The Golden Couple(49)
“Of course not. Daddy and I love each other very much. And we both really love you.”
Marissa remains on the floor, holding her son, knowing that despite everything else demanding her attention, nothing matters more than this.
Bennett sniffs. “Okay … Then can you tell Dad I don’t want to play baseball?”
“You don’t want to play baseball?”
Bennett has played since Matthew signed him up for a T-ball league when he was five. He complained about going to practice sometimes, but Marissa assumed he had a good time when he got there.
Bennett shakes his head. “It isn’t fun.”
“If you don’t like baseball, you don’t have to play baseball,” she finally says. “I’m sure Dad will understand.”
She knows Matthew won’t be happy about it, though. He lettered in three sports in high school and played club ice hockey and baseball in college. It’s only natural that he hoped their son would inherit that physical prowess and enjoy being on teams.
But Bennett isn’t built that way, emotionally or physically. He’s his own person.
And he’s certainly intuitive enough to know that Matthew will be disappointed.
Marissa hugs her son tighter. “I have an idea. How about we order pizza for dinner? Then maybe I can find something else for you to practice knots with.”
Bennett squeezes her back, his thin arms locked around her waist, then lets go. “I love you.”
“Love you more.” She kisses the top of his head. “Should we go pick toppings? You want pineapple and anchovies, right?”
“Ewwww!” Bennett pretends to throw up, then gets to his feet.
As he and Marissa walk back into the kitchen, Marissa spots the Transformers watch that Bennett left on the end table next to the sofa. She hesitates. Something about the way the fabric wristband is splayed across the wood table jars her memory, and it hits her: that’s the exact spot where she last saw the Cub Scout rope, on the night when Matthew was in New York and her life began to unravel.
“Mom?” Bennett calls, and Marissa is reminded that she has also betrayed her son.
Bennett is already sitting on his favorite stool at the granite island, clicking away on Marissa’s laptop—it’s a little frightening how adept he is with technology—and has called up the website for his favorite pizza place.
Marissa steps into the kitchen, expecting him to ask what size pie he should select or whether he can get a Sprite with dinner. She’s prepared to give him anything he wants.
But the question that comes from her son surprises and saddens her. It will reverberate through her mind the rest of the evening, fighting her attempts to sleep until, finally, at a little after 11:00 P.M., she takes a Xanax to quiet her brain.
Bennett asks, “If you and Dad do get divorced, can I live only with you?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AVERY
THE FAINT ODOR OF COOKED meat hits me when I walk into my house, as if someone is eating a hamburger in my kitchen.
I stand motionless in the doorway, my eyes roaming over the items littering the hallway and living room: torn paper towels, eggshells, an empty carton of Greek yogurt, and a mushy speckled-brown banana peel I threw away yesterday.
For a split second, I worry someone has broken in again. Then I identify the culprit.
Romeo stares up at me, his tail thumping against the wood floor, part of the grease-stained Five Guys foil wrapper from last night’s takeout stuck to his plastic cone.
“Are you kidding me?”
His tail raps harder as I sigh and begin to clean up. In the kitchen, I discover the built-in drawer holding my trash and recycling bins is wide open. Either I forgot to shut it tightly, or my dog has figured out how to open it.
“My little Dumpster diver, you were doing so well out of the crate. What happened?” I scold Romeo as I wipe down the floor. He licks my hand and looks suitably ashamed.
I have no idea what he is digesting, and I don’t want another unwelcome surprise from him, so I change into my workout clothes, clip on his leash, and take him for a long walk. It feels a bit like I’m rewarding Romeo’s bad behavior, but I remember Skip’s advice to go easy on him.
I no longer trust Skip, but he did seem to have a way with my dog.
Every few minutes, I spin around and check the street behind me, and I scrutinize the faces of people who pass me. I don’t intend to let Acelia’s henchmen catch me unawares again.
When we get back to the house, I reset the alarm, then settle in to work, keeping Romeo in my office with me. After paying a few bills, conducting a Zoom session with a client who had to unexpectedly leave town to care for her ill mother, and returning a few other calls, I turn my attention to drafting emails to send to Matthew and Marissa separately. Our next session is Devastation. I need the Bishops to be in a positive frame of mind when they come to see me on Thursday, because experiencing an abrupt drop in emotions—such as the dip in the roller coaster that comes after the slow climb—will strip away more of their superficial gloss.
I craft my message to Marissa first, thinking about what I want to accomplish.
When he learned of his wife’s betrayal, Matthew’s ego suffered a major blow. Marissa needs to offset some of that damage. I type this instruction: When you next see Matthew, bring up something that makes him a great husband. Be specific.