Page 3 of Leave It to Us
Isaac hadn’t spoken a word as he waltzed past her. Sitting on the white leather-backed stool at their kitchen island, she’d watched him over the rim of her mug as she slowly sipped on her second cup of coffee. He wore dark-green basketball shorts with black compression leggings beneath them, black running shoes, and a white T-shirt stained with sweat at the armpits and wide patches down the front and back. Despite that and the fact that he’d acted like he had no home training—entering a room without speaking—Isaac Camby was still one of the finest men she’d ever seen. With his milk chocolate–hued skin, slim build, mesmerizing eyes, and silky voice, he’d claimed her heart fourteen years ago. And nomatter what had happened during that course of time, she hadn’t been able to break free of the trance his smooth lines, romantic interludes, and bone-melting sex had placed her under.
Not that he’d done anything particularly brutal or dirty during their marriage. No, Isaac was a good man. He worked hard, gave her the time and attention she deserved, supported and encouraged her dreams, made good money, and pleased her sexually. He was the ideal man for her—except when he gambled and lost, which he did more often than not.
She set her mug down and moved into the bedroom, giving a cursory glance at the expansive primary suite of their condo, which was situated in the center of Back Bay. The floors were wide-planked gray hardwood, with a plush, abstract gray-black-and-white area rug covering a good portion of the space. Their tufted-headboard California king bed was centered against one wall and had matching pewter nightstands on both sides. She’d made the bed once she’d climbed out of it a few hours earlier, smoothed the stone-gray duvet over pristine white sheets, fluffed the white-cased pillows they slept on, as well as the four decorative ones that Isaac had never understood the need for.
Sunlight poured through the windows, brightening the soft-gray walls and giving the space an airy feeling she relished on good days but still managed to feel trapped by on bad ones. Today was shaping up to be a bad one. This was the life she’d always wanted: the beautiful home, the handsome husband, a successful career—it was all she’d dreamed of and more. And yet it wasn’t everything.
For as lovingly as she’d decorated the eighteen-hundred-square-foot three-bedroom, two-bathroom, there was still something missing. And that something had left a gaping hole in her soul that she desperately needed to fill. Luckily for her, she and Isaac were on the same page about what was missing—at least, they had been the last time she’d checked. The problem was, Lana hadn’t checked in with Isaac on their baby timeline in almost a year. Not because she didn’t still want to hearthe shuffling of tiny feet over these immaculate floors or pick up dolls, trucks, and whatever other toys she knew they’d happily buy for their toddler from the living room or their room—because she still desperately wanted to do those things. But honestly, she’d started to wonder how that scenario would fit into the steadily growing tenuous vibe that permeated within these walls.
Crossing the space, she went to stand in the doorway of their primary bathroom. The floor was lighter here, a hexagon pattern of narrow gray and white tile; there was also a marble-top double vanity, a sunken tub, and floor-to-ceiling glass shower doors. Isaac stood behind those doors now, clouded by steam from the water spraying over his naked body. She watched as he dragged the cloth covered in soapy suds up and down his toned limbs, across his torso, and between his legs. Her breath hitched slightly at the sight, and she let a small, soft smile flutter over her lips. The spark was still there. She still wanted this man physically, and if the way her heart ached each time she thought about the very slim possibility of walking away from him and all they’d made together was any indication, she still craved him emotionally as well.
But there was no denying the cracks in their foundation, the places where this addiction that he had yet to claim—at least, not openly to her—was steadily creeping in, threatening to shatter their entire world.
“You gonna keep staring or come over here and join me, beautiful?”
The rich timbre of his voice yanked her out of her thoughts, and that small smile she’d allowed spread into a wider, more seductive one.
“Well, you walked by like you hadn’t noticed I was there, so I wasn’t sure you wanted company,” she replied, and stepped fully into the room.
