This Is Not How It Ends(37)

“Feed you or save you from burning the house down?”

“I guess both.”

“It looks like the apocalypse in here.” He watched me for a reaction, and when he didn’t get one, he pointed at me.

“What?”

“You have some on your face.”

My fingers came up to my cheek, and I felt a hardened blob embedded in my skin. After escaping to the bathroom to properly wash my skin, I returned to find Ben picking the Publix bag off the floor, the test nearby. Racing toward the box as though it were an actual child, I shielded it in my hands, stuffing it inside the plastic.

“You still have a little sauce. It’s in your hair.” He reached for the strands, and I backed away, cradling the bag in my hands.

“I didn’t see anything,” he added.

His thoughtfulness touched me, but I knew it was a lie. The big letters on the box made it impossible to miss. I tucked the bag away and noticed the way he spread the food out for me to taste.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” I finally asked, opening the fridge. “Or do you need to get home to Jimmy?”

He came up alongside me, assessing the contents, and I slinked away. “He’s with our sitter.” He stretched the door wider as if I didn’t know what it contained. “Philip was right to be worried about you being fed.”

I couldn’t tell if Ben was joking or not. He was guarded and controlled. What little emotion I’d witnessed was saved for his son. My inability to get a read on him formed a strange tension between us. But I knew I was being silly, imagining things. Philip loved him, so of course I would, too.

He helped himself to a beer while I opened cabinets and drawers and dropped plates and clean forks on the glass table. The package in my hand stopped him from asking me if I wanted one, too.

“Eat,” he said, “before it gets cold.”

He joined me at the table, and even with the silence between us, it felt nice to have company.

“Philip told me,” I began. “He told me about your wife.”

He shook his head, and dusk settled in his eyes. The sadness reached down my shirt and tugged at my heart. He was fingering the bottle, careful not to look up right away. “I’m sure this has been very difficult for you.”

This got him to face me. The pain, a deep sadness, clouded his eyes. It was heavy, and like a strong wind, it unsteadied me. “We’re not going to have this moment, are we?” he asked, breaking away and tossing his beer back.

I didn’t move. I waited.

“You hardly know me.” His voice broke. “A lot of people have tried to fix it. They can’t. You can’t either.”

“I would never try,” I said. “Sometimes it’s just nice to talk.”

“My wife is gone,” he finally said. “She’s not on a business trip. She’s not tucking Jimmy into bed. She’s—” He stopped himself, finishing the beer in one swoop and quickly recovering. “She’s dead. My wife is dead.”

I sat there while his ache drew me in. Maybe it was hormones, maybe it was the last few months of indifference. I latched on to his pain. I recognized the hurt. I imagined Ben doing all the things a mother would do. Making sure Jimmy brushed his teeth, helping him with homework, monitoring what went in and out of his mouth, kissing his forehead before he fell asleep. Her death mingled with my own versions of goodbye. First, my dad, then my mom.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, tossing the food around my plate. “I’d never insult you with lies. Losing someone hurts. We can’t bring them back, but I’m here. If you ever want to talk.”

His eyes tugged at me, leading me away from my own emptiness, hitching me to something near, something tangible.

“How often is he away?” he asked.

I picked at my fingers. “Enough.”

“Are you going to tell him about the test?”

I looked up. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“A hunch.”

He must have seen the disappointment springing from my eyes, because his next statement was full of platitudes. “Philip will make a fantastic father. He’s patient and funny, one of the most sentimental guys I know.”

“I think his parents’ death scarred him,” I said, pushing my plate away. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“I tried once,” he said. “I never asked again.”

A tiny door was opening. “We never talk about it. You know Philip. Everything is in the moment. Fun, flippant Philip. Ben, can I ask you something?” I didn’t wait for his response. “Have you noticed a change in him? Does he seem different to you?”

He took his time before answering. “I’ve noticed some edginess. He’s working on multiple deals at any time, and the travel’s got to be exhausting him. His mind never rests. And I’m sure he hates being away from you so much.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I replied. “Maybe we need a vacation. Just the two of us.” I patted my belly reflexively. “Or three.”

The phone rang, slicing the thick tension. The screen flashed a number I didn’t recognize. Nashville, TN. My fingers were suspended over the display until the very last ring.

“You okay?” he asked.