A Curve in the Road(44)

Nathan shakes his head. “I can’t even imagine what you must be going through right now. Losing a loved one is hard enough, but to pile all this crap on top of it. Seriously, Abbie . . .”

“I know. It sucks.”

Nathan sits back and glances at Winston. “You’re welcome to stay here longer if you want to. There’s a sofa in the staff room, and I can get you some blankets. But if it’s Winston you’re worried about, don’t be. You can sleep well tonight, knowing he’ll be fine.” He meets my gaze again. “But I think what you really need to do is go home and be with your family. Does anyone else know about this? Have you told anyone at all?”

“My sister,” I reply. “I told her everything today.”

“Good. You need to have someone you can confide in. Someone you can trust.”

I let out a sigh. “You’re probably right. Thanks for listening. I’m sorry for dumping all that on you.”

“Don’t be.”

I inhale a deep breath and slap my knee. “Well. I should probably go home now. Clearly I need to get some rest.”

We stand up, and I move to say goodbye to Winston. I run my fingers through his soft golden fur, bend forward and kiss his cheek, and whisper in his ear. “Get some rest, angel. I’ll be back for you in the morning.”

I thank Nathan again, then call Carla to come and pick me up.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I can’t deny that a small, petty part of me wants to reveal Alan’s infidelity to Zack—for no other reason than to exact revenge.

Think of it. I have the power to make my cheating husband pay for his betrayal by posthumously eroding the love his son feels for him.

But no.

Of course I would never do such a thing, because it would hurt Zack more than it would hurt Alan, because Alan is dead. Besides, I’m not a vindictive woman. At least I’m trying not to be. This is my anger talking. I need to beat that spiteful little devil down with a big fat Oprah stick.

When everyone is in bed, Carla pulls two of Mom’s best crystal snifters from the top shelf in the dining room and pours us each a brandy from the bottle we picked up on the way home. We sit down at the kitchen table to talk, and I tell her all the sordid details about my day—the things I didn’t reveal when we spoke on the phone, like how I practically carried Paula out of the bar and what the bartender said.

None of it seems real to me now as I sit across from my sister in my mother’s cozy kitchen, where Alan and I created so many happy memories together. We came here every weekend, ever since Zack was a baby, and for all those years, I truly believed that I was blessed to have the most loving, devoted, loyal husband a woman could ever dream of.

Now I have to accept that for him the lure of this town in recent years was not my mother’s delicious Sunday dinners or the fun we had as a family. It was Paula Sheridan and whatever they did together. Whatever plans they made to meet up with each other in secret.

By now, I’ve lost count of how many times Carla has refilled our glasses. I let my forehead fall forward into my hand and squeeze my eyes shut. “How could I not have known? Am I really that stupid? That blind?”

Carla reaches across the table and takes hold of my hand. “Abbie, you’re not stupid. You’re a good person, and you see the best in people. You’re trusting because you have faith that people are decent and honorable. You believed in Alan because you’re an optimist. Don’t let this change what I love most about you.”

I feel drunk and sleepy. My body feels like a heavy slab of iron. I can barely lift my head.

“You’re looking at the glass half-full,” I say. “You see me as an optimist, but maybe I’m just naive. I don’t know which is better. To be blind and optimistic—to wear rose-colored glasses and allow yourself to be vulnerable—or to be realistic and cynical? To be prepared for someone to disappoint you? To have your guard up and not be taken by surprise?”

Carla sits back. “Being an optimist doesn’t make you blind. A cynic can be blind too—in even worse ways. A cynic can miss out on something wonderful because they only see the dark side of it, so they steer away from a good thing because they expect it to go wrong eventually.”

I’ve had too much to drink, and I can’t fully comprehend what my sister is saying to me, although I know it’s very wise.

We sit in silence for a long time.

“It’s nearly two in the morning,” Carla says. “You should get some sleep.”

I nod in agreement. Though I still haven’t decided what I’m going to tell Zack—if anything. The problem is that if I don’t tell him, I’m going to have to learn how to become a better liar, better at hiding things, like Alan was, and I don’t like the thought of that.

But I’m in no condition to make any important decisions tonight. I just need to get some rest so I’m not so tired tomorrow.

As soon as I wake the next morning, I call the veterinary hospital. Ruby tells me that Winston is doing much better and I can pick him up anytime. I take a couple of Tylenols to take the edge off my brandy headache, and then I ask Zack if he wants to come with me. He says yes.

I don’t see Dr. Payne that morning because he’s out back performing a canine dental extraction, which is just as well because I feel a bit awkward about our conversation the night before. It’s not my habit to reveal the skeletons in my family’s closet to perfect strangers, and I certainly don’t want Zack to sense that I’ve shared something private with a stranger before I’ve told him about it.