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His hand wraps around Benedict’s legs until he picks him up in his arms to carry him. Of course, Bentley is quick to repeat the word ‘plane’ over and over again.
“He’s walking?” Benedict asks.
I nod. “Yes, he took a few steps at Disneyland but has been wobbly since. I think he’s getting the hang of it.”
As I watch them bond as father and son, something I haven’t seen in a long while, I begin to swallow repeatedly with a tightness in my chest. The guilt from my actions with Andy consumes me, knowing I allowed myself to get carried away back home when I have family here all along.
For the rest of the night, I busy myself by getting Bentley bathed and fed, hoping he’ll settle for the night, and the time zone change doesn’t keep him up. I welcome the distraction, trying my best not to check my phone for messages. Resisting is futile. When I finally cave and check, there are only texts from my cousins and parents.
Nothing from Andy.
I want nothing more than to call him just to hear his voice. But the way we left things wasn’t exactly how I envisioned. With so much at stake here, my head is full of thoughts, and no answer is easy, no matter which way I look at the situation.
My eyes glance at the clock to see it’s late and bedtime. After unpacking my things and safely storing my journal, I shower and head to bed even though I’d been dreading this moment.
When I exit the bathroom, Benedict is nowhere to be found. Placing my robe on, I wander the house, assuming he’s in his office. Upon knocking, there’s no answer. I search the common areas, then the den, until I see his shadow outside on the patio.
Opening the door, the stench of cigar lingers around me as does the cold.
My arms wrap around my body. “It’s cold out. What are you doing here?”
Benedict is staring into the darkness with the cigar perched in his hand and a bourbon in a glass beside him.
“Were you going to tell me Andy was in LA?”
It was bound to be found out, especially since my family took so many photos which were posted online. I’m the fool in thinking this could’ve been kept a secret.
I take a deep breath, then release a sigh. “My father flew him in.”
“Your father flew him in,” is all he says with a nod.
It wasn’t a question, more like an odd repeat of my answer. His tone is unusually controlled, confusing me as to how he feels about this or if his suspicions will be vocalized, making this the moment, the possible showdown between us.
“He flew him in because he knew it was important for family to be present.”
“Except, your husband?”
My arms tighten against my chest. “That was your choice, Benedict. I asked you to come. You said work and your mother were more important. Don’t make this out like it was my fault this all happened.”
“My son, out of all people, was the one to tell me. He kept pulling the chain on his neck, a gift. I assume, repeating the name Andy,” he explains with malice. “Were you alone with him?”
I keep my stare fixated on Benedict without a single blink. “What does it matter?”
He blows a puff of smoke away from his face, then stands up quietly. I’m waiting for his angered gaze to fall upon me or his callous words insisting I’m his wife. The possessiveness he only portrays when he feels threatened.
But none of it comes.
“I’m going to sleep in the guest bedroom.”
I go to open my mouth but quickly close it, too tired to continue this conversation.
As he begins to walk away, he stops just shy of the door. “Mother is hosting Bentley’s birthday next week. It will be held here. She has planned it all, so you don’t need to do anything besides make sure Bentley is best behaved.”
The information doesn’t surprise me, nor do I argue or battle. Let Rosemarie do whatever she wants, for Bentley has celebrated in the perfect way already. I highly doubt there’ll be anything for children to play with or explore—this party is more for herself than Bentley.
Inside our room, I sit on my side of the bed, staring at the empty spot beside me. Despite the jetlag and exhaustion, my mind refuses to settle to sleep, so I take my journal out and write.
The thoughts, emotions, everything I’m unable to say to myself appear freely on the page. When my eyes begin to grow tired, I place my journal away and decide to send Andy a text.
