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“Very easy. She kicked me out of our house. So I ended up in the fine accommodations you saw today.”
“But why? You loved her so much. I read every one of those billboards. Some of them I read over and over. How could she kick you out? Did she think love like that grows on trees? Because it doesn’t. Or if it does my yard’s fucking empty.”
“Rory,” he said, his low voice sending shivers up her spine. “Don’t waste your breath defending me. It was my fault.”
“It couldn’t be.”
“It was. Trust me. I was there. You weren’t.”
She grabbed the throw pillow at her side and tugged it closer, needing something to hold on to. “I know that.”
Of course she knew that. She’d never been in a situation where someone could screw up a love as precious as theirs had seemed from her vantage point. She’d never been in love, period. Not once.
There had been near misses along the way. Crushes that never came to fruition. Hot affairs that dwindled to nothing rather than blossomed into more. But love itself had been elusive. Until lately she hadn’t even realized she wanted in on the party for two that it felt like everyone else had RSVP’d to.
Forget RSVP’d. She’d never even been invited.
If anyone was to blame for that, it was probably Sam and his damn billbo
ards. They’d always hit her straight in the gut and damned if she knew why. Was she so repressed that it took a stranger’s words to remind her of everything she was missing?
“Read the letters. Start at the bottom and work your way up.”
“But—”
He muttered something, ostensibly goodbye, and yet again she got the dial tone. Twice in one day. She should probably be annoyed he had a habit of hanging up without giving her a clue he was done with the conversation.
Maybe she’d work on that tomorrow. Tonight she was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he hadn’t been in the world’s happiest marriage.
There had been little signs, if she’d known to look for them. Lines that sounded almost bitter instead of loving. But she’d written them off, figuring all relationships had peaks and valleys. He cared enough to drop more than a grand on a billboard to profess his affection four times a year. What did a few spats matter?
But Sam hadn’t been talking about a spat. Dani had kicked him out of the house. How long ago? Months? Years? She glanced at the letters then at her mostly empty wineglass and decided she needed reinforcements before she tackled the stack.
She shivered. Another thing she needed was a heavier throw.
Ten minutes later she’d again cuddled up on the couch, full wineglass in one hand and Sam’s letters in the other. She covered up in her fuzziest blanket and set the phone by her hip, just in case he decided to call back.
Nothing left to do but read.
She started at the bottom as he’d instructed. Tugging out the white sheet of lined paper, she shoved down the rock of apprehension in her throat. This wasn’t her life. Whatever she read wouldn’t hurt anything but her misconceptions about a situation she’d never really been privy to. Her overactive imagination had filled in far too many blanks.
Time to fill them in.
She shook her head at his small, narrow handwriting. It was straight up and down, the kind that made her think the writer must’ve had a cramp by the time they’d finished.
Dear Dani,
I don’t know why I’m writing this. You know I’m not a writer. I also don’t like talking too much. Especially about all that girl stuff like being upset and getting in touch with my emotions. For a long time I didn’t think I even had emotions to get in touch with. After Kayleigh, I didn’t want them. They complicated my life so I shut them out. While doing so, I probably shut you out too.
Kayleigh. Who was that? Rory bit her thumbnail and considered. An ex maybe? She hoped she’d find out through the letters but the likelihood wasn’t high. This wasn’t a page-turning novel, after all. He was writing to his wife. She already knew what had happened.
Sleeping alone for the first time last night was not fun. Okay, I hear you now, telling me that “not fun” is not an example of accessing my emotions. I need to be honest here, if nowhere else. Because I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I don’t even know if I want you to. You’ll get defensive about how I feel and while you’re entitled to your opinions, I don’t think we can meet in the middle. Anything I ever did or said was because I loved you and wanted to protect you. But I wasn’t honest. How could I tell you I didn’t want you—us—to try to have another baby?
Rory huffed out a breath and lifted her glass to her lips. Sipped. Took another breath. Sipped again. The refreshing white wine slid smoothly down her throat but she barely tasted it.
She dropped the paper to her lap and pressed her hand to her forehead. He’d lost a wife. And a baby. Dear God. How was he still sane?
And she’d tried to blow him as if they’d met at a bar, as if casual sex fit anywhere on their menu.
