Reputation(75)

I burst out laughing. “You had to give yourself a pep talk to speak to me?”

He shrugs. “My marriage burned me. And honestly, I didn’t think you liked me much. But I’d always wanted to get to know you. For the record, when you came into that first meeting a zillion years ago, I noticed you right away. I didn’t think you were a jock who didn’t belong. I found you interesting. Thoughtful.” He looks sheepish. “And beautiful. You’re still beautiful.”

The wind shifts, blowing my hair into my face. It’s been a long time since someone’s called me beautiful—or maybe, since I’ve wanted to accept the compliment. When I look up, Paul is staring at me adoringly. My breath catches. I glance to the right and left, but we’re pleasantly alone, the tractor having disappeared down the hill. I meet Paul’s gaze again, my heart suddenly pounding. He cups my chin and brings his face closer to mine. The touch of his lips on mine feels surreal, like something out of a dream. I probably have dreamed something close to this. He shifts his whole body closer and places his hand on my arm. His other hand wraps around the back of my neck. And that’s where something snaps. My brain doesn’t reject the touch, but something in my body does.

But then I jolt away. Paul is breathless and looks confused. “What?” he asks, searching my face. “Are you okay?”

My face is hot—with embarrassment? Passion? Shame? I try to push the spiky feelings and memories away, but they’re flooding in anyway. This angers me. Paul didn’t do anything wrong. And I want this. I gave permission.

But still, I just . . . can’t. “I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice, standing up. “I should go.”

He blinks, blindsided. “W-Why?”

“I . . .” What can I say? What can I do? “I don’t live here, Paul,” I blurt out, grasping for something, even if it’s bullshit. “I shouldn’t string you along.”

Paul looks confused. “What does living here have to do with anything?”

But there’s nothing more I can say. I wave my hand and turn for the rutted path that leads back to the farm. Paul stands, too, but I turn away, indicating as best I can that I need space—lots of it. My boots squish in the soft earth as I walk away from him. I can feel his eyes on my back, and it’s then I realize, too—I’ve forgotten the bouquet he made for me.

But I don’t turn to retrieve it. Really, he should give it to someone else.





27





LAURA


THURSDAY, MAY 4, 2017


After just an hour of my shift at the hospital, I step into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I’ve put on a lot of makeup to cover Ollie’s slap marks from three days ago, but I can still see the imprint of each red, angry finger. No one has asked me about it, though. I guess they all have their own problems.

Suddenly, dread comes over me. Freddie, my intuition pings. Something’s wrong with Freddie. Maybe Ollie has done something terrible. I’ve been waiting for something to happen, for his stony, punishing silence to spill over into the anger he hinted at a few days before. And he knows Freddie’s my weakness. What if he decides to take out my betrayal on the baby? Would Ollie do such a thing? Days ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of it. But now, I’m not sure. My husband is now both utterly himself—big, strong, relentless, emotional—and utterly a stranger.

I need to get home.

I tell my supervisor I don’t feel well and drive home so quickly I nearly rear-end someone on the parkway. As I open my front door, horrific possibilities of what I’m about to behold flood my mind.

But then I see Freddie in his Pack ’n Play in the living room. His babysitter, Lucy, kneels next to it, waving a plush spider in his smiling face. Both of them glance up at me as I walk in; Lucy seems startled by the frantic look on my face.

“Oh,” I cry, rushing toward Freddie and scooping him up. I’m swarmed with desperate, aching joy.

“Is everything okay?” Lucy stands and brushes off her jeans. “I thought you were going to be back at five.”

“I, um, I’ve come down with something,” I lie. “So I figured I’d come home. Sorry to drag you over here. I’ll pay you for the whole day.”

I press Freddie to my cheek, inhaling his sweet baby scent.

I write Lucy a check. She scoops up her things and heads for the door. “You need me here tomorrow, or do you think you’ll be staying home?” she asks as she steps onto the porch. “I don’t have class until five.”

I hesitate. “You should come, just in case.” It’s probably safer if I don’t tell the truth yet. I’ll call her tomorrow, early, and cancel.

After Lucy leaves, I catch sight of myself in the round mirror in the foyer. On the surface, I look fine. My hair is clean. My makeup isn’t smudged. The thick foundation over the slap is doing its job. I bring my hand up to touch it, wincing at the tender ache.

Time has stood still since everything went down. Ollie has barely spoken to me since he found out. For three nights, he has slept in our bedroom, while I’ve retreated to the pull-out couch in the office. This morning, he dressed quietly, babbled to Freddie, and then left without saying a word to me. The other shoe is going to drop—but when?

And I have questions. Ollie knew. He knew about Greg and me this whole time, but he said nothing. Why? Is it really because he didn’t want to believe it was true? You really think I’m that stupid? he’d said. And then, later: I’m glad that guy is dead.