She desperately hoped so because it was one of the only things she knew she still believed in for sure. That kindness mattered. And she definitely hadn’t always been kind.

The temperature in the room must’ve dropped because the natural gas fireplace, which was set to a thermostat, suddenly flickered more brightly, blue and orange flames springing to life in a mesmerizing sway.

Grant slowly, completely naturally, like it was something they did every day, reached over and laced his fingers through hers. Grover lifted his head, looked at them, then sighed contentedly and dropped his head again.

“Exactly,” Grant whispered.

It didn’t feel wrong to hold Grant’s hand exactly, yet Madeline was aware of something quivering within her, unease wrestling with . . . what? Desire, that’s what.

Admitting, recognizing, identifying, the feeling that had been buzzing through her all night, even just to herself, shocked her—but she didn’t pull her hand away until it occurred to her that while the flames dancing between them might never burn down, the night was quickly winding on. If she didn’t want to be too tired to enjoy her hopefully busy second day, she should head out as she’d kept saying she was going to earlier. She said as much to Grant and texted for a cab, hoping that it wouldn’t take forever but also wishing the night didn’t have to end.

“This was really nice,” Madeline murmured a few minutes later.

“It was,” Grant said, then grinned. “Like it will be every time you come over.”