“I just need a second,” I say, drifting over to sit on the stone wall that separates the sidewalk from the steep slope below. She sits beside me, our backs to the ball fields, our shoulders touching.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m just not happy. With Nolan and our marriage. Sometimes I think the whole thing was a mistake….” My voice breaks, my vision blurs, and I have to stop talking to keep from bursting into tears.
Ellen takes my hand and does her best to soothe me, telling me that all marriages are complicated and messy and mysterious and flawed. That maybe I’m just confusing the burdens of unglamorous everyday life with something missing in my relationship. That it might sound simplistic but sometimes you just have to love the one you’re with. I know her advice is mostly sound, but deep down, I also know how very different our situations are. She hit a bump in the road, whereas I’m on a road I never should have been on in the first place. She lied to Andy in her marriage, whereas my whole marriage sometimes feels like a lie.
—
LATER THAT NIGHT, after being held hostage in Harper’s darkened room for over two hours, I fall asleep in the glider next to her bed, awakening to the sound of my phone vibrating. I find it in the cushions and see Ellen’s name.
“Hi, there,” I whisper, tiptoeing out of Harper’s room.
“Are you alone?” she asks.
“Yeah. I was just putting Harper to bed,” I say, walking downstairs, where I start cleaning the kitchen.
“Where’s Nolan?” she asks.
“At a work dinner.”
“So I’ve been thinking about earlier,” she says.
“Me, too. Listen—I’m sorry—I don’t know what came over me. I think I’m just hormonal…about to get my period—” I’m lying to my friend, but only because I don’t want to burden her.
“No, I’m sorry,” Ellen interjects. “I shouldn’t have tried to tell you how you should feel. And I hope I didn’t imply that my marriage is perfect now. Because it’s not. Far from it.”
“I know,” I say. “I didn’t think you were doing that.”
“Okay, good. Because sometimes I have the feeling that everyone thinks that everyone else is living a fairy tale. Especially in the South. People fake things so much. Put on a happy face and show off your perfect life.”
I murmur my agreement as she continues, “And I just wanted to say…that I hope you stay with Nolan, but no matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.”
“That’s really nice,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she says, then hesitantly asks if I’ve considered marriage counseling. “I mean, I know you go to Amy…but what about couples therapy?”
“Yeah. Maybe we’ll try that,” I say, although I’m pretty skeptical about it as a solution for us. It seems to me that counseling might help with a lot of relationship issues, but that it can’t make you love someone you just don’t. I’m also beginning to realize, sickeningly, that the only real solution is to tell Nolan the truth.
“It’s going to be okay,” Ellen says. “You just need a little time.”
“Right,” I say, thinking that the notion of time healing all might be an even bigger lie than the foundation my marriage is built upon. Daniel’s death taught me that much; some things will never be okay.
chapter fifteen
JOSIE
The week after the choking incident, I’m at school, enjoying a blissful free period while my kids are in music, when an email from “William Carlisle” appears in my inbox, the subject line ominously blank. Shamefully, my heart races as I click it open, then feel a rush of disappointment when I see only a few words appear on my screen. Josie, Could you please give me a call at your convenience? He then leaves his mobile number (which I still know by heart but no longer have programmed into my phone for fear of an unfortunate pocket call, or worse, a pocket FaceTime), along with a formal Thank you and his initials: W.C.
I reread it a few times, debating whether to consult Gabe or Sydney first. Instead, I simply call him, convincing myself that I’m not being too eager—that I just want to “get it over with”—and further, that he doesn’t warrant a lot of time and analysis.
“This is Will,” he says, answering on the second ring.
“Hi, Will,” I say, my stomach churning. “It’s Josie. I got your email.”
“Hi, Josie,” he says. His voice is distinctly uneasy, which somehow makes me a little less so. “Thanks for calling.”
“Sure. What’s up?” I say, trying to sound light and casual.
I hear him take a deep breath. “First, I just wanted to…thank you again for the other night. I mean, thank your friend for…you know…intervening….”
“Sure. I’ll tell him again…but it’s really no big deal. I’m sure you would have been fine either way,” I say, although I can still envision another scenario, and feel a little chagrined that I used to wish disaster upon him—never death, but occasionally financial ruin, partial paralysis, or mild disfigurement.