Page 95 of Every Good Thing
“I do, yes. Thanks.”
She stands there, awkwardly shifting on her heels to prevent them from sinking into the dirt, and I take a breath, trying to remember polite protocol in this situation. “Um, would you like to come up for coffee? Or something? Ruthie and I baked banana bread last night.”
“Oh, yummy, but no, thanks. I can’t stay long, and I know you’ll be fixing dinner for the family soon,” she coos like this is the greatest thing ever or my only station in life—it’s hard to tell.
Regardless, I don’t know what to do now. I set the plant on the spiral staircase by the barn door to give my arm a rest. “It’s sweet of you to come all this way to bring me rosemary.”
Her sculpted arms bounce in a shrug. “I’ve been meaning to stop by since the picnic, to be honest. It means the absolute world to me and my family that you and Ben are considering Riley Trust.”
“Oh, yes, I, um, gathered that. Ben has the greatest respect for your father.”
She smiles knowingly. “That’s definitely mutual. We’re interviewing other candidates, just in case, but it’ll break Dad’s heart if Ben doesn’t take it. Larry’s heart, too.”
“Well, he certainly doesn’t want to disappoint them, but he’s still weighing his options. Being a cop is what he knows, what he’s good at. It’s not easy to give that up.”
Her head tilts curiously. “Oh, Ben said that you were the reason he’s reluctant to accept our offer.”
“Me?” The word spits out like I’m choking on it. Hello, bus. Didn’t expect you to mow me down today.
“Believe me, I understand.” She lightly pets my arm like I’m a cute farm animal. “Ben and I share an incredible history. We were together for a long time. It must be so weird for you.”
“Um, it’s—”
“It’d be weird if it wasn’t, right?” She chuckles. “Well, I hope I can put your fears to rest.”
So, I’m the problem? I tuck my fidgeting fingers behind my back.
“It’s strictly professional,” she says in a tone that suggests it’s a public service announcement. “Ben and I have made that clear to each other…”
They had to clarify it?
“And you two are so happy. Obviously, you have nothing to worry about.”
Obviously? Her words feel laced with sarcasm, as if she’s privy to our marriage issues. Who knows? Maybe she is.
I laser in on her icy gray eyes. “I’m not worried. Certainly not about Ben. But ‘strictly professional’ seems inaccurate unless Riley Trust typically drops in for home visits on potential candidates… three times.”
Smirking, she shrugs again. “You’re right. Ben isn’t just another candidate. After his injuries, he needed us, and we failed him. I don’t want to fail him now, not with more changes ahead regarding his hearing. It’s an outstanding offer. He deserves an easier life. My family will take care of him.”
“No—his family will take care of him. He’s done just fine without the Rileys.”
“Yes, of course, he has. Ben always does just fine.” Her perfect face crinkles like the words are taboo. “But he could do so much better… I don’t want to upset you. I’m Ben’s past. You’re his present. But we both want what’s best for him, don’t we?”
Double score for Lauren for making me feel like a petty, unsupportive, selfish hag-wife, all while she smiles, looks gorgeous, and drips with concern for Ben. I should expect nothing less from the woman with zero qualms about tricking my husband into dancing with her.
“All I’m asking is that you don’t keep him from the care and support he’s going to need, especially if he gets the implants. It’ll be a long recovery. With us, he’ll have job security. Larry’s agreed to stay on through Ben’s recovery, part-time, full-time, whatever he needs. Ben saved Larry’s life once… Did he tell you that?”
My agape expression reveals my utter cluelessness. I rein it in, growing irritated. “No, but he never spoke of you, either. Ben doesn’t live in the past.”
Her porcelain face flashes with surprise and hurt that he’d left her out of his history, the same way I felt learning about her existence.
“Oh, right. I know. He’s a present-thinker,” she recovers weakly. “And a planner. Knowing him, it won’t take nearly as long as the doctor claims to recover. Right?”
“Um, probably not,” I mumble the words like my lips are sticky.
“He won’t find the support he needs anywhere else, and having a position of authority, an income, a… mission… will help Ben through what’s likely to be a tough transition mentally. I don’t want him to lose that because of me.”
My head spins—anxiety, confusion, anger, and weirdly, appreciation. Dr. Lin’s yearlong recovery time gongs in my head, and my purpose-driven husband will need a positive focus that makes him feel valued. Early retirement or a desk job won’t do that.
