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Laurel Dunaway
Journal Entry
I did my best to act casual. The main thing, or so I’ve heard, is to make it look as though you don’t feel guilty. I’ve yet to decide whether or not this is true. Whatever the case, if James is upset with me, so far, he isn’t letting it show.
After he arrived home from work, he showered and suggested we go out for dinner. Nothing out of the ordinary about that.
He was his usual self over dinner: attentive, calm, perhaps a bit stoic. He asked about Dad, but he did not bring up Max Hastings.
I was careful to steer clear of all of the typical landmines. Ever since the incident at the office, and the situation with the cat, speaking about anything that really matters has all but ceased. I swore that I didn’t hurt Leo—I wouldn’t—couldn’t. But the fact that I lied about the missing food, James said, puts doubt in his mind. He can’t help himself.
Thankfully, his choice of hire has allowed me a bit of leeway. He’s angry with me, but also just enough in the wrong that he can’t dole out the punishment he’s not yet sure I deserve.
Over dinner, I questioned him about work. He filled me in on where things stand, in terms of user data and sales figures. Our love language. Listening to him speak, hearing the details of his day, gave me a slight rush. The truth is I miss it. I miss being at the office, in the thick of it, instead of banished to the outskirts. It’s not easy to wash something out of your system. Especially when you’ve given that something blood, sweat, and tears for nearly a decade.
The rush did not go unnoticed by my husband. The fact that we were business partners before we were lovers means we understand each other in a way we might not otherwise.
We hadn’t meant to sleep together, James and I. It was a mistake. We said we wouldn’t mix business with pleasure. We tried to keep those promises. Turned out, it only added fuel to the fire. The rest of it was a natural progression, you could say.
When we met, when we agreed to the business partnership, we had both been involved with other people. Neither of us were married. But we weren’t single, either. James likes to say it was a gray area. Either way, seventy- and eighty-hour workweeks took care of the relationship-with-other-people issue real fast.
He smiled over his salad, noting the flush of my cheeks. He sensed my anxiety in the way I leaned in. I know this because he said, after sipping his glass of red, “Work isn’t going anywhere. You know that. Take the time, Laurel. You need it.”
“I miss it,” I replied, slicing into my filet. My eyes met his. “Although, you’re right. I have been a bit of
a disaster.”
“You have a lot on your plate. It’s understandable.”
“Is it though?” I asked a little too loudly for his liking. Heads raised, eyes turned in our direction. My question, the extra attention, and the subsequent dig was just the kind of backhanded compliment my husband hates. “I don’t recall you being so understanding when you hired her.”
He lowered his voice to a whisper, speaking through gritted teeth. “She has working knowledge of the company. You know how close we are to selling. And you of all people should know how important it is that our numbers look good. Especially now.”
“I was handling it.”
His jaw tightened. James does not like confrontation. He does not like to be questioned. “Not like it needs to be handled.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.” I looked on as he downed his glass of wine before speaking.
“I’m not sure what kind of fantasy world you’re living in, Laurel—but we can’t just let everything we’ve worked for go to shit just because your dad got sick.”
I scoff because there’s so much to unpack in what he’s said. “I just don’t understand why didn’t you discuss it with me?”
“I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”
“You’re not that stupid.”
“Laurel,” he said firmly, pinning me with his eyes before pulling my wineglass toward his side of the table. “We’re going to enjoy ourselves tonight.”
I took a stab at the piece of meat, smiled, and forced it into my mouth.
It started with the cat and snowballed from there. Although, now that I think of it, it was before the cat.
Months ago, there were the two flat tires. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Neighborhood kids. Back then, I didn’t have much of a reason than to think it was anything other than an isolated incident…an inconvenience.
But then, last week I found the word “bitch” etched into the hood of my car. It was there, permanently, like a warning. James promised we’d get cameras installed. Catch the little prankster red handed. So far he hasn’t gotten around to it.
