“Ryan!”
Realizing what he is about to do, he pauses with his hand still in mid-air. The boy stares up at him, eyes wide, a gasp caught in his throat.
Ryan freezes completely. The hand comes down slowly, and now he crumples. He turns away from Damian, and I grab the boy in my arms, then carry him away. Damian is not quite sure what is going on, but he starts to cry.
I caress his hair gently, then his cheek. “It’s okay, sweetie. You didn’t do anything wrong. You just can’t sneak up on your dad, remember? We talked about this. He scares easily after what he has been through. He can’t forget all those terrible things like bombs and people shooting at him. He’s just afraid.”
I glance toward Ryan, who is leaning against the counter, catching his breath. I know he’s beating himself up. This isn’t the first time it has happened.
“I am sorry, Daddy,” Damian cries. “I am so, so sorry.”
“Shh,” I say and hug him, trying to calm my beating heart, kissing his forehead. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean to. Luckily, nothing happened.”
I say the words, watching Ryan regain his composure. I can’t help thinking, not this time, at least.
I make spaghetti and meatballs, and we eat, even though the atmosphere is a little tense around the table. I can’t figure out if Ryan is angry or embarrassed. It might be a bit of both. Maybe he thinks Damian should know better by now than to sneak up on him; perhaps he doesn’t know how to tell him how sorry he is for almost punching him. Isabella says she isn’t hungry and leaves the table quickly after eating a few bites, claiming she needs to do her homework. I know she’s just using that as an excuse since she told me earlier that she doesn’t have any homework, but I can’t blame her for wanting to leave. She’s very sensitive to tension and has a hard time dealing with it.
I wish for a second I could just up and leave like that. I’m still angry about Ryan trying to tell me not to talk to Vera anymore. I am not gonna do it, of course, but it still bothers me that he’d say those things—especially what he said about Clarice. I can’t believe he could be so insensitive.
Ryan stabs his fork into a meatball a little aggressively, then shoves it into his mouth and chews with his mouth half-open. He shakes his head with a scoff.
“What?” I ask.
“I was just thinking about something funny,” he says, then drinks his iced tea. He puts the glass down hard on the table, and the silverware clanks. “It’s a military thing. You wouldn’t understand. You should have been there.”
“But maybe Sandra would have understood?” I say, not quite realizing I have said it out loud until it’s too late. It just bursts right out of me.
Ryan stops chewing. He stares at me, the fork still in his hand. The silence is long and fills the room. Damian doesn’t notice, at least I don’t think so. He eats without even looking at us.
“What the heck?” Ryan asks. “Why are you talking about Sandra all of a sudden?”
I look down at my food, then shrug. “It’s nothing. Just forget it.”
“It’s not nothing, Laurie. I know you. Why are you talking about Sandra?”
“It’s just…well, did you have an affair with her?” I blurt it out. I don’t care anymore. I need to know. I deserve to know. If we’re trying to save our marriage, I have to know the truth. Can I trust him?
Ryan’s grin freezes. The look in his eye changes. His gaze hardens, and his eyes get a gloomy look to them. I regret saying it; I want to take it back, but it’s too late. Ryan turns to look at our son, then speaks with a firm voice. It’s deeper than usual like it only gets when he is really angry, or very serious.
“Damian. Go to your room.”
“But…I’m not done?” the boy argues.
“Now,” his dad says, and the boy obeys.
I feel my pulse quickening. Why did I have to say that? Why now? Was it because I was mad about the things he said in the kitchen earlier? Was I trying to get back at him?
I can apologize, I think. If I tell him how sorry I am, maybe he’ll let it go?
Ryan turns to face me, and I know it’s too late. No apology will take back what I said. Saying sorry won’t save me.
“What in the…Laurie, what are you talking about? And in front of the boy?”
I stare at him, my heart pounding. I am not backing down now.
“Did you?”
He shakes his head, then slams his fist onto the table, causing the plates to jump. “No! That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Why would you say something like that?”
I can’t tell him I have been snooping around, reading his messages, so I clam up. Suddenly, he looks like he remembers something, or just figured it out.
“I know where this is coming from.”
Please, don’t say Vera; please, don’t.
“Vera. She’s the one who put these ideas into your mind, isn’t she? Well, isn’t she?”
I shake my head. “No. It has nothing to do with her.”
“Then, I don’t understand. Where is this coming from all of a sudden?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I feel like a child. He makes me feel this way—like I am just a foolish kid, and it annoys me. I am not normally like this. I think about telling him how I know…that I know he met with her, that I read the messages, but I know he’ll get angry. I think about his hands around my throat the last time I went too far when I asked him what happened in Afghanistan. I don’t want to feel that again. It might be nothing. Maybe he didn’t have an affair with her after all.
“Dang it,” he says and drops his fork. He rises to his feet, pushing the chair backward across the floor. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
He leaves the house, slamming the door shut behind him. I don’t know where he is going; I worry he’s going to the bar with his friends. I fear he’ll come back drunk, or that he’ll not come back at all. I worry I have pushed him too far. If he leaves us again, the kids will never forgive me.
It’s like I can’t seem to do anything right anymore.
Chapter 15
Laurie pauses, then closes her eyes. Jonathan can tell she is getting tired. She keeps fighting those eyelids without much luck. As an experienced FBI agent, he knows there is a thin line between getting your witness to that vulnerable point where she tells all the details—even those that are painful—and then pressuring them to a point where they just tell you what you want to hear. Laurie has crossed that border now, and Jonathan exchanges a look with Detective Grande. She nods in agreement. There’s a small knock on the door, and a nurse peeks inside.
“The patient needs her rest now,” she says.
Jonathan nods. “We were about to wrap it up.”
Laurie opens her eyelids, even though one of them still droops in front of her eye. She looks at them, seeming almost desperate.
“I need to tell you the rest.”
Jonathan smiles, then nods. “Not yet. You need your rest. We’ll let you sleep for now, then be back in the morning.”
They get up and walk to the door when Jonathan hesitates. He turns to look at her, concerned.