Chapter 13

Laura

August

I wake to the smell of coffee and Pete kissing me gently on the lips. I groan and peer up at him, bleary-eyed. My head is thumping from the three mai tais I had last night, my first hangover in I don't know how long.

Last night I met Theo at the Garden Shed, a cute gastropub by the River Rothay. I chose it because it was far enough out of town that nobody would recognize me. Not that I was doing anything wrong, but I wouldn't want people getting the wrong idea if they saw me with a man who wasn't my husband.

"Must've been a good night out with the girls." Pete sets the coffee and two ibuprofen on the bedside table.

I flinch, like he's slapped me with my lie. Some lies have a vibration; they tingle in the air like electricity. They get all tangled and it's hard to unpick the truth from the fiction.

"How are Mel and Nancy?" he asks.

"Good."

"I'm glad you got to go out. I know things have been hard since the studio shut down."

I sit up and reach for my coffee, feeling like the world's worst person. He's right, I have been a little blue. My life is nearly halfway over. Probably. And what have I accomplished?

Even though I never filed for bankruptcy, I lost my art studio. I simply couldn't afford the lease, so I didn't renew. I stopped painting, canceled my social media accounts. I wasn't bringing in enough money to contribute to our family to begin with, but after the pandemic, it really all fell apart. Nobody wants to buy art during a cost-of-living crisis.

Closing the doors that final time was the hardest thing I've ever done. Pete told me I didn't have to quit, but he was wrong. The thing about dreams falling apart in the present is that you lose the future you associated with those dreams. You lose the you who you thought you'd be. I have extraordinary dreams and an ordinary talent and there's an insurmountable gap between the two. I had to do something that I had a chance of succeeding at. Or at least, not failing at.

"No matter what happens, I'm here. I've got you," he told me.

Looking at Pete now reminds me of how good he is, loyal and kind and trustworthy. I feel bad for lying because I am happy. It's my own failures that make me sad. I don't know why I have this ridiculous need for validation in my life.

I groan and shove the ibuprofen into my mouth, wash them down with coffee. Pete smiles, that familiar twinkle in his eye. He thinks it's funny that I have a hangover like I'm twenty-one and still in college.

"I'm gonna get to work." My husband is a creature of habit. Saturday mornings are reserved for grading papers.

"Mm-kay," I murmur.

Pete leaves and I close my eyes, let my mind drift back to last night with Theo.

I was running a little late, thanks to a last-minute typo in an important document for Jack. When I parked at the bar, I caught sight of Theo on the phone near the river. He looked angry, his mouth shouting, even though I couldn't hear his words.

I almost left, but Theo caught sight of me. He held up a finger for me to wait just as a text pinged onto my phone.

You better watch your back, Laura.

I gasped. Whoever was texting me knew my name. It wasn't a mistake I could brush off. This was personal. I looked around the parking lot but couldn't see anybody.

I blocked the number just as my car door opened, Theo grinning at me. "You look amazing."

I glanced down at the colorful rainbow bracelets I'd slipped on my wrists, my lacy boho skirt and sleeveless white blouse with the hem tied at my waist. I'd taken a little extra time with my appearance, mascara, eyeliner, a shimmery lipstick. I'd even bought a touch-up stick to cover my grays, let my long auburn waves hang loose around my shoulders. I looked nice. Not twenty-one nice, but nice enough.

"Thanks."

I got out of the car, determined to ignore the creepy texts. The air was warm, balmy. Theo guided me inside to an intimate corner table. I was aware of the heat from his palm on the bare skin of my arm, the scent of his aftershave, like wood chips and lemongrass.

One drink, I told myself. It's just one drink.

Of course I didn't have one drink. I had three. And then we went for a walk along the river under the moonlight, ending up at a hollowed-out old tree just beyond the end of the path.

"Funny how life turns out, isn't it?" he said, grinning at me with that old light in his eye. "Sometimes you end up back where you started."

"Oh, I don't know." I ran my fingertips over the gnarled tree. "We learn things along the way, I think. Carry the past into the future. Even this tree has rings showing where it's been."

Theo's hand came up to cover mine, but I slipped away, headed back to the pub. After a brief pause, he followed.

"Mom, can we make pancakes?" Ella's shout from the kitchen interrupts my thoughts.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. The girls love pancakes on Saturday mornings. And I love making them. But right now all I can think about is the mess they'll make and how much my head hurts.

"Pllleasssse!" Alice chimes in.

I smile, resigned. It is a tradition, after all. And family traditions are important to me.

Our parents divorced when Jack and I were small, our dad abandoning us on our mother's front doorstep one chilly winter's morning when we were six years old, each of us gripping a cup of hot chocolate. We never saw him again.

I always swore I would be around for my kids. I would have all those little traditions that make a family. Matching pajamas at Christmas. Pancakes on the weekend. Barbecues and bonfires and movie nights.

You don't have a family, you build one. They aren't a given, they're a gift, shaped like clay in the hands of an artist and forged in the fires of sleepless nights and high temperatures, of broken-down cars and missed bills.

No matter the disappointments in my life, this family I've built is more important to me than anything.

"Chocolate chip pancakes coming right up!"

I get up, pull on sweats. I'm just coming out of the bathroom when I hear a key in the front door.

"Hello?" Mel's voice floats up the stairs. She and Jack both have spare keys, just as we have keys to theirs.

I hurry downstairs and greet Mel. Mel and I met in college when we were assigned the same dorm freshman year. At first, I was enamored by her confidence, her designer clothes, her shiny black Mustang. I envied her calm, her poise, and loved that she was a thoughtful and intelligent conversationalist with a quick laugh. But as we became closer, I recognized a kindred spirit, too.

Even though Mel grew up rich and I grew up poor, we both knew what it was like to have a parent abandon you. How it always felt like no one had your back. How standing up for yourself became an act of self-preservation.

I give Mel a hug. "Hey, how are you? I didn't expect to see you today."

"I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd bring doughnuts." She smiles and lifts a bag of doughnuts from Gail's, the bakery in town.

"The kids will love it," I lie.

They won't. They'd prefer pancakes and family time. But I won't hurt Mel's feelings by telling her that. She's here and she's smiling, and that's a win.

Ever since her heart problems, Mel's been quieter. More serious. An extreme diet. Organic food. No alcohol. Yoga and meditation every day. All good, of course, but a little over-the-top. Her way of fighting back. Mel has never taken shit lying down. She goes after what she wants, she fixes problems, finds solutions. When she's threatened, she doesn't hesitate to strike back. But this isn't an enemy she can fight out in the open. I think the truth of that wears her down a bit.

My phone pings as I lead Mel into the kitchen, a panicked text from Rose, my brother's assistant, asking if I've seen some contract or other. I reply, telling her where the contract is.

Almost immediately, Rose answers, Next time maybe you should leave the contracts in the file where they belong.

I roll my eyes, and Mel asks what's up. I lie again and say it's Jack about work.

Rose is infatuated with Jack, which plays out in her snippy attitude toward me. But I don't want Mel knowing that. Rose is annoying, but I wouldn't want her to lose her job.

My phone pings again. A new number, one I don't recognize.

I saw you do it. I told you I'd be watching.