The Middle of Somewhere(36)

“This didn’t happen all at once. It was insidious. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, alone, and find him asleep on the couch, or in his chair at the computer. Everything’d be a mess. Paper, DVDs, beer bottles, food everywhere.”

“Didn’t you talk about it?”

“Of course. He’d agree he should limit his hours and sleep in our bed. I even got him an alarm clock so if he drifted off he could wake up and come to bed. He’d do it for a while, then forget.

“I hated that I was verging on being a nag about it. But two years into our marriage, I pretty much only saw him at dinner. Sure, once in a while we’d go out, to see friends or whatever, and he’d be the way he used to be—not so distracted. I’d think we were back on track. He’d even say how great it was to be together and tell me how much I meant to him. But it never lasted. He’d go inside himself again, exactly as before. It dawned on me that his parents were completely focused outward and Gabriel was completely focused inward. I couldn’t get through to him.” Her chest constricted. She hadn’t thought about the details of what had happened in her marriage in so long. Her anxiety and fear were fresh, like a cut reopened while slicing a lemon. She fought it by pushing harder up the hill for several steps and the pain eased.

“I woke up one night, the fourth night in a row Gabriel wasn’t there. I knew he was in the next room. I started crying.” She paused, then forced the words out. “I was alone again.”

Liz stopped. She knew without turning around that Dante’s face would be full of pity. She didn’t want to see it. She didn’t deserve it. Tears stung behind her eyes, not only because her own story made her sad, but also because soon, too soon, she would disappoint Dante. She would break his heart. And when she did, he’d remember this moment and regret his pity. He’d wish he had never met her.

“Liz.” The trail wasn’t wide enough for both of them. Unless she stepped aside, he had to stay behind her.

“It’s okay, Dante. Really.”

He moved closer until only her backpack was between them. “It’s not okay. It’s sad. Extremely sad.”

She ground the tip of her pole into the gravel, and fought the choking sensation in her throat. “It was a long time ago.”

“How can someone love another person enough to marry them, then ignore them?”

Liz bit her lip and blinked back tears. “I wish I knew. Maybe it was me.”

He sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get to the top and have lunch. I’m starving.”

? ? ?

Dante had met Gabriel’s family when they traveled to Santa Fe in June for the wedding of Gabriel’s youngest sister, Etta. Liz would’ve preferred to avoid being inundated with reminders of her dead husband but could hardly refuse, as both Gabriel’s mother and Etta had included personal notes with the invitation, urging her to attend and welcoming her to bring “a special friend” if she wished. She and Dante had laughed about it, and Liz referred to him as My Special Friend for a while. As they would be in Santa Fe, Dante assumed he would finally meet Liz’s mother. Liz wasn’t concerned about her mother’s appraisal of Dante. If Claire could be counted on for nothing else, it was indifference.

The wedding was large and tasteful, and the Pembertons, whose numbers seemed to have increased exponentially, were warm to both her and Dante. But Liz was distressed. With her boyfriend and her dead husband’s family in the same venue, her secrets seemed to rise to the surface and become nearly visible. It was irrational, but real enough. She drank too much at the reception and afterward Dante half carried her to the hotel room, where she attacked the minibar. He’d had a fine time socializing and dancing, and was tipsy himself. After three, maybe four, miniature Ketel Ones, Liz shucked her dress and pulled Dante into bed, forgetting—or was it not caring?—she’d left her diaphragm at home. The next morning, she was hungover and emotionally whipped. While she waited for Dante to return from Starbucks, she latched onto the idea of an escape: three weeks alone in the wilderness.

Over the next few weeks, the idea of hiking the John Muir Trail, and the subsequent planning and research, restored her relative calm. She studied weather patterns, emergency provisions and the logistics of resupply. She read backpacking blogs and books about the trail. She discovered the right equipment, the best food, the optimal pace.

And the unintended pregnancy.