“You didn’t have to come with me.”
“Sure I did.”
Our arms were by our sides, our hands inches from touching. I laced my fingers through his. My hand had spent so much time in his that day, what did a few more minutes signify?
The train rattled past our changed city and on and on until it was out. It was a one-stop shop, the police officers told us on the purple line, running all the way to Linden, which meant we went right through downtown Evanston without stopping. It was unbearably hot and eerily quiet. No one was speaking; they were buried in their phones, hitting “Refresh” on their news feeds. I couldn’t bring myself to look. I didn’t want to know the details, how many dead, how many missing, who else I knew who wasn’t coming home. I didn’t want the confirmation that Tom was where I knew he was; his failure to answer any of the messages I’d sent him after Cassie’s question was all the confirmation I needed. I kept my phone in my pocket, my eyes fixed on the back of the person standing in front of me, and tried not to think too much about what I’d have to face at home.
When we got to Linden, Joshua was there. He was standing in front of his minivan, one of a long line waiting like parents in a school pickup line. He was scanning the crowd, up on his tippy-toes, not wanting to miss anyone. I dropped Teo’s hand and waved at him frantically.
“Joshua! Over here.”
Our eyes locked for a moment, but then he continued his scan.
And that’s when I knew. He wasn’t there for me. He was there for Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn! She was as lost as Tom.
My knees buckled.
29
THE LEAST COMPLICATED
CECILY
Tom and I never spoke about the texts again. When I woke up the next morning in our hotel room, he was gone. He’d left a note—out for a run, then coffee, I’m sorry—and didn’t return for several hours. When I could drag myself out of bed, I climbed into the large marble shower and stood there until it felt like I was drowning, as if every pore in my body was waterlogged, my skin turning into an angry prune. I still didn’t know how to process what had happened, but I felt dirty, contaminated. I wanted to scour every inch of skin off my back, and my insides out, too.
As I scrubbed and scrubbed, I started to question everything that had happened in the last six months between us. All the times I’d cuddled up to Tom in bed. The times when we’d had sex. The small intimacies every couple has. Was it all tainted now?
Was six months enough? Should I go back a year? Two? How much of my life did I have to readjust? Tom didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t ask so many things. The lack of details was killing me, and yet I knew better than to make a list of particulars, because Tom would tell me, and then instead of speculation, I’d have facts. Somehow I knew the facts would be worse than anything I could imagine, even though I had a good imagination.
When I started envisaging Tom’s tongue trailing over someone else’s skin, I got out of the shower and wrapped myself in the oversize bathrobe like a hug. I kicked the blankets Tom had slept in into the corner. I didn’t need any more reminders of him. I picked up my phone. There were messages from the kids with questions about missing soccer equipment, whether something was in the laundry. My mother asking if we were having a good time, Kaitlyn wondering if we could meet for lunch on Monday. I’m shocked at the gall of that now, knowing what I know, but then I was happy to hear from her. I almost called her to talk about what had happened because I needed someone else’s voice in my head other than my own.
Tom brought back coffee, a bag full of freshly made bagels, and a container of fruit. We sat at the small table in our room in silence. He tried to speak, but I raised my finger to my lips and he fell silent. I couldn’t eat, could only sip at my coffee, which tasted bitter and scalded my tongue. I felt as if I needed to hollow out my insides with a spoon, to remove every extraneous thing. My wedding band was tight on my finger. I twisted it off. Tom watched me do it, his eyes wide, wanting to ask if this was some greater symbol, if this was the end. But I silenced him again with a look, and then I brought out the laptop and rebooked our flights home. We dressed and packed quickly, and Tom took our luggage downstairs to check out while I did a last sweep of the room.
I stood in the doorway in my belted trench coat, looking at the ruin of the bed, the dirty windows that couldn’t block out the iconic view. I shoved my hands into my pockets, balled into fists, and came up against the rough edges of a piece of paper. I pulled it out. It was the certificate Tom had given me the night before, the star he named after me, his big romantic gesture, which I would’ve been delighted with a few days ago but now felt like a cheap joke.
I tossed it in the trash.
• • •
I go upstairs, leaving Kaitlyn in the living room, and admonish Cassie again to stay in her room. “No texting, no outside communication,” I say.
“But what’s going on?” Cassie asks. “That’s Aunt Kaitlyn, isn’t it? How can she be here?”
I almost tell her to hush, Henry might hear, but what’s the point? There’s no way to keep this secret in my own house. Besides, things have been dicey with Cassie ever since I told her and Henry that things between her father and me
