The Good Widow(62)

But this. This would paralyze her.

I’m not saying the same hasn’t happened to me, that I’m not half of who I was. But it’s different. James and I were a mess more than we weren’t. Always one terse word away from someone sleeping on that damn red chenille couch. Even though I had no idea he was cheating on me, that he was lying to me, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for us to be shocking each other, pushing the edges of our relationship, testing our endurance. But I’d naively thought we kept the betrayals inside the walls of our own house. That our messy relationship was the canvas of our life together.

“I’m calling Officer Keoloha,” I say, and press his name in my phone.

And he answers. Just like he always has. Thank God this man hasn’t stopped taking my calls, hasn’t given up on me. Beth watches as I tell him I’m at the Hana Ranch Restaurant with my sister. And that I’m ready to see where the accident happened. He tells me to stay put. That he’ll come right over. And I think about this man whom I’ve never met in person, but who has listened to me cry, babble, question, you name it—without so much as a complaint—and I wonder how he’s able to be so unflappable, how he can do his job without getting emotionally attached.

I think of Nick again. And the pressure he’s constantly under as a firefighter, the pain and anguish he sees. And I wonder if it simply takes a certain type of man—who is calm, who knows his limits. Nick must really know himself, how much he can take. And that what he will see and feel if he goes to the accident scene, he won’t be able to detach from.

“He’s coming,” I say to Beth after I end the call.

“And then what?” she asks, wringing her hands. The planner in her needing to know what comes next.

“And then we go,” I say, looking down at my feet, noticing the polish on my big toe is chipped.

“What do you think Nick’s going to do?” She glances at the restaurant.

“I have no idea,” I say, following her gaze to the front patio where we can see a couple with matching vests and white hair perusing a guidebook and sipping fruity drinks. I feel my eyes well with tears thinking of what Nick said about wanting to grow plastic-hip old with Dylan. And it really hits me that I’ll never know James with gray hair. That he’ll never see the lines that will eventually crease my face. “Am I crazy?”

Beth puts her arm around me, and I lean into her. “No. Not at all. You’re brave.”

“Me? Brave?” I scoff. She might as well be telling me I’m a supermodel.

“Yeah, you.” She gives me a long look. “You’re stronger than you think, you know. I could never have made it through something like this.”

“I haven’t yet.”

“But you will.” She grabs my shoulders and looks me directly in the eye. “You will.”

“I want to believe that.”

“You know, Jacks, I loved James. I did. There were things about him that made him a great husband. Especially for the first few years. But there was something about him—”

“That you didn’t like. I know. I know. I know.” I drag the last one out for dramatic effect.

“I suppose I deserve that,” Beth says. “But that’s not it. I did like him. Because you loved him and he was your husband. What I was going to say was that something about him sucked something out of you. Over time with him, your confidence slowly seeped out of you. Do you see that?”

“I do,” I say, tears starting to fall.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I shouldn’t criticize him. Not now.”

“It’s okay, it’s not you,” I say, thinking about how everything changed after I told him about the 20 percent chance.

“Then what is it?”

And that’s when I tell her. Everything.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


JACKS—AFTER

Beth hugs me for several minutes and doesn’t say anything. She strokes my hair, and I squeeze her, letting my tears fall thanks to the silent permission only a sister can give. It’s hard to put into words how it feels to have finally told Beth the truth about why James and I had unraveled. Why he’d changed. Maybe even why he’d had the affair.

It feels like I’m me again.

For so long I’ve been so ashamed and embarrassed. And there was a part of me that had always been scared to admit to her that I hadn’t told my own husband the truth.

“You and Mark tell each other everything,” I say to her. “And maybe this is stupid, but because you have kids, I worried you might side with him.” I shake my head slightly.

“Oh, Jacks,” Beth says. “I might be a mom, but you’re still my sister. I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could come to me.”

“I should have.”

“You did the best you knew how to do at the time and hoped it would work out. That’s all any of us can do, you know?”

“Clearly this did not work out the way I had hoped,” I say, and give her a sad smile.

“I’m sorry,” Beth says, and hugs me again.

“Will you make a deal with me?” I ask.

Beth nods.

“Let’s not be sorry for me anymore. Okay?”