The New Husband(30)
“You can take it,” he said. “It’s authentic.”
But Mom took it first.
“No, she can’t have it, because I’m not encouraging any more of this behavior. It’s utterly ridiculous.”
“Honestly, Maggie,” Simon said. “I don’t know why you’re so suspicious of me. But eventually, and this is a promise, I’m going to win you over, one way or another.”
But the way he said it, darkly, with no hint of joy in his voice or eyes, made his big promise sound more like a threat. That’s when an idea came to me, a burst of inspiration—a stroke of genius, I think is the expression. I needed Mom to see the real Simon, the angry Simon, the dark Simon who’d snatched the TV remote from my hand, the one who had lied about our trip and then lied again. To do that, I had to make him angry, really angry, and I knew just how to do it.
CHAPTER 16
It was Saturday night, four days to go before Nina started her new job. She was headed out to dinner with Ginny and Susanna to celebrate, wearing a cute black top she seldom wore and her favorite pair of jeans, which fit her curves much better since moving stress had jettisoned some unwanted pounds. Her makeup was applied in a way that smoothed out the years without seeming bent on recapturing her youth.
She was almost ready to leave when she heard an unmistakable sound emanating from behind the shuttered door to the master bathroom. Moments before, Simon had rushed upstairs and vanished within without uttering a word. Then came the retching, the splash, next a flush, followed by more retching.
Nina went to the door and gave a gentle knock, worry knitting creases in her brow.
“Babe?” she called out.
“Hang on.” Simon’s strangled voice had the raspy, breathless sound of extreme fatigue. Nina grimaced at a cringe-worthy heave and splash. Eventually, Simon emerged, his complexion the color of glue, sweat beading on his forehead, standing shakily on his feet.
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
“Dunno,” he said wearily. “Came on like a freight train.”
Staggering over to the bed, Simon fell with a thump onto the mattress.
“I hope this is gone by Monday,” he groaned. “We’re about to start the colonial settlements segment.”
Kneeling beside Simon, Nina touched his forehead with the back of her hand. His skin was clammy.
“Oh honey,” she said, scraping the side of her hand against the stubble of his cheek as she brushed back his hair. “Food poisoning?”
Nina noted how she was feeling. She had sampled a few spoonfuls of the mac and cheese Simon prepared for Maggie’s dinner, but her stomach felt fine, thank goodness.
“I don’t think so,” said Simon, before letting out a little groan. “I really haven’t eaten much. Feels more like a fast-moving bug.”
A bug invited in a new alarm, and Nina bristled at the thought she could still catch something. Maggie, too, might have gotten it, though Nina had less concern for Connor, who’d been at his friend Luke’s house most of the day.
Simon rolled over, exposing his back to Nina. She tried to caress him, but he shirked away. No surprise there. Glen never wanted to be touched whenever he took ill. Man-flu, she called it, a debilitating ailment that women somehow quickly overcame to resume their duties of wife, mother, cook, driver, coach, mediator, shopper, and so much more, despite suffering the exact same symptoms. But tonight, Nina made no jokes, and gave Simon her full attention.
“I’m so sorry. Do you need the bucket?”
“The bucket” was family shorthand for a wastebasket to puke in, and now Simon was part of that shorthand.
People get sick, Nina told herself, sensing her evening plans were now in jeopardy. This is what sharing your life with someone is all about. You get the good times and the bad. You share the laughs, the hugs, and the bucket.
“I think I’m all right for now,” said Simon, rolling over onto his back. A great rush of sympathy welled inside Nina as she peered into those beautiful brown eyes of his. The way he looked up at her, helpless, with searing gratitude, thankful to the core for her care, opened Nina’s heart another crack, making it possible to love Simon a bit more in this moment than she had the moment before.
“What can I do to help?”
Nina stole a glance at the time on her phone, realizing that if she did not leave soon, she would be late to meet her friends at Cucina Toscana, a new Italian place everyone in town had been raving about. Simon groaned in agony.
“Nothing, you should go—”
Nina sensed the “but” coming.
“But I’m worried, if I get sicker—you know, I don’t want to be a burden to Maggie,” he said.
Nina got it right away. She felt all sorts of guilt for leaving her daughter home alone with Simon, and now illness added more complications to the already tricky dynamics.
Simon’s point was a good one. What if he needed Maggie’s help with something? What if he got really sick? What if Maggie got what Simon had? How could she eat, drink, and laugh with her friends with all that worry knocking about? Would she have left Glen alone in a similar state? Maybe, yes—probably, in fact. But Glen was Maggie’s father. It was different.
“I should stay,” said Nina, thinking it through. “It feels strange for you to be sick, alone with Maggie, and—”