Page 55 of Counting Backwards

It didn’t take long to get through the notes, and before an hour had passed, we were already finished. Dustin rose from his seat and twisted from left to right, like he was stretching his back. It was a move I’d seen him do in the office countless times.

“You have back trouble?” I asked as I, too, scooted my chair backward and rose to my feet.

“Just an old surfing injury,” he answered. “No big deal.” Something about the way his eyes darted away from mine told me the very opposite was true.

“When did it happen?” I asked, suddenly filled with an unexplainable urge to know about Dustin’s past. Was I so desperatefor company that I’d listen to Dustin’s life story just to keep another warm body in the apartment? Yes. Yes, I was.

“About five years ago,” he answered. He’d made his way to the door and was looking back at me expectantly, as if waiting to be dismissed.

I quickly parsed the timing in my head. “That would have been right before you went back to law school.”

“Yup.” He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand while his eyes moved to his feet.

At his obvious discomfort, I connected the dots. “That’s why you went to law school,” I said. “Because you couldn’t surf anymore.” The realization irked me, all my judgmental feelings about Dustin’s prior life choices resurfacing. The path I had chased since my childhood, the education and career I had hustled to achieve for so many years, was simply his pivot, his plan B when his laid-back surfer lifestyle stopped working out. “Seems like a drastic change for you.” I scoffed. “One minute you’re chilling on the beach without a care in the world, and the next you’re knee-deep in torts outlines?”

“I was hardlychilling,” he said, his tone suddenly hard as he stepped closer to me. “It was my job.”

“You were a professional surfer?” I asked.

“Yeah. And I worked my ass off to get to the top.”

My head tipped to the side in surprise. This new piece of information didn’t comport with the impression I’d been carrying around about him since our very first meeting. He seemed to sense I was doubting something about him or his story. Then he pushed his shoulders back, dipped his chin, and began to refute everything I’d previously thought of him.

“I was training all the damn time,” he said, “in and out of the water, regimenting my nutrition, constantly educating myself about the science of the body, the ocean currents, the boards.Early mornings and late nights trying to be the best I could be.” He shook his head slightly and added, “I did love it though, even when I was just a kid. For years, surfing was the only thing that mattered to me, so maybe it’s not fair to call all of it work.”

I blinked back at him, my eyes shifting in surprise. I’d never imagined him as anything other than a slacker, when in fact a great deal of substance might be hiding behind his bro facade.

I wondered what else I didn’t know about him.

As I considered him, I looked back up at his face, and our gazes connected with a sudden zing. Alarmed by the electricity I felt buzzing between us, I stepped back. I wasn’t going to be that woman. I wasn’t going to start thinking about someone else just because I was having trouble with my husband. And Dustin was still a prick, even if he was a complex, substantive prick.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” I said, working to keep my voice neutral.

“Shoot.” He pushed his hands into his pockets and waited.

“How come you’ve always been such a jerk to me at the office, but now you’re acting like a total nice guy? What changed?”

“I haven’t changed, Jessa,” he said. “You have.” He glanced down at his watch. “I’m late,” he said. “Sorry.” He let himself out, closing the door behind him and leaving me to wonder what he’d meant.

***

By lunchtime, I was in my usual chair at my grandmother’s kitchen table, picking at the crusts of a turkey sandwich. I’d just finished giving Gram theReader’s Digestversion of what happened with Vance, how he’d left in a huff with no indication of where he was going or how long he intended to stay gone. Gram sat opposite me, her lips pursed in the way that meant she had a number of her own thoughts on the issue.

“There’s one other thing,” I said, waffling between excitement and nerves.

Gram raised her eyebrows as she lifted her teacup from its saucer and sipped delicately. English breakfast had always been her favorite, and the familiar wet-grass smell of it was comforting, making me feel bolder.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Jessa!” Gram’s face lit up and she straightened in her seat, a bit of tea sloshing out of her cup as she put it back on the table. But then, almost as quickly, her expression soured. “And Vance left anyway? What a thing to do to your wife. That... that...” She seemed to be struggling for a strong enough insult.

“No, stop.” I shook my head to intercept Gram’s outrage. “I didn’t tell him. He doesn’t even know yet.” I regretted that I’d brought even more duplicity into my marriage. “This is apparently what I do now. I keep all sorts of secrets from Vance. It’s becoming a hobby or something. I just conceal one thing after another. Actually, not so many things, just the big things that really matter. I’m just a big fat liar, a rotten, worthless fraud of a wife.”

“No, don’t do that,” Gram said. “You cannot compare not telling him you’re pregnant with the other secret you’re keeping.”

I ran my finger over the painted flowers on the saucer in front of me. “If I just dropped the case, begged for my old job back, and forgot about Hydeford, I know Vance would come back. But I can’t just put my life back the way he wants me to. I need to do this. He doesn’t understand why it’s so important to me to represent these women. But, Gram...” My eyes filled with tears, and the room blurred.

“Oh, honey,” she said, reaching across the table and taking my hand. I held tightly to her bony fingers, trying to still myself, but a sob escaped anyway. And then another and another, until I was weeping in my grandmother’s arms. She let me cry, waiting silently as she ran her hand over my long curls.