you’re sensitive. I get that. But I’m not lying to you.”
“Don’t blame this on my childhood,” I said.
“But that’s what this is about.” He got out of the shower, leaving me alone beneath the cooling water.
His words stung, but he was right. When my father had walked out on my mother and me, he had abandoned his past, his entire life. His wife and daughter. He had traded his family in for a younger model. I’d told myself I would not care, I would not mind that he only sent cards and gifts on special occasions, when he remembered. He had moved to London, as far from us as he could get. I could still feel the wound, close to the surface, too easily opened again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Johnny’s having an affair. Is that what you want me to say?” Natalie’s voice crackled, as if she were even farther away than India, as if she were on the moon.
“You’re making me paranoid.” Tears pressed at the backs of my eyes.
“You’re creating paranoia all by yourself,” Natalie said. “Do you seriously believe he would sleep with your pregnant neighbor?”
“He said he didn’t.”
“Then he didn’t.”
“You’re right. You have to be right.” I paced in the cottage, tidying up the few things that already made the place messy—papers and pens, cups and plates, and glossy new copies of the Miracle Mouse latest release, which had arrived that morning in a box. Normally, I would be delighted to see my new book in print, but I felt only a passing thrill.
“Johnny would not fool around on you. He loves you more than life. You remember that chick he went to school with, the one who got drunk and threw herself at him at your wedding?”
“I’d like to forget,” I said.
“He only had eyes for you, always has. He’s so intensely in love with you, and I am so jealous.”
“But the wife is always last to know.”
“Your mom was, but it doesn’t mean you will be. Not every man on the planet is like your peripatetic, AWOL dad. There’s nothing to know about Johnny. You chose him for a reason.”
“But our lives feel fragile, Nat. We lost everything. I can’t lose him, too.”
“You won’t.”
“Is this one of your predictions?”
“A good one.”
I felt as though someone was reaching into my head and twisting my brain around. “I trust him. But what if I shouldn’t?”
“You need to focus on healing, getting back on your feet, getting into a house.”
When I hung up, I paced. I wasn’t going to visit Theresa. I would end up interrogating an innocent, friendly, pregnant neighbor. Natalie was right. Johnny and I needed to look for another place to live. I called Eris to take her up on her offer to show us houses for sale.
By Friday afternoon, she had shown us several lovely homes, none of which seemed right. One artsy blue bungalow, hugging the shore of Moon Cove, had too many windows. The scents of outside seeped through the cracks—the salty ocean and a nearby bonfire emitting the nauseating odor of burning wood. At one time, I would’ve found such a smell comforting, a reminder of campfires and s’mores, but not now. In the bathroom, I had gazed up through the skylight and watched the skittering clouds overhead, while Eris and Johnny chatted in the bedroom. “Dixondale wanted all his windows facing the water,” Eris had said. “High glass to let in the most light.”
“Art Dixondale designed this house?” Johnny’s voice had risen in admiration. They’d discussed one architect after another, and then Eris had shown us a two-story house on Green Spot, the lower level built into the hillside, its rooms dark, the bottom level slightly dank and mildewed. Aside from the view of the ferryboat chugging across Puget Sound, the house had offered nothing to recommend it. We were back where we started. It would take time to find the proper home.
Johnny had started running on the roads, avoiding the woods. It was as though he deliberately followed well-traveled paths in plain
“Don’t blame this on my childhood,” I said.
“But that’s what this is about.” He got out of the shower, leaving me alone beneath the cooling water.
His words stung, but he was right. When my father had walked out on my mother and me, he had abandoned his past, his entire life. His wife and daughter. He had traded his family in for a younger model. I’d told myself I would not care, I would not mind that he only sent cards and gifts on special occasions, when he remembered. He had moved to London, as far from us as he could get. I could still feel the wound, close to the surface, too easily opened again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Johnny’s having an affair. Is that what you want me to say?” Natalie’s voice crackled, as if she were even farther away than India, as if she were on the moon.
“You’re making me paranoid.” Tears pressed at the backs of my eyes.
“You’re creating paranoia all by yourself,” Natalie said. “Do you seriously believe he would sleep with your pregnant neighbor?”
“He said he didn’t.”
“Then he didn’t.”
“You’re right. You have to be right.” I paced in the cottage, tidying up the few things that already made the place messy—papers and pens, cups and plates, and glossy new copies of the Miracle Mouse latest release, which had arrived that morning in a box. Normally, I would be delighted to see my new book in print, but I felt only a passing thrill.
“Johnny would not fool around on you. He loves you more than life. You remember that chick he went to school with, the one who got drunk and threw herself at him at your wedding?”
“I’d like to forget,” I said.
“He only had eyes for you, always has. He’s so intensely in love with you, and I am so jealous.”
“But the wife is always last to know.”
“Your mom was, but it doesn’t mean you will be. Not every man on the planet is like your peripatetic, AWOL dad. There’s nothing to know about Johnny. You chose him for a reason.”
“But our lives feel fragile, Nat. We lost everything. I can’t lose him, too.”
“You won’t.”
“Is this one of your predictions?”
“A good one.”
I felt as though someone was reaching into my head and twisting my brain around. “I trust him. But what if I shouldn’t?”
“You need to focus on healing, getting back on your feet, getting into a house.”
When I hung up, I paced. I wasn’t going to visit Theresa. I would end up interrogating an innocent, friendly, pregnant neighbor. Natalie was right. Johnny and I needed to look for another place to live. I called Eris to take her up on her offer to show us houses for sale.
By Friday afternoon, she had shown us several lovely homes, none of which seemed right. One artsy blue bungalow, hugging the shore of Moon Cove, had too many windows. The scents of outside seeped through the cracks—the salty ocean and a nearby bonfire emitting the nauseating odor of burning wood. At one time, I would’ve found such a smell comforting, a reminder of campfires and s’mores, but not now. In the bathroom, I had gazed up through the skylight and watched the skittering clouds overhead, while Eris and Johnny chatted in the bedroom. “Dixondale wanted all his windows facing the water,” Eris had said. “High glass to let in the most light.”
“Art Dixondale designed this house?” Johnny’s voice had risen in admiration. They’d discussed one architect after another, and then Eris had shown us a two-story house on Green Spot, the lower level built into the hillside, its rooms dark, the bottom level slightly dank and mildewed. Aside from the view of the ferryboat chugging across Puget Sound, the house had offered nothing to recommend it. We were back where we started. It would take time to find the proper home.
Johnny had started running on the roads, avoiding the woods. It was as though he deliberately followed well-traveled paths in plain
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