If You Only Knew(67)

Over the years, I’ve told dozens of people how my father died. It’s become part of my life story, another fact, same as having a sister, same as having black hair. I’m used to it.

But right now, I’m afraid to say anything else, because I haven’t cried over my dad in a very long time. I didn’t when I told Owen; horribly, I was almost glad to have something so unusual to talk about, to see the gentle sympathy in his dark, dark eyes.

But Leo... It’s different. Owen was almost always gently sympathetic, now that I think of it. Dr. Perfect, all day, every day with everyone.

Sympathy from Leo somehow carries more weight.

I clear my throat. “So my ex-husband and his perfect wife have invited me to a dinner party in the city, in the same apartment where I used to live with him. Want to come? Should be a fun little freak show.”

“Hell, yes.” Leo smiles, and his face goes from tragic empathy to wicked, and I’m filled with relief. Back on safe land. “When is it? Doesn’t matter. I’ll clear my schedule. I’d miss dinner at the White House for this.”

I get up to clear the table, and Leo rises, too. “So glad to entertain,” I murmur. “Feel free to laugh at my personal heartbreak.”

“You’re not heartbroken,” he says with a wink. “Not anymore.”

“Is it hard, being a woman trapped in a man’s body?” I ask. “Because you know so much about the female heart, I can only assume you’re—”

He leans over and kisses me, just a warm press of his lips against mine, lasting just a beat too long for it to be just friendly... A kiss, and it’s over before I can figure out what to do with my hands or my mouth.

“Thank you for tonight, Jenny Tate,” he says, and his eyes are warm. “You’re a good friend.”

“And thank you, Leo Killian, for just kissing me and confusing me and making me think you like me.”

“I do like you.”

“‘Like me’ as in ‘want to sleep with me’?”

“Of course. I’m a guy.”

“But you don’t want a real relationship.”

“Correct.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “I hate men.”

A delighted smile. “Get a cat.”

“Maybe I will. See you around.”

“Jenny.”

His face is like New England weather, sunny one minute, rain the next. I’ve never seen a face change the way his does. Right now, that sorrow is scudding across his eyes like storm clouds, and I think he’s about to tell me something real, something more, and the hair on the back of my neck lifts in anticipation.

“Yes?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away, and then his eyes drop to the floor. When they return to mine, I can see he’s changed his mind. “Thank you again,” is all he says, then opens the door for me to leave.

Rachel

Lately, Adam is being perfect, which makes me irritable. I don’t know why. I’m not myself anymore. Thoughtful things he used to do—bringing me flowers, offering to pick up dinner for him and me to eat after the girls are asleep—everything is suspect, a bribe, a cover, an apology. We talked about this in therapy, our weekly Tuesday night appointment.

“I’m trying to do everything I can to show Rachel how much I want our marriage to work,” Adam says. “Nothing makes a difference. I feel like I’ll be punished for this forever.”

That sounds about right, I think.

“What are your thoughts on that, Rachel?” Laney asks.

I look at my hands. “I feel like he’s trying to prove he’s husband of the year, and while I do think he should be groveling—” Jenny’s word “—everything seems like it’s for show.”

Adam throws his hands up in the air. “Then, what? What can prove that I’m not being fake?”

I don’t answer for a second. Nothing. The answer is nothing. “Adam, if I knew the answer, I’d tell you. You broke my trust. You cheated. When I asked you about it, you lied. You swore you’d be faithful to me in a church, and if you can’t live up to that, what can you live up to? Why should I believe you now?”

“Like I’m the only man who’s ever cheated. The only spouse,” he hastily corrects.

“I guess the fact that you still see Emmanuelle every day is hard for me to get past,” I say. “If there was one thing you could do, it’d be leave the firm.”

He sighs hugely. “We’ve been over this, and over it, and over it.” He looks at Laney, that tolerant “women are so irrational” look he’s given me so many times. “I can’t leave the firm,” he says. “There’s no way I could get a job that pays this much in this area. I could go work for the Public Defender’s office and make a fifth of what I make now, but then Rachel would have to give up her house, and the private nursery school, and maybe you might actually have to get a job, too.”

“Is that something you’d consider, Rachel?” Laney asks.

“Yes,” I lie. Well, no, I’d consider it. I just haven’t yet.

What I want most is my old life. My old self. I miss me, if such a thing is possible. I miss the way I looked at Adam, my wonderful, handsome, funny husband. I miss that sense of wonder and happiness that he picked me. I miss the utter joy I felt when the five of us did anything together. Even if the girls were fussy or knocked over their drink, whenever we were in public, I’d be smiling. It wasn’t smugness. It was just happiness. Plain, simple happiness.