Chapter 5: The Night He Left
Rick came downstairs with a bag.
Not a large one — a weekend bag, the dark green one he used for school conferences.
He had packed it quickly.
I could tell by the way the zipper pulled unevenly at the corner.
He set it by the door.
"Ellen." He looked at me.
"I know there's nothing I can say right now that will help.
But I need you to know that I love you.
That was never a lie."
"I believe you," I said.
"And it doesn't change anything."
He nodded.
He picked up his jacket from the rack.
"Can I call you tomorrow?"
"Not tomorrow."
He stood at the door for a moment.
Anna was sitting on the bottom stair, not looking at him.
"Anna." His voice was careful.
"I am sorry for what I put you through.
That was wrong.
I know it was wrong."
She didn't answer.
He opened the door and left.
I listened to his car back out of the driveway.
I listened until I couldn't hear it anymore.
Then I went to the kitchen and put the kettle on because I needed something to do with my hands.
Anna followed me in and sat at the kitchen table.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"No." I got two mugs down from the shelf.
"Are you?"
"No."
"Are you hungry?
When did you last eat?"
She thought about it.
"Yesterday, I think."
I turned around.
"Yesterday?"
She shrugged, but it wasn't a casual shrug.
It was the shrug of someone who had been too anxious to remember basic things for a long time.
I opened the refrigerator and started pulling things out.
Eggs.
Cheese.
The half-loaf of bread on the counter.
My hands knew what to do even when my mind was somewhere else entirely.
"Where have you been?" I asked.
"This whole month."
"With Cara." Her college roommate.
"She didn't ask too many questions.
She just let me stay."
"I'll have to thank her."
"Mom, you don't have to—"
"I want to." I cracked an egg into the pan.
"She took care of you when I couldn't.
That matters."
Anna was quiet for a moment.
"I kept picking up the phone to call you," she said.
"Every few days.
I'd get as far as finding your name and then I'd think about Rick being there and I just — I couldn't."
"I know."
"I didn't know if you'd believe me."
I stopped.
Turned around.
"Anna.
Look at me."
She looked up.
"I will always believe you.
Do you understand that?
Whatever you tell me, I will always start from believing you."
Her chin trembled.
She pressed her lips together to stop it.
"Okay," she said quietly.
I turned back to the stove.
The eggs were starting to set at the edges.
"He really did tell me I was being selfish," she said.
"He said it like he meant it.
Like he'd thought about it and decided that was the truth."
"I know."
"It made me feel crazy.
Like maybe I was wrong about what I saw.
Like maybe I was making it worse than it was."
"You weren't."
"I know that now." She pulled her sleeves down over her hands.
"It took me a while to know it."
I plated the eggs and set them in front of her.
She looked at them for a second, then picked up the fork.
"What happens now?" she asked between bites.
"Tonight, nothing.
Tonight you eat and you sleep in your own bed."
"And after tonight?"
I sat down across from her with my tea.
"After tonight, I figure out what I'm going to do about a marriage that is four weeks old and already built on a lie." I wrapped both hands around the mug.
"But that's tomorrow's problem."
She nodded.
She kept eating.
Outside, the wind picked up.
The kitchen window rattled once in its frame.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad I came back."
"So am I," I said.
"More than you know."
She finished the eggs.
I washed the pan.
We didn't talk much after that, but the silence was different from the silence in the hallway.
This one had some warmth in it.
I was turning off the kitchen light when my phone buzzed on the counter.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*Hi Ellen.
My name is Diane.
I think we need to talk.
I'm sorry to reach out this way.
There's something Rick hasn't told you — something beyond what you may already know.
Please don't delete this.*
May you like
I stood in the dark kitchen for a long moment.
Then I set the phone face-down on the counter and went upstairs to check on my daughter.
