“No . . .” Her mom paused. “Maybe it’s her fault.” She stood up and paced around the living room. “Gavin’s a good Christian boy. I just don’t see him doing anything to hurt your marriage on purpose. Maybe he did go there to help her, and maybe she seduced him.”
Claire gasped. Suddenly, this whole confusing mess started to become more clear. “I could believe it,” she said, throwing the flannel blanket off of her shoulders. She felt comfort thinking that it wasn’t her fault—and it wasn’t even Gavin’s. It was someone else’s entirely.
Her mom stopped pacing, turned to Claire, and put her hand on her hips. “You’ve tried talking to him. Maybe it’s time you confronted her.”
26
laura
LAURA’S HEART ACHED for Claire as she drove home from The Saddle. She couldn’t wrap her mind around what Gavin had done. He and Claire had always seemed so solid and loving, and she would never have pegged Gavin as the straying type. He was a pastor, for goodness’ sake, and the type of husband who always remembered their anniversary and enjoyed taking their daughter to the zoo. Why would he throw it all away over for a cheap lap dance at a roadside strip club? As much as it pained her to see her friend’s marriage crumbling, it made her problems with Brian seem less severe.
The thought stayed with her until she was at home and found Brian sitting in their dark bedroom, staring at the computer. A virtual poker game was on the screen and a half-empty bottle of his dad’s bourbon sat on the table next to him, a glass of it in his hand. Laura’s stomach clenched. Shooting star be damned—he was breaking his promise to her already.
Brian’s bloodshot eyes slid over to her as she walked in. “Hey,” he slurred.
Laura put her hand over her mouth. “What happened?” she said softly, kneeling down next to him. “I thought you quit drinkin’?”
He stared at her, his hair sticking out in messy tufts, as if he had been pulling at it all night. “It’s gone,” he finally said, lowering his head.
“What’s gone?” Laura’s voice cracked in fear of what he was about to say.
“The money. I lost it all.” He slammed his fist on the desk.
Laura’s heart beat wildly as her mind spun to comprehend. “What do you mean, you lost it all?”
“All of it, Laura,” he shouted. “All twelve thousand dollars.”
She stumbled back, colliding painfully with the bed frame. He was joking, right? That was six months’ worth of savings. Six months of no privacy, of dealing with his mom poking her head into their room every morning. Dear God, let him be joking. But as she stared at him and his desperate expression, she knew it had to be true.
“How?” she whispered.
“Poker,” he said slowly. He buried his face in his hands. “I got a bad hand and tried to win it back but kept getting bad ones. I didn’t mean to, I swear.”
A cold numbness spread through Laura’s chest. “You just have to win it back.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that without any money?” he asked, his voice shaking.
Laura glanced at the desk, where her plastic name tag from the Sea Shack stared back at her. So many nights of sweet tea spills on her clothes, the stench of crawfish in her hair, and Bible verses in lieu of tips . . . And for what? For Brian to give it all away to some faceless Internet jackass living in his grandma’s basement in Idaho?
She let out a low scream and stood up, pacing back and forth.
Brian took another sip of the bourbon.
“Dammit, Brian. Stop it!” She grabbed the glass out of his hand and her voice raised. “Do you realize what you’re doing to your life? To mine? I’ve given up everything to support you. I quit school and got married to you, moved back here, worked my ass off to help you pay for this surgery. And for what? You’ve thrown our future away.” Her entire body trembled in anger.
“Oh really? It’s all my fault? You’re making it out that you’re the victim, Laura.” He took the drink out of her hand and put it down on the desk. “But guess what—I’m the victim. I’m the one who got handed the bad cards, literally. And if you can’t support me through that, then what kind of wife are you?”
She felt like she’d been sucker punched, and her mouth fell open. He could accuse her of being unhappy at his parents’ house, or of being overly focused on school . . . but that was over the line. “Are you freaking serious? You’re really gonna say that I don’t know how to support you? After all I’ve given up?”
“It’s not a competition,” he argued. “We’ve both made sacrifices.”
She scowled at him. “What sacrifices have you made? Sitting around here all day playing video games? Getting drunk with Kenny? I know you didn’t ask to get hurt, but what the hell are you doing to fix it?” The sternness in her voice surprised even Laura.
Brian lowered his head like a scolded dog. “Look, Laur—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hobbled over to her and put his arms around her neck. “I love you so much. You know I can’t do this without you.”
She shoved him off of her. “Here’s the thing, it’s your surgery,” she reminded him. “You can’t have it if we don’t have the money. It affects you more than me.”
“I’m still holding out for the insurance appeal,” he said hopefully.
Laura scoffed. “We haven’t heard a peep since we filed the paperwork. There’s no way we can count on that.” For the first time, she felt a seed of resentment that he didn’t just take the surgery the school would have paid for. Maybe he’d never play football again, but he would’ve been able to stay in school through the physical therapy and get his degree. And at least they wouldn’t have been in this mess—living with his parents without a dime to their names.
“We’ll come up with somethin’.” He moved to kiss her on her forehead, but she sidestepped away.
She looked back up at him. “No—you come up with somethin’. You lost the money, now it’s up to you to get it back.”
With that, she stormed out to the bathroom to get ready for bed, her heart still pounding with fury. When she returned, Brian was passed out on the bed, his drunken snores vibrating the mattress. She sat next to him, wishing it weren’t too late to call her mom.
She leaned her head back on the pillow and thought back to a conversation she and her mom had the night before her wedding. The two of them lay in her parents’ bed, wearing matching floral pajamas that her dad had gotten them for Christmas the year before.
“How are you feeling?” Angela had asked as they ate leftover chocolate-covered pralines from the rehearsal dinner.
“A little bloated from those baked beans, but I think I’ll be okay,” Laura said, rubbing her belly.
Her mom laughed. “What bride eats a whole bowl of barbecue baked beans before her wedding day? Oh, sweet child . . . who raised you?”
Laura giggled and threw a praline that bounced off her mom’s shoulder and onto the navy and white duvet.