The Good Widow(61)
“I’m as serious as a heart attack,” James said, refusing to break eye contact with her. She flashed back to the Huelo lookout point, where they’d stopped a couple of hours ago. It was a romantic spot, and they’d walked down steep concrete steps to gaze at the ocean through a sea of lush palms. James had grabbed Dylan by the waist, pointing at a string of hand-painted coconut bras that were hanging on a line. Dylan hadn’t wanted James to buy her one, but he had insisted. Finally she relented, knowing full well she would never wear it. But it was so hard to say no to James.
Even in an affair, there’s a honeymoon period, Dylan thought. And then it expires, just like in a regular relationship. Just like it had with Nick. She knew she was being tested in this moment. If she kept pressing him not to jump, she could tell they would probably end up in a fight. She’d looked forward to having all this uninterrupted time with him—to know what it felt like to share both the sunrise and sunset on the same day. To not feel like their precious moments were slipping away like sand through her fingertips. To believe that the life they had together was real. And she had done those things and enjoyed them. But she’d also seen behind the sheen of his eyes, where the other side of his personality lived. Dylan understood, of course, that James wasn’t perfect. But now that she knew about the baby, she was questioning everything.
“Dylan, come on,” she heard him saying. “Where’s my belleza?”
“I’m right here,” she said, and stood stiffly.
He scoffed. And even after he closed his mouth, she could see his jaw tighten, his teeth grinding. “No, she’s not. I’m looking for the woman who doesn’t take my shit, but who also doesn’t give me any either.”
This was giving him shit? Caring if he lived or died?
“I need to do this, Dyl.”
First he’d wanted to drive the unpaved back roads without guardrails, and now he needed to jump fifty feet into a pool of water that was maybe twenty feet deep? What was next? Skydiving without a parachute? Two young couples, probably in their twenties, were walking toward them, and she didn’t want them to overhear her trying to convince him this was a bad idea. It was already too embarrassing to admit that her feelings weren’t going to weigh into his decision. That he simply didn’t care what she thought. She knew he was jumping whether she wanted him to or not.
“Fine. But if you end up paralyzed, I’m not going to wipe your ass and spoon-feed you applesauce. That will be your wifey’s job.”
“Harsh,” James said, and hurled his body over the edge before she could respond. She watched him fall into the water below, his body a rigid, straight line. He plunged below the surface, feet first, and finally reappeared, letting out a wooooh! and pumping his fist above the water. The two couples behind her oohed and aahed over James’s jump, thankfully not noticing the tension on Dylan’s face long after he’d sailed over the edge. They might have been impressed, but Dylan wasn’t.
James had been right: nothing had happened to him. But in the last two minutes, something had happened to her. She’d seen a side of James she hadn’t known was there, or hadn’t wanted to believe existed. She couldn’t be sure. She was forced to accept the truth. Their little bubble could be penetrated by reality after all. She liked existing in it not just because it shielded them from the rest of the world, but because it hid their flaws. If they spent all their time drinking and dancing at bars or rolling around between the sheets, they didn’t have to deal with tense situations like these, where their true personalities would shine through. But on this vacation, where they were spending so much time together, the flaws were coming out without permission.
And now Dylan realized one very important thing about James that was not going to change: he was going to do what he wanted, when he wanted, whether she agreed with him or not. She pressed her hand to her stomach and sighed. What did that mean for their future?
CHAPTER THIRTY
JACKS—AFTER
“What was that all about?” Beth and I are standing next to the Jeep, and I glance back toward the restaurant wondering if Nick is going to follow us out. Wanting him to appear almost as much as not. “You storming out like that?”
“Nothing.” I say. A huge lie. Obviously.
“It definitely wasn’t nothing,” Beth says slowly, pursing her lips to accentuate her point. “It just seemed like a real fight, you know, like one between—”
“Between whom?” I dare her with my eyes. Say it. Accuse me.
“I don’t know. Never mind,” she says, wringing her hands.
I release a long steady stream of air through my lips. Thank God. I’m not ready to discuss Nick. Or our relationship. Or whatever it is. I’m not even sure I could put it into words if I tried. All I know is I’m pissed at him for not wanting to finish what he started in Maui. Or maybe I’m pissed at him for not wanting to finish what he started with me.
“So now what?” Beth asks.
I wait a beat, watching my sister. Imagining if it had been her husband who’d been in Maui with his mistress when he was supposed to be on a business trip in Kansas. She would collapse into herself. Thinking first about their three kids—how would they move forward? Then eventually about herself. But in between, she’d be like a lab rat in a maze, desperately trying to find her way out, but only hitting dead end after dead end. Because Mark is her center. Her gravitational pull. His yin to her yang. Sure, she’s buttoned up, and I guarantee she printed an Excel spreadsheet of her kids’ activities and prepped a slow-cooker pork roast before she left for her flight here this morning, but that’s part of her routine.