The New Husband(72)

“Monday. Rona has been piling on the work.”

“It’s my bad. I should have written it down for you, sent some text reminders, something. Seriously, no worries. You’ve got a lot on your mind with this job of yours. I’ll be better at communicating our plans so we won’t have a mix-up like this again.”

They said their good-byes. Nina did her work, met with her clients, helped straighten bent lives, and in the quiet moments, had a fleeting chance to reflect. Her thoughts went to Simon, the accusations she made about him, the suspicions she harbored, and the dinner plans she screwed up, all of which left her wondering if she had it in her to be a good wife to anybody.





CHAPTER 39


The phone rang at five o’clock exactly. Of course, my phone was in my hand. I must have checked the ringer a dozen times to make sure it was on. I was terrified of missing his call.

When I first heard his voice I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. I thought, No way, this isn’t possible, it’s a dream; it can’t be him. But then he called me “Bunny” and I lost it. It was the hard, couldn’t take a breath, felt like I was going to pass out, full-on sobbing kind of cry. I was alone in my bedroom but had to muffle the sound with a pillow because Mom was somewhere, downstairs probably. I didn’t know where Simon and Connor were, if they were even home, and I didn’t much care. All that mattered to me was that for the first time in nearly two years, I was talking to my father. His voice was warm, exactly as I remembered, soothing like hot chocolate on a cold day.

“Hi, Bunny,” he said again. “Hi, my sweetheart.”

“Daddy? Is that you?”

I don’t know which was shakier, my speech or my body.

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s Dad.”

He spoke softly, doing his version of the loud library whisper, or maybe he was exhausted, I don’t know what. I tried to answer him, but felt like my throat was full of sand, almost like I was having an allergic reaction.

“Hey, Bun, I know this is hard, but talk to me. Let me hear your beautiful voice again.”

Earlier that day, I’d received a Talkie message from Tracy Nuts letting me know that my father would call at five o’clock sharp, so I should have my phone handy and be somewhere we could talk privately.

Daddy!

All day, I had barely been able to contain my excitement. It was the only thing I could think about, and sitting through my classes had been the worst kind of torture. And now that it was happening, I couldn’t find any words to say. I heard his voice, his actual voice, and my tongue was tied in one big knot.

“Maggie, are you there? Did I lose you?” He sounded panicked.

“Dad—”

Turned out talking to my missing father was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I moved into the closet, closing the door behind me, thinking an enclosed, dark space would be comforting, wishing I’d brought Daisy for emotional support. I needed her now more than ever.

The start of our conversation was a lot of back and forth. I miss you, Bunny. I miss you, Dad. I can’t believe I’m hearing your voice. I can’t believe I’m hearing yours. That went on for a bit, him and me, both of us full-on blubbering. But the tears stopped when he said, “I can’t talk for long.”

I snapped right back into myself. I got that every word mattered. Every second counted. I couldn’t, wouldn’t let him go again. He had to come back. I had to convince him to come back.

“Where are you?”

Finally, I managed a sentence where I wasn’t choking on tears.

“I’m safe. That’s all you need to know.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you, honey.”

“Are you close?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“To me it does. I need to see you.”

“That’s … that’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve done something. Something terrible. And I can’t come home. You have to understand that.”

Those hot tears returned to flood my eyes.

“Why?” I croaked out what had to be the saddest one-word question ever.

Dad gave a big sigh. “Some things I can’t explain.”

“What about us? You can’t just disappear. You can’t leave us again—with him!”

“Maybe it won’t be forever,” Dad said, using the be patient tone I recognized. “But it has to be for now.”

Then he started crying harder. It was anguished; beyond upsetting. I shriveled up inside. I didn’t know what to do, because I was the kid, and kids aren’t supposed to comfort their parents. So I listened to my father cry, and occasionally I’d chime in with a nervous “Daddy, are you okay?” but for the most part I let him cry. And then all of a sudden he went silent, like he had had a heart attack and died.

“Dad?” I whispered his name, so afraid he was gone, that I’d lost him, that the call had been dropped, or worse. “Are you there?”

Then I heard a noise, a little creak I recognized right away as the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. I sucked in a breath, held it, waited. Another creak, as my father’s words, his text messages to me, flashed in my head: IF SHE FINDS OUT, IT COULD BE VERY BAD FOR ME.