Thought I Knew You (32 page)

He leaned back into me and patted my hands.
You’re forgiven.
He
turned his head and, in profile, gave me a wry smile with one raised eyebrow.
Sort of.

Later, I was setting the table, lost in thought, when I heard Hannah ask Drew, “When did you get home?”

Drew replied, “What do you mean, Hannah? I’ve been here all weekend.”

As I walked to the powder room in the hallway, I stopped to listen.

“No,” Hannah insisted. “There were two suitcases by the door yesterday. Remember? When we came back for our roller skates? Did you go to New York?”

Drew’s reply was muffled, low and inaudible, but his tone sounded impatient.

When I came out of the bathroom, Hannah and Leah were watching TV in the living room, and Drew was putting dinner on the table.

“Did I hear Hannah say you went to the city?” I asked.

“Oh, I went to John’s gallery for some paperwork.” He handed me a bottle of wine and walked back into the kitchen.

That doesn’t make sense.
I let it go, for the moment. I had spent too much of my life blindly trusting another person, and my radar was hypersensitive, going off at the slightest signal.
I have no reason not to trust Drew.

Yet still, all during dinner, something niggled the edges of my subconscious. I put the girls to bed and joined Drew in the living room. Sunday nights were ours. We sat on the couch in the living room, sharing a bottle of wine, sometimes talking about Greg, sometimes—more so lately—in our own private thoughts, but still together. Things felt different, though. Drew seemed quieter.

Finally, I asked, “Why would you need two suitcases to go to the gallery?”

He stumbled with his words, and then realization dawned, a horrible clenching in my stomach.

“You were leaving.” I said it simply and without embellishment. He had no reply, and I knew I was right. “But you didn’t. You’re here. Why?”

He swirled the wine in his glass and cleared his throat. “I thought maybe you would be better off. If Greg came home, you could be a family…”

“Bullshit.”

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “I was being a coward. I was scared.”

We sat for a few minutes, not looking at each other. My hands shook as I sipped my wine, and I felt sick. “Are we going to make it through this?” I asked eventually, needing the answer to be yes, but ultimately unsure that it would be.

“I don’t know.” He pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. “I know you’re going through a lot, Claire. I try to do what I can to be here for you. But you internalize everything, and I can’t sit here day after day, waiting for you to come back. Even when you’re here, you’re not.”

“I can’t help that. I have nothing left to give. Can’t you understand that?”

“To some extent, yes, but all I
do
is give. And yet, I’m last. After Greg, after Hannah and Leah, even after your mom. Can’t you understand that?”

We were at an impasse. I did see that, but there was nothing I could do. Ultimately, it was up to Drew to stay or go, but I couldn’t make it better.

“Could you have faith?” I asked. He tilted his head, a silent question. “Could you trust me when I say that I will be able to give myself to you? In time, I mean. I just can’t do it now. I’m pulled in too many directions; too many people need me. I need you to not need me.”

“I think I’ll always need you,” he answered after a long pause. “But I’m staying, if that’s what you’re asking. At some point, I need to come before Greg. You do realize that. We need to come first, eventually.”

I nodded because I understood what he was saying, but I knew that everything was different. Drew and I, as a couple, could never come first. My heart hurt as I thought about how close I had come to losing Drew, while I wondered if I still would. The road ahead was so long, I couldn’t be sure he would stay. And what about later, when Greg came home? Could I put Drew ahead of Greg’s treatments? Everything I did for Greg, I did because of the girls, so wouldn’t that be akin to putting Drew before my children?

I longed for Brigantine. The idyllic summer days, too short and too few, and felt sorry for the courtship we’d been cheated out of.

We never talked about it again, daily life providing a patch, a false sense of security over the hole in our relationship. I didn’t know for sure if it would get better, or if we would get stronger, but I had to believe I would eventually be able to give myself to him fully. I had to believe he would stay long enough for that to happen.

All I knew was that I had to, at least, have faith.

Chapter 39

I
brought photo albums from various
vacations: Maine, our Boston camping trip, the Outer Banks, North Carolina. Greg and I were paging through them, telling the stories of the trips. He was improving, but sometimes he wouldn’t admit when his memory failed him. We sat close on the couch, knees touching. In some ways, I had never felt closer to Greg. We had never spent so much time just talking. Our friendship had a sibling feel to it. I didn’t know if that was because of Drew or because Greg had become such a different person. Greg had become soft-spoken, quiet, and insecure. His emotions overflowed to the point where I grew impatient. He cried at every visit, sad about his new life, and frustrated with his inability to retain simple facts.

“I feel stupid all the time,” he complained. “Like I can’t keep up. And you look at me like I’m a child.”

“Greg, I don’t think you’re a child. I think we need to work on this. Together, okay?” I wanted him to get better. I needed him to come back to New Jersey, so we could make decisions and move on with our lives. I reached out and touched his shoulder.

He leaned forward, and before I could stop him, he kissed me. His lips felt familiar, and I felt warmth bloom from my center. Instinctively, I kissed back, my mouth opening to his in a fleeting need to restore order to the unrelenting chaos. The kiss gained intensity, comforting only in its familiarity, and for a brief second, I closed my eyes and pretended the last two years had never happened.
But they did happen
. I pushed back, gazing into his deep brown eyes.

