California Girls(103)

“Yes, and my marriage is in shambles and you got a divorce, so let’s not cast stones.”

Her mother glared at her. “You’re being very magnanimous all of a sudden.”

“Let’s just say I’m trying to make up for past behavior.”

“Fine.” Her mother sniffed with displeasure. “Think the best. It’s all going to fall apart. I just don’t know where I failed my daughters.”

Finola decided not to get into that. She shifted the subject to how they were going to advertise the estate sale and managed to get through the rest of the morning. When she left around noon, she sat in her car and texted her sister.

Mom told me about your broken arm. Please let me know how I can help. Finola hesitated before adding, I heard about Daniel, too. I was wrong before about what I said. I’m glad you’re together and I hope he makes you happy. Love you.

She’d barely pushed Send when her phone buzzed with a text. How on earth had Ali answered so quickly? Only it wasn’t Ali. The text was from Nigel.

Can we talk? I’d like to come by. Are you free today?

She went hot and then cold. Her insides flipped and she didn’t know if she should cry or just throw up.

I’m at my mom’s. Give me an hour and I’ll meet you at the house.

See you then.

Finola sucked in a breath, not sure what to think. She backed out of the driveway and made her way home. She thought about changing her clothes, or putting on makeup or something, then decided that what she should do was breathe. The rest would take care of itself.

Nigel arrived fifty minutes later. She heard the garage door open. She thought about going into the living room, but that seemed too formal. Instead she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table.

He walked in seconds later. He looked as he had on the interview—older and thinner. Tired. Part of her wanted to go to him and hold him. Part of her wanted to bolt. But nowhere inside did she feel smug or pleased that things had obviously gone badly for him with Treasure. She didn’t want him punished—not anymore. Mostly she wanted not to feel sad.

He got himself a cup of coffee and sat across from her. They stared at each other for several minutes until he finally spoke.

“Hell of a thing.”

“I saw the interview,” she said. “I assume if it’s not over, it will be soon. Treasure doesn’t strike me as the type to take that kind of information well.”

“It’s over.” He dropped his gaze to his coffee. “I was a fool. It’s the oldest story in the book. I thought I was getting something better, something that would last, and I was wrong on both counts.”

Finally, she thought, waiting for the sense of relief, of rightness. At last they could pick up the pieces of their marriage and start over. They could go into counseling and forgive each other. She could even get pregnant.

Only there wasn’t much of anything. It was as if she’d felt so much over the past weeks and months, she was drained of all emotion.

“I don’t know how much you want to know,” he began.

“I don’t want to know anything. It doesn’t matter.”

He looked at her then. “I know what I did was unforgivable. The things I said to you.” He shook his head. “How I blindsided you. How I acted about the ski trip—all of it. I’m ashamed, Finola, and broken. I’m sorry. I can’t say that enough. We were so good together and I screwed that up. I destroyed something wonderful and precious. I ripped our lives apart and for what? An affair? It’s pathetic.”

He was visibly shaking. She found herself feeling bad for him, but also a little dispassionate, as if she weren’t truly in the moment.

“I know there were problems in the marriage,” he continued. “But that’s not an excuse. I should have talked to you. I should have told you how I was feeling. I’ve been doing some reading on infidelity. I’m a fairly classic case, it turns out.”

He wrapped his hands around his mug and looked at her. “Say something, please. Tell me we can try or that I should go to hell. Whatever you want. Scream at me, throw something. Tell me I’m a bastard and you’ll never forgive me. I deserve it all.”

“Just like that,” she said, more curious than upset. “A month ago she was a drug and now you want to come back?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Nigel, you were wrong. Not just the affair but how you didn’t have my back. You undermined me and you mocked our marriage publicly.”

“I did. You’re right.”

“How am I supposed to trust you not to follow the next flirty woman who promises you the world? How can I ever believe that I matter?”

“Trust has to be earned. We’ll get help. Finola, I want to make this right.”

She wanted to believe him—she wanted to know that the pieces could be put back together. That the broken bits weren’t unmendable, that instead they would heal as scars, that in the end, they would be marred but still together and stronger for what they’d endured.

But even if she could get over what had happened, what about the rest of it?

“Do you know what’s in my office?” she asked, surprising herself with her words. “Pictures of me with politicians and celebrities. Awards, certificates. Do you know that I have never bothered to serve on a charity board? I’ll show up to events. I’ll sign a check, but God forbid I commit to doing actual work on a regular basis. I put my career first, Nigel. It was more important to me than our marriage. You should have told me you were unhappy but I should have seen it for myself. I should have guessed there were problems.”