Page 76 of That Weekend in Paris
“I’m all right,” I say. “You look great.”
“That’s a surprise considering the flight. I feel pretty rumpled.”
“No, really you do,” I say, and I mean that. She looks five years younger. Is that what Paris does for you? Or was it something else? Jealousy stabs my heart as I say, “Here, let me take your bag.”
I reach for the small pull-behind, and we walk toward the exit, awkward and quiet until she breaks the silence with, “Everything going all right with the business?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Actually, really good. Signed a new female artist who’s killing it.”
“That’s great,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that makes me wonder if she’s really interested.
We’ve reached the car and are both sitting inside when she says, “About Klein. Just so you know, I’m not pursuing that. It was petty of me, I guess. I was looking for some way to get back at you and that seemed like something that definitely would.”
I sit for a moment with my hands on the steering wheel and finally find the voice to say, “I deserve pretty much anything you can think of in the way of retaliation, Dillon. I’m not going to deny that. I treated you horribly, and no apology is ever going to make up for that. All I can ask is that somehow, someway could you please, please find it in your heart to give me another chance? I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
She lets out a small sigh and leans her head against the back of the seat. “It’s a big ask, Josh.”
“I know,” I say.
I stay quiet this time, knowing she’s right and what I’ve broken certainly qualifies for unfixable status.“Can we just go home and take a bit to think about things? I’ll sleep in the guest room. It would be nice to have you there, Dillon, and there’s no reason for you to be in a hotel or—”I stop then and add, “If you would like for me to leave the house, I will do that. You can be there.”
She closes her eyes and sighs again. “I’m really tired, Josh. For tonight, it’s fine for us both to be there. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
“Okay,” I say, and although she has given me no hope whatsoever, somehow I feel that this is at least a positive sign.
Dillon
“Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.”
?Euripides
IT TAKES ME hours to go to sleep that night. Maybe it’s because I feel like I’m in a stranger’s house, but actually, it’s the bedroom I’ve shared with Josh for years. I no longer feel as if I belong here. The bed is strange and foreign, a reminder of a time in our marriage I would now rather forget. As for the good times, I try to imagine it being that way, and I can’t. I just can’t. Some part of me knows that this stage of my life is truly over. I know Josh wants me to say something different, but we shared a mostly silent dinner at the kitchen table earlier. The food tasted like sawdust in my mouth. The bottle of wine he had opened only enhanced my reservations about being here.
I had realized one thing, though, sitting across from him and seeing for myself that he really does mean it this time when he says he wants another chance. I realize that I’m no longer angry with him. I left that somewhere in France. I’m not sure at what point it dissipated into indifference, but the fire that had propelled me across the ocean to Paris on a mission of vengeance has petered out, and, in its place, there is only a sense of peace now. I can picture nothing of my future except this one thing. I know that Josh and I will not be together.
~
WHEN I WAKE up the next morning, it’s almost ten. I raise up on one elbow and stare at the alarm clock on the nightstand, trying to bring the numbers into focus, realizing I slept far later than I intended to. I turn over. The sound of paper rumples beneath me. It’s a note from Josh.
Good morning. Sorry to leave so early, but I have a meeting. You know where the coffee is, and I’ll call you in a bit. Josh.
I lie back again, staring at the ceiling and wondering if I am being hardhearted. Josh is trying. There’s no doubt about that. There’s something I know this morning that I may not have known yesterday. I can’t spend the rest of my life with Josh, but I do forgive him, and there’s peace in that for me, and I hope there will be for him as well.
~
WHEN MY CELL phone rings, I don’t recognize the number on the screen. I consider ignoring it, imagining it will be yet another of those robotic sales calls that aggravate me to the point that I hang up even as I feel guilty for the bad manners. So I’m not sure why but I tap the screen and answer with a brisk, “Hello?”
“Dillon.”
“Yes?” I say, not recognizing the voice.
“This is Riley Haverson.”
To say I’m surprised would be an understatement of epic proportions. I have no idea why she would be calling me, but I say, “Yes. Riley. What can I do for you?”
“A number of things, actually,” she says, her voice laced with confidence. “I was wondering if you would mind visiting me at the hospital. I’m at Vanderbilt.”
My surprise has now turned to shock. “I’m not sure that’s really a good idea.”