“I’m sorry…” Greg started, but then, he slammed his fist down on his knee and stood. “You know what? I’m not really sorry. You’re my wife. I’m allowed to kiss you.”

I took a deep breath to steady myself for the shock about to come, but I couldn’t put it off anymore. “Greg, sit down. I need to tell you something.”

He chose to sit on the opposite end.

“We aren’t married anymore. The courts granted my petition for a divorce.” The words rushed out of me, grateful to be free.

“What? What does that mean?” He looked incredulous. And angry.

“It means I needed to move on with my life. I didn’t know where you were. We thought you were dead, but without proof, I couldn’t… move on.” I faltered, unsure of how much detail to divulge.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You met someone else.”

I nodded.

He paused for a moment, and then he said, “Drew.”

I nodded again, and he sank back against the arm of the sofa, the anger drained, replaced with defeat. Up until that moment, I had yet to talk about Drew. I’d avoided his name in all our stories, our memories. I didn’t know if Greg had any recollection of him.

“Greg, it’s not what you think. We—”

“I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what I think,” he replied dryly. He appeared thoughtful. “Drew was always there, in the background. With me out of the way…” His voice trailed off, and he leaned back, a small self-satisfied smile playing on his lips.

I shook my head vehemently, willing him to understand, to believe. To believe what?

“No, Greg, it wasn’t like that. Not for me. I wasn’t in love with him when you and I were married. It’s a recent development.”

He sat, gazing out into the room, perfectly still. Finally, he said, “I was not a good husband to you, Claire.”

I started to shake my head, tears springing to my eyes at the painful truth of his words.

He held up his hand. “Did you find out about the inheritance? From my mother?” When I nodded, he continued, “I was so angry at that money. I watched my mother struggle. My whole life, we had
nothing
. I had the same pair of sneakers my entire four years of high school. I wore them every day, even in the summer. Even when I worked, she demanded my paychecks, saying she would put the money in an account for me. I paid for everything myself, struggled for everything. She worked two jobs, and for what? After she died, and I received that money, I couldn’t figure out the point of all of it. She had the money, sure, but she was never going to spend it on her life. Never going to enjoy anything. We never went to Disney World, never took a vacation. We didn’t even turn the heat on until December. My strongest memories of my childhood involve being cold and my home being dark. I put half the money into a savings account and the other half in an offshore account with a higher interest rate. There was almost a million dollars total, but I swore I would never touch it. I wanted to leave it to my kids to spend, when it wouldn’t be tainted with cold, dark memories.”

“By doing that, you tainted it,” I interjected. He looked up, surprised. “When I found it, I was dumbfounded. And even now, knowing there’s probably twice that amount somewhere that I still didn’t know about, I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you confide in me? Wasn’t I good enough? By isolating yourself, you isolated me. I have never felt so alone in my life, being your wife.” I started to cry, remembering my loneliness on nights when Greg would wander the house and snap at me if I dared to approach him.

Greg reached out and touched my knee. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why. I felt like I needed to be strong for you and the kids. I had all this anger and nowhere to put it. It makes no sense now.”

He put his arms around me, pulling me close. We stayed that way for a beat, but I pulled back, wiping my eyes.

He looked sad, defeated. “I ruined everything.” Then softly, he added, “It’s all my fault.”

I placed my hand over his, and my mind flashed back to our wedding day, our hands one on top of the other, in a simple, innocent promise.
In sickness and in health.
“It’s not
all
anyone’s fault. There were two of us not doing such a great job.”

“Could we ever go back? Try again? Make it work?” he asked.

I tried to read his face to see what he really wanted, but I couldn’t. For the first time since his accident, he seemed able to hide his emotions.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Greg. I’m sorry.”

He nodded as if he knew that would be my response. He stood up, not meeting my gaze.

I got to my feet. “Moving on was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But I did it, and it’s been over two years. I can’t make myself feel something. Do you see that?”

“I think I need to be alone. Will you come back tomorrow?”

“I’ll come back, Greg. We’re still a family, okay? I’ll always come back.” And I left.

Sometimes on my visits, Greg and I would eat dinner together. Other times, when Greg had an ill-timed therapy session, I’d find a restaurant and huddle in a back booth to read a book or the newspaper. I discovered a diner a few blocks away from the rehabilitation center that made the most delicious chicken salad I could imagine, and I found solace in the isolation. No one knew where I was or expected anything from me. And most importantly, I wasn’t letting anyone down. I was just… being.

On Saturday, after leaving Greg, I sought comfort in the familiarity of my diner. I sat at my booth, staring out the window at a flat gray parking lot, lost in thought. In one way, a weight had been lifted. I had finally told Greg about the divorce, about Drew. My future had some shape to it. Greg would surely be in it, but not as my husband. Alternatively, the finality made me sad. I wanted to rewind the past two years and start over, go back to a time when things were simple. But were they? Two years ago, we were barely speaking, and Greg was seeing another woman. So no, things weren’t simpler. They had just appeared that way. Was that better? Surely not.