“Oh, Abby,” wailed Elise, reaching for her sister, and clasping her as tightly as she could. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know…”
They held each other for a long time, crying on each other’s shoulders, united in grief, surrounded by the love of a mother who couldn’t share her approval in life, but had left behind the evidence that would assure her Liebling peace when she was gone.
Chapter 19
As Preston drove Elise back to the motel, he sensed a difference in her, and he suspected it had something to do with the simple black binder on her lap. But she would share it with him when she was ready. He was finished pushing and pressuring her. One thing he had learned about his wife…when he pushed, she ran. When he gave her space, she’d come and find him. He just wished he’d learned that lesson two years ago.
“I liked your family,” he said. “They weren’t what I expected.”
She turned to him, a tired, but contented smile playing on her face. “What did you expect?”
“I think I expected them to be more…I don’t know. Disapproving. Strict and cold.”
“That’s because of how I talked about them,” she said softly. “I led you to believe that.”
He didn’t argue with her and she knew she was right.
“I was so desperate to break away. I was so frightened of anything or anyone standing in my way. I went about it badly,” she said, and Preston saw clearly that what she was describing had happened twice in her life: once with her family and again with him. “My mother kept this binder, Pres. It’s clippings about the shows I was in at Tisch, and off-off Broadway. Ethan Frome and the movies I shot in Hollywood. She was following my career the whole time. Abby said she was proud of me.”
Preston turned into the motel parking lot and cut the engine. “Of course she was.”
“But I truly thought she was disapproving, strict, and cold. Why couldn’t she have told me she was proud of me? Why couldn’t she have supported me?”
“I don’t know,” said Preston. “I didn’t know her.”
“It would have meant the world to me.” She paused, smoothing her hands over the plain black binder cover. “And yet, I’m so grateful to know it now. I never believed I’d find closure, Pres. I thought I’d grieve her forever, and you know? I will, but at least I know she loved me. At least I know she was proud of me. At least I know she was watching.”
“I’m glad for that,” he said, reaching out to cup her cheek.
“You made today bearable,” she said, leaning into his hand. “Thank you for being here with me.”
She was so beautiful, her eyes wide and open as they stared back at him with a world-weariness and maturity that seemed so much deeper than the girl he’d met in an off-off Broadway dressing room two years ago. She had changed a lot, and though it frightened him to hope, he couldn’t help the words that tumbled from his mouth as he stared at her.
“I don’t want a divorce.”
“Neither do I,” she said, shaking her head, her smile suddenly brilliant. “I never did.”
“Really?”
“Really. I came back east to reconcile with you, Pres. I never wanted to let you go. I just needed time.”
She sniffled and he swiped at an escaping tear with his thumb. He tried to hold on to his smile, but it faded as he furrowed his brows together. “But I still don’t know how to be married to you. I don’t know how to make us work.”
“If I tell you that we’ll figure it out this time, will you believe me?”
“I want to,” he said.
“Anything’s possible,” she said, “where there’s love.”
“There’s love here,” he said, holding her eyes, feeling the risk of saying more and silencing the declaration that threatened to break free.
She smiled at him, covering his hand with hers. “Come lie down with me?”
He nodded, letting his hand linger on her face for an extra moment before dropping it, leaving the car and following her into the motel room.
As he closed the door behind them, Elise turned to look at him. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded as he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves and removing his watch.
“I won’t blame you, and I won’t judge you. I just need to know…”
“Anything,” he said, placing the watch on the table by the door and slipping out of his shoes. He was tired and holding her as they fell asleep sounded like the perfect way to end a long day.
She swallowed, dropping his eyes, her chest heaving as her breathing became faster and more shallow. His first instinct was to reach for her, but it was more important to give her the space she needed to stay and move, to speak and be silent, to live at her own pace, not at his.
When she lifted her eyes, they were clear but cautious, and still he waited, patient, though increasingly anxious.
“How many…” She paused, taking a deep breath before beginning again. “How many women have you been with since you were with me?”
His eyes widened for a moment before his shoulders relaxed and with a smile that held all the love in his heart, he answered, “None.”