Oh, he didn’t like hearing that. “So . . . what are you saying? You want to give up? Just because I made a dumb mistake and things might get hard?”
Did I want to give up?
My thoughts were a mess, and when I didn’t respond immediately, he withdrew like I’d slapped him. Surprise and hurt painted his expression, and the temperature in the car plummeted twenty degrees.
“You know what?” he snapped. “I’m tired and kind of hungover, so maybe you should go before I say something I don’t mean.”
“Look, I don’t know what I’m feeling. Everything with us happened so fast and it . . . scares me.”
“I got it.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, and it was as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “There’s an umbrella in the glove compartment if you want it.”
He’d all but told me to get the hell out of his car. It was even more clear when he started his engine.
I wasn’t one to overstay my welcome, so I shoved open the door and stepped out into the pouring rain. I’d never felt so lost as when I turned back to look at him.
He had to shout it over the storm. “She said you’d give up on me as soon as the going got tough. Like you always do.”
Was he talking about his mother? My mouth hung open as the cold rain pelted down on me, making me numb.
“Don’t prove her right, Erika.”
Then he put his Jeep in gear, stepped on the gas, and as the car took off, the force of it pulled the door from my hand and slammed it shut.
Erika
The rest of my afternoon was spent with my emotions ping-ponging wildly. It was impossible to get any work done. One moment it would be rage at what Jenna had said about me, then unease she might have been right.
She tried so hard to shield Troy from failure, but wasn’t that exactly what I was doing to my relationship with him?
I was able to get a grip when I focused on a goal. Clark’s address was listed somewhere in our divorce papers, and once I found it, I drove over to his townhome after work. Thankfully, I spotted his car in the shared parking spaces, so it was likely he was home.
Anxiety twisted inside me as I pressed the doorbell. He’d become such a stranger to me over the last year. Would I recognize the man who opened the door? I sucked in a deep, preparing breath as it swung open.
Clark was still in his work clothes, a collared button-down shirt and slacks. His eyes went enormously wide as he peered at me. “Erika?”
It was rude, but since he’d come onto my property without an invitation, I did the same. It forced him to back up into his living room when I barged in. “We need to talk.”
His shoulders slumped and his gaze fell to the floor. “This is about me showing up at your house?”
“You’re goddamn right, it—”
Something was off about his place. I’d been distracted when I’d charged in, but now as I glanced around, I realized how sparse it was. He’d taken some of the furniture in the divorce to populate his new place, but it didn’t look like he’d bought anything new. There was the brown couch from our bonus room sitting in his living room, but no end tables or coffee table in front of it. Just a couch and TV stand, plus a stack of boxes against the back wall.
“Are you moving?” I asked.
“No.”
“What’s with the boxes?”
He hesitated. “I haven’t gotten around to unpacking them all.”
Awareness dawned on me. We’d separated a year ago, and he’d purchased this townhome almost immediately. “You live like this?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I do.”
It reminded me of his apartment in college, back when he’d been a bachelor. I’d forgotten he’d been kind of hopeless until I came along. His mother had done everything for him, even his laundry on the weekends. I’d had to teach him how to cook and clean, but I must have missed how to decorate.
There was nothing personable in this space, and it felt sad and temporary. “You should have asked Jenna for some interior design help when you spoke with her.”
“You mean, when I called to tell her what I caught you doing with her son?”
If he wanted to get a rise out of me, it was wasted. I acted indifferent. “Yes, that’s what I meant.” I put my hands on my hips. “You want to tell me why you thought it was acceptable to come into my backyard without my permission?”
“Exactly how was I supposed to get your permission?” Irritation made his jaw set. “You hadn’t answered my calls in months.”
“You could have tried leaving a message.”
“Right,” he said sarcastically. “Because I had total confidence that you’d return it.” It seemed like he was losing whatever battle was waging in his head. “I didn’t have a fucking clue what to say, and it wasn’t something I wanted to leave on a damn voicemail either.”
The living area was open to the kitchen, and it was next to a stack of bills where I discovered the only framed picture he had on display. It was the two of us on our honeymoon in Greece, the Parthenon looming in the background. It was a great picture of our happiest time.
But we weren’t those people anymore.
I gestured toward the frame. “I can’t imagine Derrick likes that.”
Clark’s silence was painful and telling.
The animosity inside me waned. “You’re not together?”
His eyes turned glassy. “A few months ago, he, uh . . . went back to his wife.”
“Oh, Clark . . .” He’d told me he’d fallen in love, and despite everything, I hurt for him. I meant it genuinely. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” He wiped away a tear as if angry at it. “Don’t you think I got what I deserved?” He forced out a rueful smile. “I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. I pushed everyone away, and you were the only one who knew about us, so . . .”
“Was that why you called?” Really? He’d wanted relationship advice from me, his ex-wife? I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d always put the emotional labor on me. The divorce hadn’t changed that.
“I understand why you didn’t answer,” he said quietly, “but before Derrick, you were my best friend.” He swallowed a breath. “I’m sorry for how often I called. At first, I was going to try to apologize.” He was terrified to admit it, but maybe he was tired of holding it in. “I was struggling with a lot of shit, and I didn’t handle any of it well, but I found after a while, hearing your voice helped.”
Oh, wow.
“You called . . . so you could hear my voicemail message?”
Color rose in his neck. It always happened when he was embarrassed. “I can’t explain why, but whenever I was having a bad day or missed talking to you, I’d call. I figured you’d either eventually answer or block my number, and then I’d be able to move on.”
I reeled from what he’d said, unable to find words.
“And when my calls started going straight to your voicemail, I still couldn’t move forward.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was awful to you. I had so much guilt and shame I didn’t know what to do with it, and so I let Derrick convince me it wasn’t my fault. It was yours.”