lap.
“I’m sorry,” Claire said, blinking. “I just need to always remember that it takes two to make a marriage, and two to make a divorce. If I don’t acknowledge my own mistakes, then I would be destined to make the same mistakes again.”
Nick had an arm around her, to keep her steady on his lap. He took hold of one of her hands as they lay in her lap, hoping to reassure her as well as to stop her from wringing them, something he doubted she realized she was doing.
“I agree there, Claire. We may fall in love with the dream, but we wake with the reality. You know what happened with Sandy and me. I think we were already about done with the dream when she realized she was pregnant.”
“I can’t even say that. We were about three weeks from the wedding when Steven’s teasing about when I was going to quit my job finally penetrated my brain for what it really was—his insecurity, even jealousy. But, as I said, I thought he’d be all right with it. And, yes, there were my parents, and the rented hall, and the wedding cake already ordered, and the presents coming in…”
“You thought it was too late to call it off.”
“Derek said I should, but I just couldn’t do it. That was my mistake, and one I really have learned to live with. After that, when Steven started…”
Facts, things he already knew, started numbering themselves in his brain. She’d left Chicago and come to Allentown, to her brother. Who hadn’t liked Steven, obviously. She’d taken back her maiden name. She’d shown an intense, clearly informed interest in his articles on domestic violence. She damn neardefended the men who physically or mentally abused their wives, telling him that there were always reasons, always problems on both sides of the relationship. She’d said much the same just now.
He totaled up the numbers, and came up with an answer that gave him a cold, unsettling feeling in his belly.
“When Steven started what, Claire? Did…did he hit you?”
She shook her head, her hair falling forward, obscuring most of her face. “No, it never got that far. After the wedding, when we got back from the honeymoon, the teasing about my job went away, and the complaints started. He worked hard, he expected to come home to a hot meal and a wife who was happy to see him. He earned enough for the two of us. More than enough, and he did. Steven’s a lawyer,” she told Nick, pushing back her hair and turning to look at him. “I’ll say this for the man, he knew how to construct an argument and verbally take apart his opponent. Top of his class.”
“Did he drink?”
Finally, she smiled. And her eyes were dry. “You’re doing it again, Nick. Trying to lump them all together. No, Steven didn’t get drunk and abusive. He’s highly educated, a good friend and very well liked. He doesn’t fit the mold because there is no mold. We can never presume to know what goes on behind the closed doors in any marriage.”
“No, I suppose not. But you argued.”
“ Steven argued. I apologized. I’m sorry I got stuckat the office when an emergency backed up appointments. I’m sorry I have to go to bed so early tonight, but I’ve got a chance to observe in the OR tomorrow. I’m sorry dinner was late. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Until I wasn’t sorry anymore.”
“Something happened,” Nick said, nodding his head. “What?”
“Steven went into cross-examination mode, I guess you’d call it. Where was I? What was I doing? When would I leave, and where would I be going next? Would there be men there? Phone calls, all day long, checking up on me. If I was going to stop at the grocery store on the way home, how long would that take, because it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes longer than my usual commute. God forbid there was a line at the express checkout, because then I’d be late, and the questions would start all over again—did I see anyone, talk to anyone? Who? It got so that I was a nervous wreck,
“I’m sorry,” Claire said, blinking. “I just need to always remember that it takes two to make a marriage, and two to make a divorce. If I don’t acknowledge my own mistakes, then I would be destined to make the same mistakes again.”
Nick had an arm around her, to keep her steady on his lap. He took hold of one of her hands as they lay in her lap, hoping to reassure her as well as to stop her from wringing them, something he doubted she realized she was doing.
“I agree there, Claire. We may fall in love with the dream, but we wake with the reality. You know what happened with Sandy and me. I think we were already about done with the dream when she realized she was pregnant.”
“I can’t even say that. We were about three weeks from the wedding when Steven’s teasing about when I was going to quit my job finally penetrated my brain for what it really was—his insecurity, even jealousy. But, as I said, I thought he’d be all right with it. And, yes, there were my parents, and the rented hall, and the wedding cake already ordered, and the presents coming in…”
“You thought it was too late to call it off.”
“Derek said I should, but I just couldn’t do it. That was my mistake, and one I really have learned to live with. After that, when Steven started…”
Facts, things he already knew, started numbering themselves in his brain. She’d left Chicago and come to Allentown, to her brother. Who hadn’t liked Steven, obviously. She’d taken back her maiden name. She’d shown an intense, clearly informed interest in his articles on domestic violence. She damn neardefended the men who physically or mentally abused their wives, telling him that there were always reasons, always problems on both sides of the relationship. She’d said much the same just now.
He totaled up the numbers, and came up with an answer that gave him a cold, unsettling feeling in his belly.
“When Steven started what, Claire? Did…did he hit you?”
She shook her head, her hair falling forward, obscuring most of her face. “No, it never got that far. After the wedding, when we got back from the honeymoon, the teasing about my job went away, and the complaints started. He worked hard, he expected to come home to a hot meal and a wife who was happy to see him. He earned enough for the two of us. More than enough, and he did. Steven’s a lawyer,” she told Nick, pushing back her hair and turning to look at him. “I’ll say this for the man, he knew how to construct an argument and verbally take apart his opponent. Top of his class.”
“Did he drink?”
Finally, she smiled. And her eyes were dry. “You’re doing it again, Nick. Trying to lump them all together. No, Steven didn’t get drunk and abusive. He’s highly educated, a good friend and very well liked. He doesn’t fit the mold because there is no mold. We can never presume to know what goes on behind the closed doors in any marriage.”
“No, I suppose not. But you argued.”
“ Steven argued. I apologized. I’m sorry I got stuckat the office when an emergency backed up appointments. I’m sorry I have to go to bed so early tonight, but I’ve got a chance to observe in the OR tomorrow. I’m sorry dinner was late. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Until I wasn’t sorry anymore.”
“Something happened,” Nick said, nodding his head. “What?”
“Steven went into cross-examination mode, I guess you’d call it. Where was I? What was I doing? When would I leave, and where would I be going next? Would there be men there? Phone calls, all day long, checking up on me. If I was going to stop at the grocery store on the way home, how long would that take, because it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes longer than my usual commute. God forbid there was a line at the express checkout, because then I’d be late, and the questions would start all over again—did I see anyone, talk to anyone? Who? It got so that I was a nervous wreck,
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