“They’ll come around. She’ll come around. Matt’s her baby. She worries.”
“Matt is everyone’s baby, apparently.” I clenched my teeth, then let out a hissing sigh. Is this what marriage to Matt would be like—him descending into fickle moods, me biting my tongue or sniping at him behind his back?
No. I wouldn’t let us become that couple.
I expected Nate to ask what was the matter, but he only said, “Yours, too, I hope,” and then, with an absent glance at my ring, “Congratulations, by the way. I should have said that to both of you back at the house. Thoughtless.”
“I wish you had. No one’s talking about it, the engagement. Like it’s not happening.”
“Oh, but it is happening. Did you know he called me about it? He’s excited. Nervous.”
“Nervous?”
Nate nodded. “Who do you think ordered him out here? He’s just as nervous as you are, if not more.”
I blinked three times, rapidly, and tried to imagine Nate coaxing Matt to visit his aunt and uncle. The story made sense, actually. Matt would have avoided this situation. Too formal, too social. Nate had more tact than both of us put together.
At Friendly’s, he ordered a small vanilla cone for me, nothing for himself, and we sat side by side at a lumpy red picnic table. He watched me indulgently as I worked on the cone. Again, I got the distinct impression that I was a child to the Sky brothers—a cute thing, like a knickknack. Quaint. She’s a keeper.
“Our parents used to get us ice cream,” Nate said. “On vacation. Sort of a family ritual.”
“Oh…” I licked a big dollop from the cone. More Sky family revelations. This trip was turning into an emotional wringer. “I’m so … sorry about what happened to them.”
He sat up straighter and shrugged. He undid the top button of his collar and, with a dry sigh, smoothed a hand down the back of his neck. I cringed inwardly. Over the past year, I had taken countless amounts of comfort from this man … and given back none. I didn’t know how to begin to comfort someone who seemed so well-adjusted.
“Thank you.” He laid his cheek in his palm and resumed watching me, and I enjoyed the rest of my ice cream in silence.
Afterward, I said, “Do you have any advice? You know, since…” I wiggled my ring finger. “Your marriage seems great.”
Nate didn’t hesitate.
“Be honest. About things that happen, about how you feel. Small lies and secrecy may not seem like a big deal, but”—he gazed down at me, and his gaze went through me—“you know how water gets into rocks, freezes…”
I imagined the slow, aching crunch of ice fracturing stone, and I knew I had to tell Matt that Seth got my sister pregnant.
I also knew I had to tell him that I never wanted to be pregnant.
I nodded swiftly.
“All the same”—Nate chuckled—“I’m sure Matt needs to hear that more than you do. Strange that he didn’t join us. He’s usually so…”
Possessive. Jealous.
“I know,” I said. “He probably wanted to make his escape. He’s being cryptic today … something about business in the city.”
“The city?” Nate’s eyes jolted to mine. His terse tone, his rigid posture, sent a ripple of alarm through me.
“Um, yeah. Probably book stuff? His editor is in the city.”
“Seth is in the city,” Nate said. “Matt called me last night, asked where Seth was staying. I wouldn’t tell him at first, but—goddamn it.” He rubbed his face. “He insisted he wanted to smooth things over, send a bottle of champagne or something.”
He rose, yanking out his cell, and strode toward the car. Soon he was jogging.
All at once, my day clicked into clarity.
Matt’s bad mood last night and this morning. His “smoke breaks.” Avoiding me. Ignoring me. And that look he gave me in the lobby this morning, a look of pure mistrust …
I sprinted after Nate, yanking at his sleeve when I caught up. He held the phone to his ear. His gaze flashed across my face.
“Seth got my sister pregnant,” I stammered. “And I think … Matt might have found out somehow. He’s been acting weird all day. Bad weird.”
Nate’s jaw didn’t drop. It tightened almost spasmodically. He lowered the phone and thumbed the screen.
“Well, fuck,” he said.
Chapter 12
MATT
The train from Convent Station takes about an hour to reach New York City.
I chose a seat on the top level of an empty car. I wanted to be alone.
I closed my eyes and listened as a garbled voice announced each stop. I knew this route well. Growing up, I used to ride the train from Chatham into the city. I had like-minded “friends” there. We drank and went crazy together.
And nothing has changed, I realized as I emerged into the crowds of Penn Station. For me, the city still rumbled with madness. A sea of tourists. The end of the line.
My phone rang for the seventh time—Hannah and Nate were alternating calls—and I shut it off. They knew what I was up to, clearly. Hannah must have mentioned my “business in the city,” Nate must have remembered my desire to “smooth things over” with Seth, and together they must have realized …
I caught a cab to the Plaza Hotel, where Nate had told me Goldengrove was staying.
As the cab inched through traffic, I stoked my anger. Seth got Chrissy pregnant. Seth fucked Chrissy. Seth pursued Hannah. Seth fucked Hannah’s hand.
Seth came in her hand.
Seth tried to sleep with her.
Last month, when Hannah and I got back together, I’d made her explain what happened with Seth—in great detail. Then I wrote the scene into Last Light. Then I asked her to tell me again and again, until she lost her temper. You’re obsessing, she’d said. You’re scaring me.
She was right—and no matter how many times she painted that scene in the Four Seasons suite, describing her agency and guilt, I saw her as a victim. She was my sweet little bird, addled by our breakup, drunk, drugged, falling into Seth’s clutches.
A victim of circumstance.