Everything After(29)

The elevator opened onto their floor. They were silent again, walking down the hallway, until Ezra opened their hotel room door. Neither one of them noticed the elegant decor or the chocolate truffles left next to each side of the bed.

“What were you doing in a tree house when you were twenty?”

Emily closed her eyes. She’d never told anyone this story after she told it to Dr. West thirteen years ago. It was still painful. All of it. She did her best to work through it, get past it, and then lock it away. She knew it was part of what made her the person she was, but it felt private—and, if she was honest with herself, she still felt ashamed of how she’d acted then. She blamed herself for so much.

“What were you doing in that tree house?” Ezra asked, sitting down on the side of the bed.

“What happened at work today?” Emily asked him, stalling—and also wondering if dealing with that first might defuse whatever was going on with him now. “Hala mentioned something . . . and it actually made me feel pretty bad not to know what she was talking about. I had to pretend.”

Ezra took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Then he put them back on and said, “You first.”

Emily sat down across from him on a little settee covered in plush velvet. The idea of telling him this story, of sharing it, made her panic. He was such a good person, so straight-edged. He never drank before he turned twenty-one, never smoked or took any medication that didn’t come with a prescription. She hated how this story made her look. It didn’t feel like her anymore. It felt like a story she’d read about a person she’d once known. And there was no rule that said married couples had to share everything. There were stories in her past that Ezra didn’t know—and stories in his past she was sure she didn’t know. His first kiss, for example; she had no idea who it was with. Or why he chose to do his residency in California, so far away from his parents. He got to keep those stories; she got to keep hers. “My story is my story, Ezra. It’s mine to share when I want.”

He looked like she’d slapped him. She hadn’t realized what she said would sound that way, would make him react like that. She was usually better at reading him than this, but she felt like ever since the miscarriage, her sensors were off. Maybe she was too focused on herself, on how she felt.

“You don’t want to share your story with me? You haven’t wanted to share your story with me before?” He loosened his tie, looking like it might be choking him.

Emily’s head felt fuzzy from the wine, but not fuzzy enough that she couldn’t think straight. Still, she opened up a bottle of water sitting on the table next to her and took a sip. “You didn’t want to share what happened at work today with me,” she pointed out as she recapped the bottle. Logic usually worked with him. “There are some things you don’t tell me, either.”

“It’s not the same,” he said.

“Isn’t it?” she asked.

He shook his head, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “What happened when you were twenty, Emily? Why won’t you talk about it?” Then his face looked stricken. “Did someone— Oh, Em, did someone—”

“No,” Emily said quickly. “Not that. Thank God, not that.”

“Then what?” Ezra’s eyes were filled with emotion; his concern for her was there, even through his anger, his hurt.

Emily took a deep breath. When he looked at her like that, like she was someone so precious, someone he cared for more than anyone, her heart always grew a little; it swelled with her love for him. And that swelling of love made her feel strong enough, sure enough of him, to overcome her worry. Besides, he’d asked. She’d never kept anything from him when he’d asked.

“I was dating a musician,” she said. “We were in a band together. And we were young and stupid and got pregnant. And I got into a fight with Ari about it and climbed up into an old tree house at my dad’s house in Westchester. And then my boyfriend came up, and we got high, and I climbed out of the window instead of the door—it was dumb, but I thought I had a smart reason—and then I fell. And he caught me, but I broke my wrist and three fingers.”

Ezra’s face was white. “Where’s . . . the baby?” he asked, his knuckles gripping his knees.

“I lost it,” Emily said, “after I fell.” And she started crying, thinking not about that baby but about the other one. The one who would have been hers and Ezra’s.

Ezra stood and then sat down next to her. “You had this whole life, this whole . . . ordeal . . . that happened to you and you never told me.”

“I never told anyone, except Ari and Dr. West.”

Ezra was looking down at his hands.

Emily saw them in his lap. His hands were usually so calm, but now they were twisting around each other.

“You didn’t trust me?” he asked. “You didn’t trust me enough to tell me this?”

“It’s not about trust,” Emily said, trying to find the right words to make him understand. “It’s about . . . it’s about not wanting to be that person anymore. Not wanting to associate myself with the way I acted then, the decisions I made, the pain I was in.”

“But this is such a huge part of you. I feel like I married someone I don’t really know.”

“You know me,” Emily said, trying to look him in the eye, but he was still looking down, still focused on his hands.