The Lost Apothecary(42)
I thought of Rose. Hadn’t she had alcohol in the first few weeks of her pregnancy, before taking a test? Her doctor had had no concerns at that very early stage.
Good enough for me. I sucked down a gulp of the wine, then proceeded to skim the menu, seeing but reading none of it.
A few minutes later the waitress took our orders and left with the menus, and I instantly missed the protective barrier between James and me; there was nothing left to focus on except one another. We sat so close together, I could hear him breathing.
I looked directly at my husband, his face even more sunken in this light than earlier. I tried not to wonder when he last ate, as he seemed to have lost a few pounds. Taking a fortifying sip of wine, I began, “I’m so angry—”
“Listen, Caroline,” he interrupted, intertwining his fingers like I’d seen him do on the phone with disappointed clients. “It’s done. We’re having her transferred to another department, and I let her know that if she contacts me again, I’ll inform Human Resources.”
“So it’s her fault, then? Her problem? You’re the one on partner track, James. Seems to me that Human Resources might be more interested in your involvement.” I shook my head, already frustrated. “And why is this even about your work? What about our marriage?”
He sighed, leaning forward. “It’s unfortunate things came to light this way.” An interesting choice of words; he meant to diffuse responsibility. “But maybe it’s not all bad,” he added. “Maybe there’s some good to come of it, for us and our relationship.”
“Some good to come of it,” I repeated, astounded. “What good could possibly come of this?”
The waitress returned with large pasta spoons, delicately placing them before us, and the silence between the three of us was thick and awkward. She quickly left.
“I’m trying to level with you, Caroline. I’m here, now, telling you that I’ll do counseling, I’ll do soul-searching, I’ll do whatever.”
My solo trip to London was meant to be like a counseling session for me—until, of course, James showed up at my door. And his flippant manner angered me further. “Let’s start the soul-searching now,” I said. “Why did you do it? Why did you let it continue after the promotion event?” I realized that despite my desire to know the gruesome what and how, what I most wanted to know right that moment was...why? A question struck me at once, something I hadn’t considered before. “Are you scared of trying for a baby? Is that why?”
He looked down, shook his head. “Not at all. I want a baby just as much as you do.”
A small weight lifted inside of me, but the problem-solving part of me wished he’d said yes; then we could hold the truth up like a diamond, set it in front of the light and address the real issue. “Then...why?” I resisted the urge to spoon-feed him any more possibilities, and I brought the rim of the wineglass back to my lips.
“I guess I’m just not entirely happy,” he said tiredly, like the words alone exhausted him. “My life has been so safe, so fucking predictable.”
“Our life,” I corrected.
He nodded, conceding this. “Our life, yes. But I know you want safe. You want predictable, and a baby needs that, too, and—”
“I want predictable? I want safe?” I shook my head. “No, you have that all wrong. You didn’t support me applying to Cambridge because it was so far away. You—”
“I wasn’t the one to rip up the application,” he said, his voice like ice.
Undeterred, I went on. “You didn’t want kids early in our marriage because of the burden while working long hours. You begged me to take the job at the farm because it was secure, comfortable.”
James tapped two fingers against the white tablecloth. “You accepted the job, not me, Caroline.”
We fell silent as our waitress arrived with two bowls of pasta and set them in front of us. I watched her walk away, making careful notice of her perky, perfectly shaped ass, but James’s eyes stayed solidly on me.
“You can never take back what you did to me,” I said, pushing away my untouched plate. “Do you realize that? I will never forget. It will be a permanent scar on us, if we even make it through this. How long will it take us to be happy again?”
He grabbed a bread roll from the center of the table and shoved it into his mouth. “That’s up to you. I told you, it’s over and done with. A screwup on my part, one I’m now working to fix with you, my wife.”
I imagined five or ten years from now. If James did indeed remain faithful to me, perhaps the other woman would someday seem little more than an old mistake. After all, I’d once heard that nearly half of marriages struggle with infidelity at some point. But I’d realized in recent days this woman wasn’t the only source of unhappiness in my life. As we sat across from each other at the table, I considered sharing my feelings with him, but I didn’t view him as an ally in whom I could confide. He remained an adversary, and I felt protective of the truths I had begun to discover on this trip.
“I came to London to apologize to you,” James said. “I don’t care what the rest of this trip looks like. Screw the original plans. We can hang out in the room and eat Chinese food for all I care—”
I held up my hand to stop him. “No, James.” No matter how raw he felt, his feelings were the least of my concerns. My own were still terribly bruised. “I’m not at all happy you came out to London without asking me. I came here to process what you did, and I feel like you chased me here. Like escape wasn’t something you allowed me to do.”