Jasper tried again to be enthusiastic, saying, “That’s awesome. Good for you.”
I played along. “Thanks. I’ll need your help, you know. We’re going to put a piano in the main room. Will you play for my guests?”
“Of course.” He was saying what he thought I wanted to hear, but I knew he wasn’t excited.
I smiled again and touched his cheek. “Hey, we’ll be okay. Trust me, we’ll be okay.”
“I know we will.”
“Are you mad I’m not leaving your dad?”
Jasper sighed. “It’s not my thing, Mom. It’s your choice.”
What was I supposed to say? Though Jasper was mature for his age, how could he, as a teenager, truly understand life like an adult does?
Rory and I ate in the dining room. I told him my ideas for the bed-and-breakfast. We could open in the late spring. We talked about our next few months. Suddenly, he would have a lot of free time on his hands. I came around and found some happiness as we talked about the details. He was excited to help. I wanted to believe that all we needed was time and a project, and we’d heal. I could see the three of us driving over to our new inn and getting our hands dirty. We could build the chicken coop together, go find out adorable little chicks. We could go to the local animal rescue and pick out more furry friends. This bed-and-breakfast could be what we do for the rest of our lives.
“What are you going to call it?” he asked, before taking a bite.
I was glad he was going along with whatever I suggested.
“I’ve been thinking about a name, but I don’t know yet.” I was usually so good at coming up with names, and you’d think I would have been sitting on one for a long time, this being my dream and all. But I guess naming it would have made a letdown that much more disappointing.
After cleaning up, we both said goodnight to Jasper and climbed into bed. Unsurprisingly, the energy between my husband and me was awkward. Rory was beaten down. He’d been getting hit from all angles. I couldn’t keep hitting him physically, verbally, or emotionally. If I were to forgive him, I needed to do it now. He lay there staring at the ceiling.
I turned toward him and put my hand on his chest. “We will make it.” I patted him and said the words that needed to be said. “I forgive you. And I love you.”
He turned up the corners of his mouth into a sad smile. “I love you more today than ever before. Thank you for believing in me.”
Once he was snoring, I lay back on my pillow. For the next few hours, I drowned in my own thoughts. Not about the bed-and-breakfast. Not about good things. All I could think of, all I wondered was…
Why wasn’t I happy? Why didn’t this feel right? Did I really believe in Rory? Did I really forgive him? Did I still love him like I should? Would we ever get through this? I felt like I didn’t even belong in that bed.
Like an alien in my own body.
14
ÉPIPHANIE
Iwoke with the emptiest feeling I’d ever known and reached over to his side of the bed. Rory wasn’t there. I scanned the bedroom with foggy eyes. Philippe slept on his back with his legs in the air.
Feeling like I hadn’t slept at all, I closed my eyes and tried to drift away, but the emptiness wouldn’t let me. It wasn’t that my mind was racing. More like I’d been stepped on and kicked so badly that even sleep was a chore. I forced myself out of bed and stumbled like a zombie down the stairs. I crept past Rory sitting in the living room and went into the kitchen, where I found the coffee still warm in the carafe.
I sat at the island, slouched over, with what had to have been a dumb look on my face. As I gulped the coffee like a shipwrecked woman who’d found a bottle of fresh water, I waded through the sea of my thoughts. What was wrong? I’d gotten Rory back. Jasper was home. We were safe. The outside world would be cruel to us for a long time, but we were together. And I now had the green light to do whatever I wanted to chase my dream. How could I possibly feel so deflated?
Rory entered and kissed the back of my head. “Good morning, dear.”
I intended to say, “Good morning,” but my words escaped as a grunt instead. I must have been experiencing some sort of a delayed reaction to what had gone on over the past week, because his kiss and his voice spread through me like a virus, and an immediate rage like I’d never known before rose to the surface. My muscles tensed, and I nearly spun around and swatted him. I stopped myself. Was it always going to be like this? My swallowing my emotions? My trying not to rock the boat?
I breathed through the feeling quickly. Sipped more coffee and took a deliberate breath. As he walked around the island toward the sink, we met eyes for a moment. Tapping into my years on stage, I smiled with everything I had and said, “Did you sleep well? I didn’t hear you get out of bed.” I didn’t want him to see the emptiness, the doubt, the fear, and my newfound emerging rage.
“Very well, thanks. I missed being in our bed next to you. How about you?”
“It’s really great having you back,” I lied.
Rory walked up to the sink and began to refill our water pitcher. With his back turned to me, I glared at the man I’d chosen to forgive. Almost as a non sequitur, I found it repulsive that I’d ever thought he was cute in his pinstriped pajama pants.
Over the sound of the running water, he turned and asked, “Any news about the offer?”
