“What are you thinking?”
Mary glanced to Dante and hesitated briefly, but then admitted, “About the Bigelows, and my husband and my life with him.”
“Tell me about your life with your Joe?” he asked softly.
Mary turned her face forward and stared at the passing scenery for a moment. “I was six months pregnant the first time Joe cheated on me,” she said slowly, and then grimaced and added, “At least the first time I knew he was cheating on me and I think it really was the first time he did cheat on me.”
“I’m sorry,” Dante said quietly.
Mary waved the words away. She didn’t want sympathy. She wanted him to understand why she would stay with Joe when he did that. Clearing her throat, she said, “He was working late a lot, and came home smelling of perfume sometimes. I started to suspect he was . . . well, doing what he was doing,” she admitted wryly. “But of course I didn’t want to believe it. Still, I hired a private detective to follow him.”
She felt him glance at her, but didn’t turn to see what his expression was and continued. “Well, it wasn’t long before Joe was working late again one night and the private detective called and gave me an address and a room number. It was a cheap little motel on the outskirts of the city. I went there, and—they hadn’t even bothered to close the curtains. He was there with his secretary.”
Mary heard the bitterness in her own voice, and paused to take a breath. “I—well, I guess I lost it. I started pounding on the door and shouting.” She smiled wryly. “I think every door in that motel opened but the one I was pounding on. I cursed him, and said I was going to divorce him, and yelled that he was cowardly scum that wouldn’t even face the music and his secretary was a slut, then I jumped in the car and squealed out of there and crashed into a semi.”
The RV swerved slightly and Dante cursed and started to pull over, but Mary stared straight ahead and said, “If you stop, I’ll stop talking. Please just drive.”
He hesitated, the RV still slowing, and then put his foot back on the gas.
Mary let her breath out, but waited another moment. Even after all these years the memories hurt and she was afraid her voice would crack if she didn’t get herself under control before she continued. But it was harder than she expected and Mary cursed and undid her seat belt.
“Do you want a coffee?” she asked, getting out of her seat.
Dante nodded and glanced at her, and the sadness in his eyes was nearly her undoing. Turning abruptly, she moved back to the coffee machine and switched the inverter on. As she waited for the machine to heat up, Mary took the time to compose herself. By the time she’d made two coffees she felt more like her old self and even managed a smile when he thanked her for the coffee she set in his cup holder.
Settling back in her own seat, she continued abruptly, “I woke up in the hospital to learn that not only had I lost my baby, but due to complications, I’d never be able to carry another.”
“Mary,” Dante said, sounding pained.
“Drive,” she instructed, and continued, “Joe was crushed that I’d killed our child with—as he put it—my foolish hysterics.”
“Bastard,” Dante breathed.
“Yes well, I didn’t see that at the time. I was so awash in guilt for killing my baby, I agreed with him. I never should have gone there. I should not have driven so recklessly.”
“The private investigator should not have given you the address. He should have taken pictures and presented those to you. Was he even licensed?” Dante demanded furiously.
Mary grimaced and shrugged. “Who knows? I found him in the phone book.”
“So your husband cheated on you, then made you feel responsible for what followed . . . presumably so that you would not leave him?”
“That seems likely,” she agreed, and then added, “And I let him.”
“What?” he asked with disbelief. “You are going to take responsibility for his—”
“No,” she interrupted quietly. “I am not responsible for what he did. But I am responsible for my decisions, and I—” She paused then sighed. “It was a bad time for me. My mother was dying of cancer; I’d just lost my baby and learned I would never have another. I felt anger, guilt, loss . . . I was a mess,” she acknowledged. “And I was scared.”