Page 86 of Accidental Groom
Geraldine’s perfume still lingers faintly in the wardrobe despite being untouched for years. Her scarves hang in one corner like silk and cashmere ghosts. The wingback chair I’m sitting in is where she used to read when the headaches or the nausea weren’t too bad. Her book is still on the windowsill, sun-bleached and bookmark poking out halfway through a chapter she never got to finish.
I come here when I need to feel like she was real. Not just a headline or a rumor, but a person. The woman I married. The mother of my son. My greatest failure.
I’ve been in here for what feels like an hour when I notice something move in the reflection from the window. The doorway changes, the dim light on the other side of the cracked door turning darker, the reflection of the hallway’s wall blocked by something.
Then I hear it. Just barely. Just faint, like they’re trying to control it.
Breathing.
I slowly set down the glass of scotch on the side table. “I can hear you breathing,” I say, the words simple, a bit of bait.
For a few seconds, there’s nothing. But then the door pushes open just a little bit, just enough for me to see the reflection of her head poking in a little, her blonde curls tucked up in a neat bun. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I look over my shoulder at her as she steps into the room like it might bite her. Her shoulders are drawn back, but her face is soft, searching,careful, like she’s somewhere she thinks she isn’t allowed to go. Her eyes scan the room briefly, taking in the bookshelves, the chaise lounge in the corner, the massive wardrobe, the photo on the table. Then to me.
I sit slightly forward and set my glass beside the image of Geraldine from nearly thirty years ago.
“You didn’t,” I say, but the words sound a little hollow, even to me. “I wasn’t expecting?—”
“I know,” she murmurs, lingering by the door. “I wanted to talk, but I didn’t know you’d be… here. I’m sorry. I can go.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine,” I say, gesturing toward the open seat beside mine — my old seat. “You can sit, if you’d like.”
“I…”
“It doesn’t bother me, if you’re worried?—”
“I just need to talk to you,” she interrupts, her cheeks heating slightly. “And I feel bad making you talk about it in here.”
My brows knit. “Why?”
“It’s about Geraldine.”
I blink, surprised, and sit back in my seat, letting the words settle. It’s odd hearing her say her name, almost jarring. Not because she doesn’t have a right to say it, of course she does, butbecause it feels like two worlds colliding, like a present I haven’t earned touching a past I failed.
“We can just talk tomorrow,” she says, taking a step back toward the door.
“No, no, it’s fine,” I insist. “Please. It’s fine. We can talk about her.”
Elena hesitates, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. “Are you sure?”
I take a deep breath, shoving my apprehension down into the depths of my mind. “Yes.”
She nods, once, and crosses the room with quiet, measured steps, her oversized pajama bottoms swishing about her legs, her tight t-shirt clinging to the swell of her stomach. She sits slowly in the wingback chair, clinging to the armrests like the chair might shatter beneath her. Her eyes are fixed on me, but something is brewing behind them, like a storm she’s trying to keep at bay.
She glances, just once, at the photo on the side table before looking back at me.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits quietly. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring this up, and I just… nothing feels appropriate.”
“Then just say it. I’m fine.”
She takes a deep, audible breath, leaning forward slightly. “The… rumors.”
I stiffen instinctually.
“I never, uh, paid much attention to anything going on with the Highcourts when I was younger,” she continues, “but it’s been harder to ignore lately. With George bringing it up and Joseph and Ann, and… I don’t know. There’s talk. And I just… I wanted some clarity.”
I grit my teeth and lean forward again, resting my elbows on my knees. “Can you tell me what you’re concerned about specifically? What have you heard?”
