* * *
"I don't understand how you can be so calm," I said in the car. "You're sitting there like we just had a nice night out. You're tearing us apart and you seem fine."
"You're being dramatic."
"Am I?"
She looked out the window and didn't answer. We drove the rest of the way like that, her watching the dark go by and me gripping the wheel and trying to figure out where things went wrong.
I pulled into the garage. Neither of us moved for a second.
"I can't believe you're doing this," I said.
She turned to me, but she wasn't calm anymore.
"You keep acting like this is brand-new information. It isn't. You know I've been unhappy. I've told you over and over again. Did it ever matter to you? Do I matter to you?" Her voice caught. She hesitated, then pushed through it. "Because I keep thinking if I did, you'd hear me. You'd care when I say I'm unhappy. Andyou wouldn't keep putting me down in front of other people like it's no big deal."
"I don't do that," I said. "You're too sensitive. You always have been."
She scoffed, looked like she was going to say something, but then turned and got out of the car.
I followed her into the house. She went straight for the stairs. I was right behind her, still talking, sure that if I found the right words I could turn this around the way I turned everything around.
She stopped on the third step and turned to face me, holding her hands up.
"You can stay in the guest suite until you find another place," she said.
She turned and continued up the stairs.
I stood at the bottom of the curved staircase, watching her. I couldn't move. My mind spun as I tried to find the right words. The wrong ones came out of my mouth.
"I should find another place? Who paid for this house? Not you. This is my house!"
She didn't stop. She didn't turn around. She didn’t even hesitate. It was as if she didn’t hear me, but I knew I wasn’t that lucky. A door closed above me, softly.
I wished it was a slam. I wished she showed more emotion than this calmness. That’s what scared me the most.
Chapter 7
Ruby
Four Days Later
In the days since we had gone out to dinner, I had done a lot of thinking. Oscar made that easy by not talking to me.
I still felt good about what I said, but maybe good wasn’t the right word. I didn’t feel good about telling Oscar that things were over. I wasn’t happy about that. It wasn’t what I wanted. What I wanted was to be married to the man I loved. But I also wanted to feel that love in return. And I didn’t. I hadn’t for a really long time.
This was the right decision for both of us. Oscar would understand one day. At least I hoped he would.
I went down in the morning to make my tea and found Oscar already at the counter with the coffee going.
"Morning," I said.
He didn't answer right away. He got a mug down from the cabinet, the same one he drank from every morning, and I stood at the other end of the counter waiting for the kettle and wanting to say something to him. Not about the separation. Just something. About Jeremy, about the weather, about anything that would land the way things used to land between us. I couldn't think of a single sentence that he would actually hear. So I said nothing.
"You're up early," he said finally, not looking at me. "Big day on the porch?"
Ouch.
