I brought photo albums from various vacations: Maine, our Boston camping trip, the Outer Banks, North Carolina. Greg and I were paging through them, telling the stories of the trips. He was improving, but sometimes he wouldn’t admit when his memory failed him. We sat close on the couch, knees touching. In some ways, I had never felt closer to Greg. We had never spent so much time just talking. Our friendship had a sibling feel to it. I didn’t know if that was because of Drew or because Greg had become such a different person. Greg had become soft-spoken, quiet, and insecure. His emotions overflowed to the point where I grew impatient. He cried at every visit, sad about his new life, and frustrated with his inability to retain simple facts.
“I feel stupid all the time,” he complained. “Like I can’t keep up. And you look at me like I’m a child.”
“Greg, I don’t think you’re a child. I think we need to work on this. Together, okay?” I wanted him to get better. I needed him to come back to New Jersey, so we could make decisions and move on with our lives. I reached out and touched his shoulder.
He leaned forward, and before I could stop him, he kissed me. His lips felt familiar, and I felt warmth bloom from my center. Instinctively, I kissed back, my mouth opening to his in a fleeting need to restore order to the unrelenting chaos. The kiss gained intensity, comforting only in its familiarity, and for a brief second, I closed my eyes and pretended the last two years had never happened. But they did happen. I pushed back, gazing into his deep brown eyes.
“I’m sorry…” Greg started, but then, he slammed his fist down on his knee and stood. “You know what? I’m not really sorry. You’re my wife. I’m allowed to kiss you.”
I took a deep breath to steady myself for the shock about to come, but I couldn’t put it off anymore. “Greg, sit down. I need to tell you something.”
He chose to sit on the opposite end.
“We aren’t married anymore. The courts granted my petition for a divorce.” The words rushed out of me, grateful to be free.
“What? What does that mean?” He looked incredulous. And angry.
“It means I needed to move on with my life. I didn’t know where you were. We thought you were dead, but without proof, I couldn’t… move on.” I faltered, unsure of how much detail to divulge.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You met someone else.”
I nodded.
He paused for a moment, and then he said, “Drew.”
I nodded again, and he sank back against the arm of the sofa, the anger drained, replaced with defeat. Up until that moment, I had yet to talk about Drew. I’d avoided his name in all our stories, our memories. I didn’t know if Greg had any recollection of him.
“Greg, it’s not what you think. We—”
“I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what I think,” he replied dryly. He appeared thoughtful. “Drew was always there, in the background. With me out of the way…” His voice trailed off, and he leaned back, a small self-satisfied smile playing on his lips.
I shook my head vehemently, willing him to understand, to believe. To believe what?
“No, Greg, it wasn’t like that. Not for me. I wasn’t in love with him when you and I were married. It’s a recent development.”
He sat, gazing out into the room, perfectly still. Finally, he said, “I was not a good husband to you, Claire.”
I started to shake my head, tears springing to my eyes at the painful truth of his words.
He held up his hand. “Did you find out about the inheritance? From my mother?” When I nodded, he continued, “I was so angry at that money. I watched my mother struggle. My whole life, we had nothing. I had the same pair of sneakers my entire four years of high school. I wore them every day, even in the summer. Even when I worked, she demanded my paychecks, saying she would put the money in an account for me. I paid for everything myself, struggled for everything. She worked two jobs, and for what? After she died, and I received that money, I couldn’t figure out the point of all of it. She had the money, sure, but she was never going to spend it on her life. Never going to enjoy anything. We never went to Disney World, never took a vacation. We didn’t even turn the heat on until December. My strongest memories of my childhood involve being cold and my home being dark. I put half the money into a savings account and the other half in an offshore account with a higher interest rate. There was almost a million dollars total, but I swore I would never touch it. I wanted to leave it to my kids to spend, when it wouldn’t be tainted with cold, dark memories.”