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Caleb is waitingoutside the courtroom when I arrive, handsome as ever in an Armani suit. It was thoughtful of him not to bring Lucie, though unnecessary. I just want him to be happy, and if she’s capable of giving him that, she has my blessing.
The small talk we make as we wait for our case to be called is the sort you’d exchange with a former colleague. Our jobs, cities we’ve flown to lately, our shared love of British Airways. I’m not sure he was ever much more to me than that. We were two people who liked sex and were too busy for a real relationship, then two people preparing to raise a kid together.
There wasn’t much more to us than that.
The divorce, once our case is called before the judge, takes five minutes at most. I’d expected to feel sad as Caleb and I walk out of the courthouse together, but I don’t feel much of anything.
“I never got the chance to say it before,” he says, “but thanks for what you did for Lucie.”
I stop in place. “Well, I never got the chance to thank you, either, for the grant. But it really helped. I couldn’t have gotten back on my feet without it.”
Of course it’s also part of the reason I clung to him for so much longer than I should have, thinking he must still care. But he couldn’t have realized that at the time.
His brow furrows. “Grant? What do you mean?”
“That postpartum loss thing. I know it was supposed to be anonymous, but it was clearly you. The paperwork was registered here.”
He continues to stare at me blankly and I laugh in exasperation. “If you’re making so much money that you just forget about donating all of that in my name, maybe Ishouldhave asked for alimony after all.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I paid for a lawyer to get the possession charges dropped, but there was nogrant.” He frowns. “So who would have done it?”
We look at each other, and it seems to hit us both at the same time. There’s one person, aside from Caleb, who would have cared enough to do it and had that kind of expendable income. A person who claimed he had “no idea” where all his profits had gone.
Caleb shakes his head and pushes a hand through his hair. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he was outside the courthouse this morning. I saw him across the street in his truck.”
“Outsidehere? Why?”
He gives me a small smile. “Come on, Kate. You’re a smart girl. Think about it.”
I swallow. “Maybe he just happened to be passing by.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground between us. “Look, this whole situation is uncomfortable for a lot of reasons. I’m not sure he’s the best guy for you, and I’m not sure you’re the best person for him either. But he—” Caleb bites his lip. “He wasn’t himself for a long time. And I didn’t see it until you came home. It’s like you brought him back to life. So pull your head out of your ass, Bennett. Of course he was here to see you.”
He wraps his arms around me for only a second, tight, then heads down the street. I’ve never felt closer to him than I do as he walks away. Because we weren’t meant to be, but he loves the person I love, and he loves him enough to put him first.
Maybe I should do the same.
I walk to my car, my hands shaking as I fumble with the keys and I drive to the bar, though I’m still not convinced I’ll go inside.
Iwantto go in. I also want to drive home to the comfort of my job and an NA meeting. I can already imagine the conversation I’ll have with Lynn later on about this.I just decided it wasn’t the right time, I’ll tell her.And I didn’t know what to say.
That much would be true, certainly. In the entire English language, are there words that will make him forgive me for abusing his trust, for hurting him and taking way, way too long to figure out what I wanted? I’m not sure, but I’m positive that even if there are, they are not currently in my possession.
I glance at the clock.If I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll hit rush hour traffic. Maybe I should come back another time.
I start the engine and put the car in reverse. And then I think of Beck. Beck who, according to two people I trust, is miserable. Beck, who potentially sat outside the courthouse this morning simply to see my face.
I put the car in park again, turn off the engine, and climb out before I can change my mind. I march toward the bar with my fists clenched, as if I’m going into battle, and push through the double doors.
It’s relatively empty inside, just a couple at one of the high-tops and a lone drinker sitting at the end watching sports. I don’t care about them, though. I only care about Beck, currently sitting behind the bar, reading a book.
When he looks up, I freeze.
I knew I missed him, but I had no idea just how much until this moment. His is the face I’ve had in my head as I fall asleep every night for three months. Seeing him now is like seeing a ghost brought to life.
He doesn’t smile. He just stares, his jaw shifting as if he’s trying to keep himself from saying words I won’t want to hear.
I need to get mine out first.
