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His eyes narrowed as he shifted in his seat. “What do you mean?”
Strangely, her heart had stopped its relentless pounding, and she felt wonderfully, quietly calm. Why on earth hadn’t she said anything sooner? It was far better to know than not to know, surely? “Things have changed between us over the last few months. You come home late most evenings, you don’t make time for the kids, you’re closeted in your study on weekends, you seem irritated with all of us, or at least with me—”
“I told you, Sarah, things at work arebusy.” He sounded exasperated, and for a second, Sarah asked herself if she should stop pushing, if she could simply believe him and let it be. It only took that one second for her to realize she couldn’t.
“I know things are busy,” she told him quietly, “but it’s more than that, isn’t it? It feels like it’s more, to me.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
Sarah reached over to place her hand on top of his. The contact shocked her, in a way she hadn’t expected; when, she wondered, was the last time they’d touched? It had certainly been a while. “Nathan, please. I’m not trying to cause an argument or accuse you of anything. I’m your wife, and I love you. I feel as if a distance has come between us, and I want to know what’s going on. What you’re thinking. Feeling.” She wasn’t normally this much of an emoter, but Sarah was glad she’d said as much as she had. You could only act like an ostrich for so long, she realized. A reckoning had come with the inn, and so it would come with her marriage.
For a second, no more, she thought Nathan would tell her. She saw a flicker of indecision, of sorrow, in his eyes and he opened his mouth. Her heart felt suspended in her chest.
He glanced down at their hands, hers still resting on top of his. “I…” he began, and Sarah’s whole body tensed. Then he gave a little shake of his head. He started to pull his hand away; Sarah felt it slip from underneath hers but then he stopped. Sighed. “Nothing’s going on,” he told her wearily. “I’ve been pressured at work, and I suppose it’s affected how I am at home.” With his free hand, he scrubbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll try to do better. Get home early sometimes, take the kids out.” He didn’t look at her as he made these promises.
Sarah was silent, absorbing what he’d said, and, more importantly, what she felt he hadn’t said. He’d been going to say something else and then changed his mind, she was sure of it.
“What’s causing all this pressure?” she asked after a moment.
He shrugged, and this time he did pull his hand away. “We’ve lost a few big clients in the last couple of months, so there’s certainly a pressure to find a few more, but the problem is, everyone’s being so cautious these days. No one wants to move firms, risk any new investments, take achance, so none of it is easy. I’ve been working on courting a new client, putting together a package. That’s why I’ve been home so late most nights.”
“Okay.” She could accept that, she thought, even if it didn’t necessarily account for the way he’d been acting with her. “And when are you making a pitch?”
His glance slid away from hers. “Soon.”
Once upon a time, Nathan would have been happy to give her the details—the kind of client, the specifics of the pitch, the investments he was researching. He would have asked her opinion, her advice. No longer, it seemed, and she didn’t want to have to press him. A sigh escaped her, long and low. She felt as if she’d reached the end of the road, conversation-wise, and she didn’t know where to go from here. She also felt too tired to make more of an effort.
“A couple of weeks, maybe?” Nathan offered, and it sounded like an apology, an olive branch. Sarah felt she had no choice but to take it.
“That’s not too bad, then,” she replied, trying for a smile, just as one of the pub’s staff came up to their table with a sunny smile.
“Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked, and with an apologetic smile and a sinking feeling in her chest, Sarah reached for her menu.
“Almost.”
The evening had barely begun, and yet in some ways it felt as if it were already over. How many more times would she even have the energy to try to get to the bottom of what was going on?
CHAPTER6
GWEN
Gwen stood in the doorway of the café in Monmouth where she’d agreed to meet John McCardell. It was one of those fancy new places, with chrome chairs and glossy tables, a thousand different drinks on the chalkboard menu over the till—oat milk, soy lattes, even drinks with pistachio or pumpkin. The clatter of cups and the chatter of customers was ringing in her ears.
She didn’t know why she was so nervous. Yes, it had been about ten years since she’d seen John, but hewasan old friend, and it would be nice to have a catch-up, once they got past that initial haven’t-seen-you-in-years sort of awkwardness.
Gwen gazed around the crowded space, looking for his familiar face, although, in truth, it had been so long, she wasn’t entirely sure she would recognize him, or that he would recognize her.
“Gwen!”
She heard his voice—low and deep, with that rich thread of humor running through it. She turned, blinking at the sight of the man striding confidently toward her, a warm smile lighting up his features.
He was exactly the same—and yet he wasn’t. His hair had turned entirely white, although it was still thick and wavy, and there were far more creases in his weather-lined face than before, although his eyes were as blue as ever.
“John!” she exclaimed, and took a lurching sort of step toward him before he enveloped her in a quick, easy hug, kissing her on the cheek.
“I’ve got a table in the back,” he said as he released her. “Look at you! You haven’t changed a day.”
“Oh, I have,” Gwen protested. “I know I have. But you haven’t!”
