Page 113 of Every Good Thing
He smirks. “What’d Rob say?”
“Bruised. I’m supposed to ice it, take ibuprofen when needed, and continue my exercises,” I report, showing him the text I was composing before putting my phone away. “The cast comes off in two weeks.”
He nods, relieved. “Thanks for keeping the appointment.”
A weak smile precedes a wave of sadness. I want to cry for the strange tension between us. Then it hits me. Holy shit, we’re estranged. I always thought it was such a weird word, but now I get it. Neither of us knows how to be around each other in this situation. At least, I don’t. What’s allowed? What does he need? What’s the best way to handle my husband, who’s left me, when he shows up at my doctor’s appointment? Finally, I push my anxiety bitches aside and decide to be myself.
I shrug, catch his eyes, and ask, “Ready to come home yet?”
A crease forms between his brow. “I can’t,” he says, sounding regretful. “I’m meeting with John Riley and Larry Tenor Friday to discuss their proposal to support my recovery. I’m close to accepting the position. It’s the most viable solution to support my family.”
I nod, though the knot inside me tightens. “I can support our family… but I understand.”
“Is that okay with you?” He looks unsure, asking the question.
That he cares about what’s okay with me feels confusing. His leaving certainly wasn’t. “It’s always been okay with me, Ben, if it’s what you want.”
The confused crease on his brow reappears. “I’ll add it to the family calendar, along with my schedule and other appointments. Perhaps we can discuss time with Ruthie… when you’re ready.”
“Yeah, sure.” Estranged. That’s what estranged couples do.
“Our appointment with Dr. Reese is Wednesday,” he says.
“I’ll be there.”
He nods.
“Oh, Ben… I have something for you.” I unlock the truck and hand him my final bin. “I went a little cupcake crazy this morning. I thought your coworkers might enjoy them.”
A real smile stretches over his tight mouth. “Like the old days.”
“Yes, like the old days. It’s a new recipe I’m considering, so let me know what everyone thinks.”
“Will do. Thank you, Lena.”
It’s good he has his hands full—it prevents me from trying our usual goodbye. Instead of a quick hug and kiss, I offer a timid wave and leave him.
At home, Jaye waves me to the main house as I exit the truck. I half-wonder if Dot has asked her to keep an eye on me today. Cameras and other equipment nearly block the path through the sliding glass doors. She leads me inside the café, where the serving counter and coffee stations lie dormant and dim. Seeing the display case empty is strange when it’s usually filled with colorful cakes and treats. It makes me sad to see it like this.
If it’s possible to feel even sadder.
My dining room of eclectic chairs and tables salvaged from my parents’ hoard of hand-me-downs is gone and replaced by an average-looking living room, like a set-up one might see at a furniture store.
Except for the Ouija board on the coffee table.
And the pale-faced, black-eyed child mannequin with tar-like ooze around his mouth perched on the ceiling beams. I gasp when I spot him.
Jaye chuckles. “Sorry, I should’ve warned you. That’s Edgar.”
“It’s like walking through a haunted house.”
“That’s the idea.” She elaborates on the story and how the elements fit together, but I zone out. I once had a massive roof leak where Edgar hangs, like he’s the ghost of my former life here, when I was broke, alone, and trying to make do with duct tape and Flex Seal.
God, why don’t they make Flex Seal for people? I could affix Ben to me and make us divorce-proof.
Focus, Lena. Breathe.
They’ve transformed the sitting area in the middle of the house into a study. A large wooden desk houses a lawyer’s green desk lamp and stacks of books and papers. It sits facing the large double window, once the location of the ancient couch that comprised my makeshift bedroom.