He moved farther beneath the water, which came down from the rainfall-jet panel system, and she watched it wash away all the soap, leaving his fit body glistening. She’d undone the belt of her robe, letting the silky green fabric fall to the floor, and was just pulling the caminightdress she’d slept in up and over her head when he said, “I always notice you.”
Then he moved from beneath the water and pushed the door open for her. The moment she stepped into the shower, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her naked body flush against his. His other hand immediately eased around the nape of her neck, fingers traveling up to twist into her hair, which she hadn’t even thought to cover before hopping in with him. He leaned in, positioning his lips directly at her ear. “I can’t breathe without you,” he whispered.
And every worry, every doubt, every one of those cracks in their foundation that she’d just been contemplating, dissipated, leaving only his words of adoration, of desire, of love. Words that she drank thirstily, absorbed with every fiber of her being, and returned with honesty and fervor. She loved this man, and in this moment, she needed him more than she needed to figure out how their marriage was going to survive.
But just like many others before, that moment passed—blissfully so, but still, it was gone—and what was left two hours later as she sat in her car, replaying the morning’s events, was despair. Leaning forward, she rested her head on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. How in the hell was she going to come up with $37,000? And why was she even trying to come up with it on her own, anyway? It wasn’t her debt. But hewasher husband.
What’s hers was his, and what was his was hers. Or some other mess that preacher had said to them during their premarital counseling.
“It’s going to be fine,” she whispered. “It’s all going to work out.”
Just as it had the last time.
And the time before that.
Her phone dinged with a notification, bringing her attention abruptly back to the present, and she cracked open an eye to look down at her device. A reminder that she needed to be at the lawyer’s office by one o’clock flashed on the screen. It was twelve thirty, and she had something she needed to do first. Now that she felt like she was beingrushed, she put the useless pity party she’d been about to have on hold and sat up straight in her seat. Clearing her throat, she grabbed her purse with one hand and reached for the door handle with the other. She was dreading this meeting as much as she dreaded having to think about how she was going to pay her husband’s latest gambling debt.
Five minutes later, Lana was walking into the bank and being directed to a set of chairs situated about six feet from a cluster of cubicles. Crossing one leg over the other, she smoothed down the soft material of the purple-and-white floral-print sundress she wore. Moving the Hermès clutch from where she’d tucked it under her arm, she set it in her lap and spread her fingers over it. Then she looked around to the people standing in the lines on the other side of the floor. Tellers worked behind clear glass, counting and disbursing money. An older woman, with one of those rickety metal shopping carts she hadn’t seen since her grandmother had walked from the marketplace in town back to her waterfront house in South Carolina, came through the revolving doors at the front of the bank. Of course, that cart got stuck because those slices of space really were meant for only one person to fit in at a time. She was just about to get up and go help the woman when the security guard finally decided he’d leave his post, where he’d been standing with his back propped against the wall, eyes glued to his phone.
“Mrs.Butler-Camby?” a woman called.
Snapping her head around to the cubicles once again, she replied, “Yes. That’s me.”
The woman showcased her perfectly straight white teeth in a smile and waved a hand. “Great, you can come on over with me.”
Lana followed her and took a seat in the guest chair directly across from the woman’s desk.
“You know, you’re welcome to use our business line at the far end of the counter anytime you come in,” the woman—the placard on the front of the desk displayed her name asBRENDAJOHNSON—said.
It would’ve been nice if Brenda had introduced herself, but Lana wasn’t here to tell these people how to do their jobs. At least, she prayed she didn’t have to do that.
“I prefer to handle my business in a more discreet way,” Lana replied.
Brenda blinked ridiculously long fake eyelashes at her in response before folding her hands over the desk blotter. “Well, then, how may I help you?”
Unsnapping her clutch, Lana dug her hand inside and pulled out the check she’d already endorsed with her signature and account number. “I’d like to deposit that into my account and check the balances of all of the other accounts with my name on them.”
Brenda reached for the check. “We also have online banking, and our ATM machines can accept deposits.”
