“I like to camp,” I rationalized, my eyes settling on where Drew and Alex were chatting across the room.
“I know.”
Not liking the edge in his tone, I further explained my thinking. “It would be fun with Drew and Alex. I bet Drew could teach the kids all kinds of things about foraging and wilderness survival.”
“I could, too. If you recall, I was a Marine.”
“Yes, you could. But you’re never here.” I winced as soon as the words were out of my mouth, realizing too late how they might be interpreted. “I mean—of course you’re not here. You’re working. I didn’t mean it like—”
“I know. You didn’t say anything untrue. You’re right, I’m never here.” Not looking at me, Greg crossed his arms then uncrossed them, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Honey—”
He cut me off again, pointing a massive frown at the dish full of food in my hands. “Is there anything on the buffet that looks appetizing to you? I’ll get you another plate.”
Not waiting for me to respond, Greg took the food out of my hands and turned toward the kitchen, walking away before I could sort through my mess of thoughts. My words sounded accusatory. Accusatory hadn’t been my intention. Not at all. Not even a little.
At one time, his job—more precisely, the location of his job—had been a source of anxiety in our marriage. But we’d resolved those issues years ago. As far as I was concerned, this subject was closed and I’d moved on, accepted his absence as a constant, inescapable fact of our life together.
“I love how he loves you.” Kat’s statement—imbued with more than a hint of wistfulness—alerted me that she and Sandra had returned. I glanced at her and found her eyes were following Greg’s retreating form.
I paused to examine her before asking, “Because he took my food away?”
“Because he noticed you weren’t eating the food on your plate, and you’re looking a little pale,” Sandra clarified, her green eyes alight with mischief. Though, to be fair, she almost always looked like she was up to something.
“I’m just tired,” I admitted. The last few weeks were catching up with me.
“He noticed that, too. That’s why he asked how much longer you wanted to stay. He’s worried about you,” Sandra said, further explaining her interpretation of Greg’s actions. Sandra’s interpretations were typically correct.
Now I paused to examine Sandra, considering the likelihood that she was correct. I replayed the last several minutes with Greg based on this new perspective.
At length I asked, “How do you do that?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Do what?”
“We’ve been married for almost one and a half decades and I didn’t pick up on any of that.”
“It’s because you’re tired, and . . . ” she titled her head to the side, her eyes moving over my face, her brows slowly drawing together as she studied me, “you’re overwhelmed.”
“When people are overwhelmed, they can’t see past their own campfire.” Ashley sauntered up to our trio, saying these words like she was quoting someone. She confirmed my suspicion by adding, “My momma used to say that, and if you want my opinion, Greg is right to be worried. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but no sound came out. I didn’t know how to respond, because I’d never discovered a satisfactory response to this kind of statement. Maybe I had been pushing myself too hard, but what was I supposed to do instead? What was the alternative? Not take care of my children? That was lunacy. Not work? We needed the money. Not keep the house running and in working order? None of my obligations were optional. Neglect personal hygiene? I doubt that’s what they were insinuating.
Eventually, I closed my mouth and shrugged. “It is what it is.”
Sandra wrinkled her nose at me. “Sometimes I wonder about you, Fiona.”
“How so, Sandra?” A rueful smile slowly claimed my features as my friend and I studied each other.
“You are so wise. And yet, I think sometimes your wisdom blinds you to the obvious.”
Ashley pushed Sandra’s shoulder. “Stop making those fortune cookie comments and just say what you mean.”
Sandra and I continued to regard each other, her eyes narrowing by millimeters until they were slits.
Marie chose this moment to jog over and interrupt, her tone infused with urgency. “Okay, all of Ashley’s work people are gone. It’s just us knitters and the husbands-slash-significant others, plus Dan the Security Man and his boring date. I say we go back to Janie’s place and see how she’s doing. If she’s up for it, let’s divide that humongous cake into seven equal parts and chow down.”
Sandra and I stared at each other for another beat before she shifted her attention to Marie, her expression clearing at once as she said, “Yes. Let’s go eat cake.”
Sandra surprised me by letting the matter of my blinding wisdom drop so quickly. Typically, she was like a cat with yarn when it came to psychoanalyzing people for their own good.
But then she stepped forward and looped her arm through mine, turning us toward the kitchen. “Come on, Fiona. I’m taking you to your husband.”