Page 56 of Every Good Thing
“Then, why haven’t we?”
“We parent Ruthie in shifts as it is. You’re constantly overwhelmed. How could I possibly bring up more kids or taking trips when—”
“When I turn into this?” I finish for him, waving my good hand in the air. “All my fault. Again.”
“No, it’s mine, too. I struggle to communicate on a good day. I know it’s not easy living with someone so closed off, especially since you’re so open,” he explains, his hand motioning back and forth between us. “But you don’t even listen to the small things. I exist in your periphery—your business, your schedule, and your anxiety. You must believe it, too, or you would’ve talked to me first before turning our home into a movie set.”
“Fine, I should’ve talked to you. I’m sorry. I tried to do something good for us. It will be good for us.”
“It’s a Band-Aid, Lena. Not a long-term solution.” His arms unfold long enough for him to rake a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you giving things up for me. Not now. Not ever.”
“Well, tough shit. I’d give up anything for you. Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”
“Stop romanticizing it. This is different.” He rolls his eyes and refolds his arms. “You can’t take risks—not for me. Shutting down Saddletree puts it in jeopardy. Puts us in jeopardy.”
“How? Saddletree will be fine, better than fine—trust me,” I say, tears dripping and anxiety rising because how can I be sure of anything? “What do you want me to do? Hell, I’ll sell the whole place if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything. Just tell me why you’re so fucking angry?”
My words catch him like a hook, and his expression falls somewhere between hurt and stunned. His brow pinches at the top of his nose, and his lips part, like maybe the words he needs to say are right there, lined up in proper order, awaiting his final command.
But they don’t come.
“Why can’t you talk to me?” I say, tears dripping from my chin to the ground. “Lying, blaming me, being fucking mean… this isn’t you. What’s going on with you? Really?”
“It doesn’t matter. Do whatever you want… that’s what you’ll do anyway.” He brushes by me so fast that the breeze he creates ruffles my dress.
Fifteen
BEN
I storm away from the barn, headed nowhere, just away.
I hate that she’d give up every good thing she’s worked for over worries about me; I hate that she’d even consider shutting down for two months or closing altogether. This compounds my fears about our future when I desperately need her to be stable because I won’t be. My probable deafness and unemployment will burden her constantly, and Busy Lena will be her norm, perpetually stressed and overwhelmed. She’ll take on the responsibility of supporting our family alongside the daunting task of caring and communicating for me until it crushes her and strains or ruins her business. It’s happened before; it’s her modus operandi.
Lena gave up herself for her first marriage and business, only for both to fail.
Her devotion to her mom’s care cost her her identity for three years and wrecked her mental health.
Saddletree operates on her blood, sweat, and tears—a beast that will never be satisfied. Still, she keeps giving it more, but her momentum won’t last. She can’t keep her manic pace forever, and she shouldn’t try to, not for me.
How could she be so goddamned impulsive?
Pressure closes in on me from all sides—health, finances, home life, career, and now a future where one bad decision could end everything she’s worked for, and I’d be unable to save it.
Ten yards from the barn, Lauren Riley calls. Feeling angry and like shit already, I answer.
“Yes?”
“Hi, Ben, how’s everything going? Is Lena feeling better?” Her chipper voice grates on my raw nerves.
“She’s fine.”
“Great! I just wanted to check in. I’ve spoken with Dad, and we understand you’re still considering us. Larry won’t retire until the new year, so we’re flexible. Take all the time you need. Really. But—”
I expected a but. My throat constricts as my stress skyrockets.
“He suggested you come in for a working interview to see firsthand what Riley Trust will be like. It’ll alleviate any concerns you may have, and we’ll have the chance to impress you with our thorough background checks, meticulous routines and record-keeping, and our over-the-top tech.” She laughs. “What do you say?”
I don’t want to say anything. The pressure has me in a stranglehold, my heart racing, and irritation climbing. My boots stop abruptly. I don’t know where I’m going, just away from Lena. I hate that I’ve spoken to her harshly again, and desperate to regain my self-control.
