Page 96 of That Reilly Boy
“Two things can be true at the same time.”
“This is not okay,” I yell, and then I take a deep breath because I don’t like raising my voice, and I don’t want to scare Penny.
“Why not? What does it matter what my motivation was? Look at this house. You can’t deny it needs the attention I can afford to give it.”
“I would never have gone along with this if I’d known.”
“That makes no sense to me. What difference does it really make?”
“There’s a big difference between you wanting to save an old house and you using me to send a giant screw you to my dead father.”
“Is there really, though?”
The cold is back, seeping through my body. “I know we have to play out this pretense, but I don’t even want to look at you right now. Obviously you can’t drive all the way back to Boston when you just got here, but you can go sleep at your mother’s tonight.” There’s a pang in my chest at the thought of him leaving, but I ignore it. “That helps sell the divorce, anyway.”
“It’s too soon, Cara. If your mother thinks—” His words break off and he takes a deep breath. “It’s too soon for us to separate.”
If my mother thinks we purposely defrauded her out of the house, she could sue him, I think. Honestly, I don’t care right now. “I’m not filing for divorce tomorrow. I just need some space and everybody seeing how much time you spend in Boston is a nice little bonus for when I do file. You need to go.”
I give Penny some extra pets, trying not to let tears fall into her hair, and then I turn away and go upstairs. A few minutes later, I hear them leave and the crying really starts.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Hayden
My mother’s surprised to see me, obviously, but it only takes one look at my face to convince her not to pry too much.
“Is everybody alright?” she asks from the kitchen doorway. It looks as if she’d been cleaning up from her dinner when she heard me come in.
“Just a spat,” I lie. It doesn’t feel like a spat. It feels like the end of the world. “No accidents or emergencies. But she asked for some space.”
Colleen’s mouth tightens, and I brace myself for an anti-Gamble rant I really don’t want to hear. Then she inhales slowly through her nose and blows out the breath. “Are you hungry? There’s some leftover ham and fried potatoes.”
“I’m not hungry, but thank you.”
“You’re not hungry? Or you already ate? Nothing feels better on an empty stomach. How about a grilled cheese sandwich and some tomato soup?”
I wasn’t lying about not having an appetite, but I recognize that my mom needs to do something to help me feel better, and I appreciate that she didn’t give me an I told you so. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
“Never.”
After checking that Penny’s bed is still in its spot—it is, and she’s already curled up in it—I sit at the table and watch my mom go through the familiar actions of making my favorite comfort food.
Maybe it’s the nostalgia that loosens the knot of emotion in my throat. I hadn’t wanted to start down this path so soon—honestly, I don’t want to at all—but it looks like we’ve arrived. “We might have rushed getting married.”
To her credit, she only nods slowly and stirs a can of milk into the tomato soup while processing that. I can see that she wants to be careful with her words—always a good idea because she doesn’t want to have said something awful if Cara and I reconcile after sleeping on it.
“One spat doesn’t mean it’s over,” she finally says. “Learning how to fight and then move past it together is one of the most important skills to develop in a marriage. Usually you learn how to do that during the dating and engagement process, but you kind of skipped that part.”
I don’t really have a great reason to have skipped it, other than repeating the story that we fell so hard and fast, we couldn’t wait. But I can’t bring myself to say it out loud right now. Not with the memory of Cara’s tear-stained cheeks and accusing eyes so sharp and fresh in my mind.
I just couldn’t tell her all of it—I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the rest of the story.
“Have you told your brother you’re here?”
“No.” It was only for Penny’s sake that I came here instead of making the drive back to Boston. I’d rather not have this conversation and I don’t want to explain it all to Aaron, either. “I might tomorrow if…I might talk to him tomorrow.”
She sets the grilled cheese in front of me, followed by a bowl of creamy tomato soup. “Everything might look different in the morning. And I know how you are, so I’m not going to make you talk about it. But you know I’m here if you do want to talk.”
