Page 22 of Jealous of the Clouds
“And if I do?”
“I hope you don’t. But if you do, I’ll get up and walk out that door. I can’t be with someone who mistrusts me about something so vital. I won’t like it because you’re one of the best things to come along in my life in a long, long time. But without your trust, and mine, we won’t make it. It’s better to cut our losses now.”
I wanted to ask if I could think about things and then realized that too would most likely be a deal breaker. So I simply said, “We’re good.”
And then I wondered if I said the same to myself long enough, I would believe it.
Chapter 8
Josh and I experienced a blissful two weeks with little to no conflict. Things actually went back to the honeymoon period they were in our early days, before there was suspicion, before there was jealousy.
Somehow, I knew it wouldn’t last. It was a time of forced forgetfulness. It was a time of denial.
Josh began spending every night at my place. My neighbors started to see us almost as a married couple. We became homebodies, bingeing series likeThe Crown, Ted Lasso, Six Feet Under(which Josh had never seen when it was on originally) and, when we needed to really lighten up,RuPaul’s Drag Race. We cooked together, making simple staples because neither of us was much of a cook—meatloaf, spaghetti and meatballs, steaks with a big salad, tuna noodle casserole, and chili.
It was beginning to look as though I might be ready to take the big step—agreeing to moving in together, even though we were already there, just not officially. Josh claimed that, other than Reggie, he’d never lived with anyone else.
Maybe the time had come.
I had, not on Josh’s urging, but taking heed of my own conscience, stopped listening toMeat Locker. I figured Bailey, or Karl, would have moved on to another cold-case true crime mystery by now.
It was all good until last night, a Saturday.
We’d finished a great dinner—a Guinness beef stew I made that came out perfectly, paired with a loaf of sourdough from a local bakery—and were about to settle in with our Cabernet in the living room to watch another episode ofSix Feet Under,when my phone, lying on the coffee table, vibrated. I’d left the phone directly in front of Josh.
I’d told him at least two times before that I hated it when he checked my phone, but he did it anyway. “If you have nothing to hide, why worry?” he’d counter. He snatched it up off the coffee table, took a look, and then passed it to me. He frowned. “Why’shecalling you?”
The name on the screen was Michael Fisher, of Michael and Dan, whom we’d met at Big Chicks a while back. We hadn’t seen them again after us having them over for dinner, but not for lack of trying. They’d asked us to go out for brunch at Ann Sather; they’d invited us over for pizza, beer and Cards Against Humanity; they’d wanted us to join them at another bar, the ever-popular Sidetrack, on Halsted Avenue, for comedy night. I’d tried to get Josh to accept at least one of their invitations or even to make one of our own, but he never wanted to. I knew we’d lose any chance of a friendship if we continued to make excuses not to see them. People only try for so long before moving on.
Josh persisted in the ridiculous and totally unfounded belief that the couple was “on the make” and wanted us to swap partners or go the bathhouse, Steamworks, with them. There wasn’t a shred of evidence to support his misgivings. They were simply nice guys, new to a city, who wanted to befriend other couples.
I’d pretty much given up on them because of Josh. It was a sacrifice I’d hated to make because they were genuinely good company and would have brought a little sparkle and variety to our lives.
But Josh was adamant. I let it go, even though every bit of self-esteem I possessed told me how wrong I was for it. But when problems like “did he or didn’t he” murder a former lover hung over us, his dislike for a couple we really barely knew didn’tseem like as big of a deal. Perhaps another couple would come along that he’d like better. Sometimes people have an instinctive dislike for someone else. Who knew?
“I don’t know. Let’s just watch TV.” I clicked the red cancel call button my phone and picked up the remote and started the show.
I could feel Josh staring at me out of the corner of my eye, but I kept my gaze on the opening of our current episode ofSix Feet Under. Someone hanging out of a sunroof was about to get decapitated.
*
The next morning, after Josh left for work, I called in and left a voice mail for my boss, saying I had a dentist appointment I’d forgotten and that I’d be in by lunchtime.
I went out for a run so I could think. This was the kind of weather I loved best for running. The sky was the gray of late-season dirty snow, the sun a low-hanging orb on the horizon, gauzy white and barely peeking through. The air was crisp and cold, hovering just below forty degrees. I would let my mind work on three big questions as my feet took me along the lakefront path, north to the suburb of Evanston. The wind off the lake was bracing, making the running effortless. I felt as though I could go all the way up to Evanston’s northern edge where there was a lovely and—at this time of year—desolate beach with a lighthouse.
The three questions I mulled over as my feet transported me:
*
1. Should I let Josh move in with me or I move in with him? Or not at all? After last night, I was leaning toward putting off this step more and more. I knew that this was not a finitedecision. He really wanted us to set up housekeeping together. He said it was the proof he needed of our love and commitment. And commitment was a vital ingredient in a relationship. He wanted us to move in together because it would demonstrate I was serious about a lifetime partnership. I think if I’d given him any idea I was open to the suggestion, he might have proposed marriage. But a saying my mom used to use kept coming back to me—and with good reason—she’d always said, “Marry in haste; repent at leisure.” I knew in my gut I wasn’t ready, despite a period of relative calm between us. Last night’s barely-hidden suspicion over Michael’s phone call validated my misgivings.
2. Could I let go of Josh’s past? I thought I could, but there was a resistant part of me that wouldn’t release the odd feeling that there was something about Josh that wasn’t true. Worse, there was another part that instinctively saw that he was, well, sneaky. I worried he was hiding something. And, with his history, that secret could be lethal. It sounded ridiculous when my mind conjured up the notion, but love and suspicion can co-exist, even if they’re highly incompatible.
3. Should I continue to listen to Meat Locker? Should I meet up with Karl again? I felt as though Karl could clear things up for me, even if he was on the side that Josh had murdered his brother. I needed to find out if there was more. It felt onerous, but a responsibility I needed to take on. And the other issue I really hated to admit to myself—I missed Karl. I liked him; he was comfortable to be around.
*
The last questions caused me to stop, right along an expanse of beach where Sheridan Road curved, morphing from the Chicago urban neighborhood of Rogers Park to the tony North Shore suburb of Evanston. I panted, hands on my knees, andlifted my head to gaze out at the churning pewter waters of the lake, flinging themselves against sand and boulders as though possessed of an infinite supply of fury. It looked more like an angry ocean than a lake.
