“They will be,” she answers. “Can you walk me to my car? It’s dark out here.”
“Of course,” I answer, because it is dark, and it wouldn’t be right to let a girl walk to her car alone. I’m a gentleman.
She leads me to a black car, and I frown at the parking spot. “Don’t park all the way in the back when it’s dark out,” I tell her. “Park under a light.”
She smiles now. “Is that concern I hear?”
“It’s just common sense.”
She opens her door, leaning on it. “I had fun tonight,” she tells me, her eyes glued to mine. “You’re very interesting.”
She wants to linger, I can tell. But I can’t. Because there’s electricity in the air, and if we linger... I don’t know what will happen, but it won’t be right.
I’m good.
I’m good.
“Drive safe,” I tell her gruffly.
She stares up at me, and the light glistens on her lips. She licks them.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asks softly, and I physically rear back.
“Of course not!” I’m startled and she laughs.
“That’s okay. You will someday.”
“I won’t,” I tell her firmly, and she grins like she knows better.
“Good night, Jude Cabot,” she tells me softly. “You can go home to your wife now.”
I do go home, but my house is empty.
My wife doesn’t come home until well after I’ve fallen asleep.
16
Now
Corinne
Reflections Mental Facility
“How did you get in?” I ask Michel curiously. On my lap, I finger the books he brought me, the crosswords and the magazines. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he glances over his shoulder.
“I insisted that you needed spiritual guidance. But Jude also listed me as an emergency contact, so they kind of had to.”
“Is Jude okay?” I ask him quickly, because Jude is my first thought, always. “I hate all of this, Michel. When I think about the effect it’s having on Jude...it kills me.”
Michel flinches. “You know Jude,” he says offhandedly. “He hides his feelings and goes through the motions. He’ll be okay.”
There’s something in his voice. It stands out to me, and I examine him, his eyes. Something is there, hidden in the hazel depths.
“You’re hiding something,” I observe. “Tell me.”
Michel shakes his head, and he’s so very like his brother. “I’m not hiding anything,” he assures me. “Jude misses you. That’s all.”
I’m not sure whether to believe him, but it’s clear he’s not going to elaborate. He’s always protected his brother. He isn’t going to stop now.
“Are you making sure he eats?” I ask hopefully.
Michel laughs.
“Since when does my brother not eat?” He raises an eyebrow, and he has a point. I laugh. “We’ve been eating at the café a lot, and I think he’s been ordering pizza, too. He’s not starving, Co. Don’t worry about him. Let’s just focus on you.”
This makes me stare at my hands. Focusing on me is nerve-racking.
“How are you doing?” Michel asks, and he reaches out to grasp my hand. His is strong and warm, very like Jude’s, and if I close my eyes, it’s almost like Jude is talking to me.
“I’m okay,” I lie. “I’m fine. I’m just trying to figure things out so that I can get home.”
“What can I do to help, Corinne? I’ll do anything, you know.”
His voice is warm and genuine, and I hug him. “I know. There’s nothing, though. If there were, I’d tell you.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“No.” My answer is immediate.
“Okay.” He relents easily. “Don’t get upset. It’s okay.”
He placates me automatically, his tone soothing. I have to laugh.
“Are you worried that I’m going to lose it while you’re sitting here?”
His expression is so startled and open that I laugh again.
“You are!”
He chuckles now, too. “I don’t know what to think,” he admits. “I’ll just be honest. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and it confuses me now, because you’re here. I don’t know what to do.”
I shrug. “There’s nothing for you to do. Don’t worry about me, Michel.”
“Ha. Too late.”
“I’ll figure out the holes in my brain,” I tell him firmly. “You just worry about Jude for me.”
“I’ve always worried about Jude,” he admits to me. “That’s not going to change now.”
We chat a bit more, and when he stands up to go, he looks at me strangely.
“Corinne, I know they want you to focus on remembering the past. But I don’t know that I’m on board with that. Maybe you should just focus on the future. The past is behind us, anyway.”
I pause. “I know. But they think that I have to process the past in order to move on to the future.”
Michel shakes his head a little. “I’m not a therapist. But I don’t agree. I think sometimes the past can just be hurtful. I don’t want you hurt, Corinne.”
“Thanks, big bro,” I murmur, and I don’t know what to think. Does he know something I don’t?
“Wait,” I call out to him. He pauses, then turns.
“Are you afraid of something, Michel?”
He flinches, almost, and his mouth is grim. “Yes,” he answers simply. “But it’s going to be okay, Corinne. I have faith in that.”
I just watch him walk away, once again reminded of how very much he is like my husband.
17
Now
Jude
My brother texts me.
Just saw Corinne. She looks good. Pale, but good.
Relief floods me.
I don’t have to listen to the doctor tell me not to see my wife, but if they think it will help, I’ll do what they recommend. It comforts me to have Michel there holding her hand, letting her lean on him. He’s almost an extension of me sometimes, and if I can’t be there, at least he can.
Thanks, I answer.
She’s worried there are things we aren’t telling her, he adds. I don’t like lying.
My gut constricts. I don’t like it, either, and it seems like that’s all I’ve been doing for weeks.
We’re protecting her, I answer. She’ll remember in her own time, IF she remembers at all. It’s the way the doctors want it.
It’s the way YOU want it, my brother answers. I flinch because I can’t deny that it does help me, too.
“Jude?”
The sun is shining on Zoe’s hair as she looks at me, and it’s clear from her voice that it’s not the first time she’s said my name.
“I didn’t hear you,” I say, sliding my phone into my pocket. “Yes?”
She rustles around in a bag on the picnic table. The breeze flutters the edges of the bag, and she holds it down. “I was just asking if you want a mayonnaise packet for your sandwich.”
“Oh. No, thank you.”
She smiles and hands me the sandwich, and the park is completely still. For noon on a weekday, that’s a little unusual. It’s usually busy during the day.
“You’re distracted,” she tells me as she scoots next to me, the warmth from her hip bleeding into my own. I try to hide my distaste. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here with her.
“I’m sorry,” I say automatically. “Issues with my wife.”
The dismay on Zoe’s face is immediate, but she tries to hide it. I don’t know why she bothers. I know her feelings about my wife.
“Tell me about her,” she says, taking a bite. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Talking about my wife to Zoe doesn’t feel right, and I tell her that. She rolls her eyes.
“We’re both adults, Jude. It’ll help you to get it out. Trust me. You should know that. You’re the therapist.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the old saying...painters have the peeling houses, gardeners have weeds in their yards, etcetera, etcetera?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes again. “So you’re telling me you aren’t emotionally healthy?” She chews for a minute. “Well, you are having a lunch date with a woman who isn’t your wife. So maybe I’ll give you that.”
“Thanks,” I say wryly.
She puts her hand on my leg, her fingers squeezing my thigh. She moves them upward ever so slightly, and even though I know I shouldn’t, my body reacts. I try not to show it, but my groin contracts, hardens.
She leans upward, her mouth grazing my jaw.