Page 108 of Every Good Thing
“Let you go? How? How can you even ask me that? That’s the worst thing you’ve ever fucking said to me.” Her fingers tremble, and her breathing becomes labored and quick as she tries to form words. “Does this mean—? Are you divorcing me?”
“Lena, breathe. It doesn’t mean that. I don’t want it to be forever. It just means I need time.”
“A day? A week?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about Ruthie?” she says, crumbling with the words.
“I will be here for Ruthie,” I say sternly. “I’ll keep up my usual schedule with her, and whatever else you want me to do. I’m not leaving you alone to parent our daughter without me. I promise.”
“But Ben, what will I say to her when you aren’t here tonight?”
“I’ll talk to her and tell her the truth, in simple terms—that I’m having a hard time and need extra help to fix it. That’s my plan, Lena. With some distance, I think I can break this cycle of hurting you and figure my shit out. I’ve consulted Dr. Reese about adding more individual sessions, and I’ll continue with our couple’s appointments.”
“How can we work on our relationship if you aren’t here?”
“Dr. Reese will help us figure that out. Please, try to understand—I’m doing this for us.”
“Bullshit,” she cries. “This is about Lauren, isn’t it?”
“No. It has nothing to do with her. I promise.”
“Where will you be?”
“Becca’s.”
My guilt compounds with each tear she sheds, and they stream in long bands down her cheeks. “Please, Lena. Tell me you’ll be okay.”
She takes a breath, seeming to compose herself, and glares at me like I’m crazy. “No. I’ve always told you the truth. I won’t lie now. I’m not okay with this. I’ll never be okay with this. It’s not the right thing. You’re so worried about changes and me having to take care of you that you’re pushing me away—that’s what this is. You’re pulling the fucking fire alarm!”
The memory makes me back-step and shake my head like I might rid myself of it. When I was a middle schooler struggling with dyslexia, I’d pull the fire alarm to escape the pressure in my classes. I said the same words to Lena five years ago when she panicked and nearly walked out on me. Sometimes, the pressure builds until you must do something drastic to relieve it.
My eyes close tightly, sending fresh tears down my cheeks. She’s right—I’m pulling the fire alarm. Her world, her emotions, her love—it’s all too big for me, and I need to get small. To protect her, I have to.
I lean close and kiss her cheek. “I love you, Lena. Always. But I have to go.”
The front door opens, and Dot rushes in. “What the fuck, Ben? What’s wrong? I got here as soon as I could.”
“Lena needs you.” I gather my bag and clothes and assure Lena, “I’ll call you tonight.”
Quick, long strides bring me to the front door, brushing by Dot and ignoring her heavy what-the-fuck look. Then, the door clicks closed behind me.
I get as far as the Harvey’s driveway before I have to pull over. I break down, unable to stop it, but determined not to cry like this again.
Pull it in. Drink water. Drive on. Do your fucking duty.
Relief sneaks in where my emotions dwell. It’s done, and the worst is over. The pressure relents the further I get from Saddletree.
Thirty-Two
LENA
It’s the car accident all over again. I took things too fast and didn’t steer right. Now, I’m spinning out of control, unable to prevent the crash or the damage. I only hope I survive it.
That we survive it.
Long-dead beliefs resurrect. Nothing ever works out for you. And like I once predicted, Ben Wright makes the list.
