Last Summer(67)

Ella nodded. “It wasn’t the first time, but that night I think he just wanted to get home and pass out so that he didn’t have to listen to my mom anymore.” She paused and gulped her wine. Liquid courage.

Damien rubbed her back. She offered him a weak smile. “This isn’t easy.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything. We can wait.”

She shook her head. “No, I want to.” She sipped more wine, then set down the glass. “My mom was so mean to him, but I think my dad believed she still loved him. Either that, or he hoped that she would again one day. But—and I remember this vividly—while we were driving home, my mom shouted that she wanted a divorce. Then she said that she never did love him, even in the beginning, and that she only married him to piss off her parents. Whether it was that specifically or a culmination of her abuse, she broke him. He started crying and the car started swerving. Andrew and I were screaming. There was construction on the freeway, and to this day, I don’t know if it was an accident or if it was intentional, but he drove the car straight into the back of a parked flatbed truck. The last thing I remember is the crunch of metal and glass shattering. And the pipes on the flatbed. I remember those. They cut into the car and punched into my parents.”

Damien looked at her, stunned. “Fuck me.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

Damien pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

“Me too. That’s why turkey makes me gag. The smell always triggers images of the wreck.”

“I can imagine.”

“I guess it’s a good thing we aren’t planning to have kids. They’d hate not celebrating Thanksgiving.” Ella tried to joke, but it only made her sadder.

“Whether we had kids or not, we don’t have to celebrate anything you don’t want to,” Damien said solemnly.

They sat quietly for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts, before Ella said, almost hesitantly, “I blame my mom.”

“For what?”

“Their deaths. I think she could have left it at telling my dad she wanted a divorce. She didn’t have to get into all the stuff about not loving him. She was more honest than she needed to be. They’d still be alive if she hadn’t told him that. Her admission broke him, and that’s what killed them.”

Damien looked at her oddly.

“What?” she asked.

“You said something similar when you told me about Grace. You said you blamed her suicide on her dad. If he hadn’t confessed to an affair, her parents wouldn’t have divorced, and Grace wouldn’t have committed suicide.”

“I do believe that.”

“Huh.” He rubbed his jaw. “Do you feel the same about us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think there are things we shouldn’t share with each other?”

Ella’s chest tightened, but she smiled. “Are you hiding something from me, Damien?”

He looked at the glass in his hand. “Nothing of import.”

She nudged his shoulder. “Are you trying to tell me that you hate turkey, too?”

He laughed. “No.”

Ella grinned before sobering. She thought of the one thing she desired almost as much as she wanted Damien. A baby girl. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed the inside of his wrist, letting her mouth linger on his skin. Then she met his eyes. “If it’s something that could hurt our marriage, then no, maybe we shouldn’t share it. I’d hate for us to not work out. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Damien.”

“Me too.”





CHAPTER 28

Ella wakes at noon craving coffee and pancakes drenched in maple syrup. The sun is out, a perfect spring day. The blue bay will be speckled with white sails should she get up and look out the window. But she’s tight and deliciously sore from her and Damien’s predawn aerobics, and rolling over and burrowing under the covers sounds like a perfect way to spend the day. She stretches. A lingering arousal clings to her. Damien’s scent clings to her.

Ella extends an arm across the bed. Damien’s side is empty. Knowing him, he’s been up for hours. Probably already went for a run.

She sits up in bed and startles when she sees Damien in the corner armchair, fully dressed in faded jeans and a blue Henley. Hair damp from a recent shower. He watches her with a stony expression. She pulls the sheets around herself, feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare.

“How long have you been up?” she asks.

“A few hours.”

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Same.”

Ella moistens her lips and slowly nods. She’s not sure what to say, where to begin. But Damien does.

“I saw the photo.” The one on the internet.

Ella’s heart sinks, heavy with guilt.

“Do you have any idea how that made me feel? Seeing the two of you together like that? Why would you do that to us?”

“It’s not what you—”

“You’re looking at him the same way you look at me,” he interjects, voice raised. “What does he mean to you?”

Nothing! she wants to shout. But she doesn’t really know that.

She shakes her head.