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Jake and Audrey follow closely behind. He squeezes my arm. “Proud of you.”
The lump in my throat has stolen my voice, so I offer a watery smile.
I ignore the various eyes on me as we leave. I’m nothing more than their dead boss’s wife. Something to fill their lunch time gossip.
I roll my shoulders back, trying my best to ease the knot in my neck.
I’m angry at him today. So angry.
Daily, I try to avoid evidence of the stains he left, but today it’s hard. I’m in his building, with his business partners and employees. I’m surrounded in the scent of these offices—it’s how his suit smelled when he came home from work, wrapping me in it when strong arms came around my waist while I was cooking.
I hate this confusion. I hate the good memories. I hate remembering the things I loved about him. Things I craved. Things that became so few so quickly.
I hate myself for those unwelcomed memories.
I don’t want the good memories to creep in like water over a raging fire. It dilutes the indignation and makes my mind muggy.
I need to be angry at him, or better still, I need to feel nothing at all.
Clarity. I just need some clarity.
But clarity will have to wait. Audrey rests a reassuring hand on my arm and tilts her head in the direction of the boardroom we left.
Mathew strides towards us, head slightly down, eyes anywhere but on me, yet he’s walking this way.
“Beth, can I have a minute?”
I tense, digging my nails into my palm.
Jake looks me over, scanning my face for any signs of panic. I’m petrified, but I school my features like a professional, indifference dripping in my gaze.
“I’ll wait,” he offers, looking between me and Mathew.
“No.” I smile, not knowing why I’m agreeing to speak with him. “Thanks, Jake.” I need to do this on my own.
He’s hesitant before he leaves, a silent warning in the glare he leaves burning in the side of Mathew’s face before he gets on the elevator with Audrey.
I think he takes all the oxygen with him.
Mathew stuffs his hands in his pockets, shifting on his feet. It’s unusual to see a man with such unapologetic confidence to be nervous. What could he possibly have to say?
His wife was once a friend. He was Rob’s best friend.
I haven’t heard from either of them in two years.
“Mathew,” I say. “I need to get back to the girls.”
“Right, I’m sorry. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“How I’m doing,” I blurt, stunned, because it’s the last question I expected him to ask. These people really are just book smart. Zero common sense. It takes every ounce of my power not to laugh in his face, but instead, I say, “I’m fine.”
He wipes his thumb over his chin. “I’m sorry we haven’t stayed in touch.”
“I really need to get back to the girls.” I press the button for the elevator, wishing the ground would open instead. The stares our way become more intense, burning holes in me like bullets.
“We’re clearing out his office tomorrow. I wondered if you wanted to go in there, or what we should do with his stuff?”
My head spins. “You haven’t cleared out his office?” It’s a stupid question, but it’s been two years.
