“Yes. I saw your note.”
Holding my iPhone up, he says, “I see you found this.”
“You had no right to tell me it was lost,” I say irritably. “Not to mention changing my access code.”
“What did we agree on?”
Furiously, I rub at the steam on the glass to stare him down.
“Sibley.” He shakes his head angrily. “What did you tell me would be different after your birthday?”
“You mean the birthday you forgot?” I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. “That I would give you access to my phone. And I did,” I grumble. “Which is why you were able to change it in the first place.”
“You reached out to Nico before you crashed your car.” He shrugs. “We agreed you wouldn’t text him any personal messages, and you did it anyway.”
I don’t have a recollection of this, so I shrug my shoulders.
“Come on, let’s go eat.” Holden points downstairs. “The food’s going to get cold.”
When we go downstairs to eat, he’s lit some candles and set the formal dining table, and it only makes me feel more like a piece of shit. Even sitting close, we have a noticeable distance between us. It makes me sad, and I stare at his profile while he unwraps and uncovers our dinner.
He settles a napkin in my lap, and our eyes lock.
Mine are filled with tears.
“Sib?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, forcing the tears to retreat. “This looks delicious.”
“I hope so. It’s your favorite.” He sits down next to me. “Are you okay? You seem off, like a light bulb just turned off in your head.”
“I’m just . . . apprehensive.”
With wooden expressions, we sit in silence at the table, both lost in our own thoughts. There’s so much I want to ask him, but I’m scared to open our collective wounds. My ego’s fragile, and deep down, I’m worried my inability to handle an answer I don’t want to hear will set me back.
Twirling some pasta on my fork, I finally say, “I know I need to do this. I know it’s been difficult. I want to fix this and fix us. I know I have to accept responsibility for my actions.”
“I know, Sib. I just hope it isn’t too late.”
“Me too.”
“Are you scared?”
“No.” I meet his eyes. “Petrified.”
He grabs my hands in his and holds them tightly.
“Will you please sleep with me tonight?” I plead.
Hesitating, he stares down at our interlocked hands. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I just mean, in the same bed. Please,” I beg. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. It’s my last night here.”
Holden relents, and after we climb into bed later, he quickly switches off the lamp on the nightstand. Because of my constant headaches and a good chance of a concussion, we’ve kept the lights low or off.
He clasps my hand in his, and we lie together, side by side, in silence. I feel impending doom, a sign of a panic attack lurking, and my resolve to never drink again lessens.
I whisper, “It’s going to be weird to be cut off from society and have no access to technology. This will be the longest we’ve gone without communication.”
“It might be good for us,” he offers. “I think we can talk after you finish detox. That might be a good goal. Being able to speak with your husband after you purge the bad stuff.”
“Will you miss me?”
Even in the absence of light, I sense indecision.
Instantly, my body tenses, a knee-jerk reaction. I pull my hand from his.
“Sibley, stop,” he quietly commands. “I’m not going to lie and say it hasn’t been stressful for a while. You put us through the wringer.”
“What about what you’ve done?” I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re not innocent in this, Holden. There’s two of us in this marriage.”
“I know,” he concedes.
“So this will be a nice reprieve for both of us.”
“Please don’t say it that way.”
“Why?” I wish I could turn my back to him. “It’s true.”
“I don’t want to fight,” he begs quietly.
“Then let’s go to sleep.” I bring my hand up in the dark, and a fingernail goes to my mouth, a nervous habit of mine. My nails are already a wreck, but I find comfort in ripping away another sliver of skin, as shredded as my dignity.
I yelp as the metallic taste of blood hits my tongue.
“Stop biting your nails,” Holden chastises, yanking my hand away from my face.
Neither of us can sleep, and I fumble for him in the dark, hoping Holden will want to close the void between us. He doesn’t swat my hand away, instead choosing to entwine his fingers with mine, but it’s another glaring spotlight on our tenuous marriage, and I wonder if we’ll outlast the next six months or finally grind to a halt.
He wraps his hand around my wrist, and I become anchored to him. When he does this, I sometimes feel claustrophobic, as if caught in an undercurrent, and if something happens, he’ll pull me down with him to drown. But tonight, I need his superfluous touch.
Holden tosses and turns beside me, and coupled with my intrusive thoughts, neither of us can sleep comfortably for more than a few hours at a time.
It’s as if we’ve lost the power to tread water. Now we’re just floundering.
CHAPTER 12
Sibley
Bleary eyed in the morning, I’m surprised when Holden hasn’t loaded his Subaru up with my luggage but instead has breakfast waiting for me downstairs.
When I’m seated, he tells me there’s been a change of plans. He seems nervous, his hands fidgeting as he moves the salt and pepper shakers around. “I talked with Adrienne . . . about, uh, about taking you.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’ll be here in a few to pick you up.”
“You don’t want to take me?”
“It’s not like that.” He removes his glasses. “Crap. I can go
