Page 39 of Chasing the Other Woman

The thing about Tom is that he doesn't say things for effect. He notices patterns, inconsistencies, and things worth noticing. And he never once thinks about whether those things might bother someone when he does because what he's noticing are facts. He's a brilliant kid.

“She tries not to look sad,” he adds. “But she does.”

My hand closes around the back of the chair beside me.

There are a hundred things I could say. Adult things. Complicated things. Lies dressed up as privacy.

"I made her sad," I say, watching her. She's looking down at her notebook, the one she's been writing in since I got here. "I was an idiot, and she paid for it."

Tom looks back at his tablet. “You should probably fix that.”

There's nothing that can stop the laugh that barks out of me. Sam looks up briefly our way, then away quickly, embarrassed that she gave me even that much of her attention.

“Yes,” I say. “Hopefully I still can."

It takes me until after dark to get her alone.

Not truly alone. There are people ten yards away in every direction, trucks grinding past, voices carrying from the bar, generators humming like angry insects. But Sam steps into the narrow alley beside The Funnel Cloud with a crate of empty glasses, and for once, no one follows her.

I do.

“Sam.”

She stops with her back to me.

The alley light catches the loose strands of her hair. She’s still wearing her ring. I see it when she shifts the crate against her hip, one small flash against all that grime and exhaustion.

The fact that she hasn't removed it even after that last night at the house gives me hope.

She turns. “If you’re here to ask where Petra keeps the trash bags, they’re by the back door.”

“I’m not.”

Her chin lifts a little. She's bracing for something, and I hate that she feels like she has to do that with me now.

My mouth goes dry.

I had speeches in my head while I hauled debris and checked roads and answered Tom’s questions. Things that likely sounded more like movie dialogue than something I should be saying to the one woman in the world who wouldn't appreciate theatrics like that.

Now she's standing in front of me, and the only thing I can think of is the word please.

“I found your notes,” I say.

Her face changes so quickly I almost miss it. A flicker. Pain first, then embarrassment, then a wall coming down.

"I wasn't trying to pry," I add quickly. "I was looking for maps."

She sighs. "Maps are in the second drawer on the right. You must have looked in the big drawer where I usually keep my handbag."

I almost want to laugh at how perfectly she guessed that, but the last thing I feel like doing right now is laughing.

"Sounds about right," she continues. "You went looking for maps and found the one thing I never meant for you to find."

As much as she can try to hide it, I can see it. I know her well enough to see the embarrassment coloring her cheeks. Funny how I still know her so well and managed to mess this up so perfectly.

"I found the picture, too. The…ultrasound picture."

She looks away, but not before the pain crosses her face. I hate it. I hate everything about it. The only thing I wanted to do is keep her from getting hurt and the only thing I can ever seem to do these days is hurt her.