The Marriage Lie(25)

Slightly. I nod.

He leans over, takes a look at my legs. “If I tell you you’re bleeding, are you going to start hyperventilating again?” He doesn’t wait for my response, just yanks a paisley pocket square from his jacket and squats on the grass, blotting it on my skin. “I don’t think the cuts are deep, but you should still probably get someone to clean them up as soon as you’re home.”

Vaguely, I’m aware of Corban fussing over me, of a crowd gathering all around us, strangers watching with curiosity and alarm. Somebody slides off my shoe and pours icy water down a shin, and I barely notice any of it.

All along, I’ve been waiting for someone to tell me these past few days were a mistake, that Will was safe and sound where he was supposed to be, in Orlando. But the conference was a lie, his cover for a difficult truth: that he was headed to Seattle to uproot our lives, to begin the process of starting a new one on the opposite coast. I cover my mouth with a palm, the truth slamming me in the gut. Will had a reason to be on that plane.

Which means I have a reason to give up hope.

Will got a new job in Seattle?

I must say the words out loud, because Corban looks up. “You didn’t know?”

My eyes widen. “Of course I didn’t know.” The words come out like darts, fast and furious. Why else would I be causing such a scene?

Corban pushes up from the ground and settles onto the bench beside me, watching me with eyes black as night. “I didn’t realize he hadn’t told you yet. If it makes you feel any better, I know he was going to. He was just waiting for the right time.”

“When was that, when I came home to find a For Sale sign in front of the house and movers carting out all our stuff?”

“Don’t be crazy. You know Will would never let strangers touch his stuff.”

I know he’s joking, but Corban’s words hit me like a fireball shot, sudden and scalding. This guy claims Will was his friend, but he’s my husband. I feel like a jealous lover, and this feels like an intrusion, like a third person butting into my and Will’s relationship, trying to elbow in bed between us. Heat rises in my chest.

“How well do you know Will?” I say, more accusation than inquiry.

Corban’s brows rise, then fall into a V. “I told you, we met at the gym.”

“Not how. How well. It can’t be all that well, seeing as he never, not once, mentioned your name. How do I even know you’re telling me the truth?”

Corban doesn’t look the least bit insulted. He leans back, stretching one of his bulked-up arms along the back of the bench. “Well, I know his dad disappeared when he was seven, and his mom died during his junior year of high school. I know he couch surfed for a month or two until he turned eighteen, social services breathing down his neck the whole time. I know he put himself through college and grad school, and that he was far too qualified for the work he was doing at AppSec. And I know he was bighearted and off-the-charts brilliant, an all-around good guy who fell for the love of his life in a Kroger parking lot.”

I fall silent. It took me years to get all that out of Will. He didn’t like to talk about his difficult past, and he hated to blow his own horn. That he shared all this with Corban says something about not only the length, but also the depth of their friendship.

“So not all that well,” I mumble, and he laughs, proving yet again how well he knew my husband.

And now I’m crying again, both at Corban’s obvious affection for Will and at the idea that he had a friend, one he liked and trusted enough to share the most private parts of himself but, for some reason I’ll never know, decided to keep that friendship from me. Why would he do such a thing?

Corban presses a palm to the back of my hand for a quick squeeze, pulling away before the gesture can turn anything beyond friendly. “He was going to tell you about the job offer, Iris. Honestly. He wanted you to be as excited as he was. This job was the opportunity of a lifetime. But he was waiting until next weekend, at Optimist, because he didn’t want the discussion to detract from your anniversary celebration.”

Optimist—yet another fact Corban has gotten right. Will and I have dinner reservations at the Westside hot spot next Saturday, a rare date night with just us two.

“He told me he was going to Orlando. To a conference. He even produced a flyer featuring himself as keynote speaker.”

“Orlando, huh?” Corban shakes his head. “That’s something I didn’t know, though I can’t say I’m surprised. This new job came with a promotion and a hefty raise in salary, but Will knew neither would make it an easy decision for you. Two thousand, eight hundred and eighty-four road miles between you and your brother. That’s what he kept saying he was up against.”

“He wasn’t wrong.” I draw a shaky breath and wipe my cheeks. “I would have gone, but I would have fought him on it first.”

“And who knows? He probably would have let you win.”

Corban smiles, and my lips tip up in response, like one of Pavlov’s dogs. It happens without me giving them permission.

“You ready?” Dave says from right behind me, and I twist around. My parents and James hover at either shoulder. I give them a quick nod, then turn back to Corban.

He reaches into a pocket, passes me a business card, and I recognize the logo for a local chain of banks. “Call me anytime, okay? Day or night. If you think of any more questions or just want to talk. And for what it’s worth, Will was right.”