The smile disappears from Graham’s face and his eyes are suddenly sad again. The variance in his expressions is so extreme. When he’s sad, he looks sadder than anyone I’ve ever known. But when he’s happy, he looks happier than anyone I’ve ever known.
Graham threads his fingers through mine and squeezes them. “I made a really stupid choice once that had some devastating consequences.” His voice is quieter and I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it. But I love that he does anyway. “I was nineteen. I was with my best friend, Tanner. His sixteen-year-old brother, Alec, was with us. We had been at a party and I was the least drunk of the three of us, so I drove us the two miles home.”
Graham squeezes my hands and inhales a breath. He’s not looking me in the eye, so I know his story doesn’t end well and I hate it for him. It makes me wonder if this is the flaw that makes him look as sad as he does sometimes.
“We had a wreck half a mile from my house. Tanner died. Alec was thrown from the vehicle and broke several bones. The wreck wasn’t our fault. A truck ran a stop sign, but it didn’t matter because I wasn’t sober. They charged me with a DUI and I spent a night in jail. But since I didn’t have a record, I was only charged with injury to a child and put on a year of probation for what happened to Alec.” Graham releases a heavy sigh. “Isn’t that fucked up? I got charged for the injuries Alec received in the wreck, but wasn’t charged in the death of my best friend.”
I can feel the weight of his sadness in my chest as I stare at him. There’s so much of it. “You say that like you feel guilty you weren’t charged for his death.”
Graham’s eyes finally meet mine. “I feel guilty every day that I’m alive and Tanner isn’t.”
I hate that he felt he had to tell me this. It’s obviously hard to talk about, but I appreciate that he did. I bring one of his hands up to my mouth and I kiss it.
“It does get better with time,” Graham says. “When I tell myself it could have just as easily been me in that passenger seat and Tanner behind the wheel. We both made stupid decisions that night. We were both at fault. But no matter what consequences I suffer as a result, I’m alive and he isn’t. And I can’t help but wonder if my reactions could have been faster had I not been drinking. What if I hadn’t decided I was sober enough to drive? What if I’d been able to swerve and miss that truck? I think that’s what feeds most of my guilt.”
I don’t even try to offer him reassuring words. Sometimes situations don’t have a positive side. They just have a whole lot of sad sides. I reach down and touch his cheek. Then I touch the corners of his sad eyes. My fingers move to the scar on his collarbone that he showed me last night. “Is that where you got this scar?”
He nods.
I lower myself on top of him and press my lips to his scar. I kiss it from one end to the other and then lift up and look Graham in the eye. “I’m sorry that happened.”
He forces a smile, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “Thank you.”
I move my lips to his cheek and kiss him there, softly. “I’m sorry you lost your best friend.”
I can feel Graham release a rush of air as his arms wrap around me. “Thank you.”
I drag my lips from his cheek to his mouth and I kiss him gently. Then I pull back and look at him again. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Graham watches me in silence for a few brief seconds, then he rolls me over so that he’s on top of me. He presses his hand against my throat, gripping my jaw with gentle fingers. He watches my face as he pushes inside me, his mouth waiting in eagerness for my gasp. As soon as my lips part, his tongue dives between them and he kisses me the same way he fucks me. Unhurried. Rhythmic. Determined.
Chapter Sixteen
* * *
Now
The first time I dreamt Graham was cheating on me, I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. I was gasping for air because in my dream, I was crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. Graham woke up and immediately put his arms around me. He asked me what was wrong and I was so mad at him. I remember pushing him away because the anger from my dream was still there, as if he’d actually cheated on me. When I told him what happened, he laughed and just held me and kissed me until I was no longer angry. Then he made love to me.
The next day he sent me flowers. The card said, “I’m sorry for what I did to you in your nightmare. Please forgive me tonight when you dream.”
I still have the card. I smile every time I think about it. Some men can’t even apologize for the mistakes they make in reality. But my husband apologizes for the mistakes he makes in my dreams.
I wonder if he’ll apologize tonight.
I wonder if he actually has anything to apologize for.
I don’t know why I’m suspicious. It started the night he came home too drunk to remember it the next morning and the suspicion continued to last Thursday, when he came home and didn’t smell like beer at all. I’ve never been suspicious of him before this month, even after the trust issues Ethan left me with. But something didn’t feel right this past Thursday. He came straight home and changed clothes without kissing me. And it hasn’t felt right since that night.
The fear hit me hard today, right in the chest. So hard, I gasped and covered my mouth.
It’s as if I could feel his guilt from wherever he was in that second. I know that’s impossible—for two people to be so connected that they can feel each other even when they aren’t in each other’s presence. I think it was more of my denial inching its way forward until it was finally front and center in my conscience.
Things are at their worst between us. We hardly communicate. We aren’t affectionate. Yet still, we walk around every other room in our house and pretend we’re still husband and wife. But since that drunken night, it seems like Graham stopped sacrificing. The goodbye kisses started becoming more infrequent. The hello kisses have stopped completely. He’s finally stooped to my level in this marriage.
He either has something to feel guilty for or he’s finally done fighting for the survival of this marriage.
Isn’t that what I wanted, though? For him to stop fighting so hard for something that will only bring him more misery?
I don’t drink very often but I keep wine on hand for emergencies. This certainly feels like an emergency. I drink the first glass in the kitchen while I watch the clock.
I drink the second glass on the couch while I watch the driveway.
I need the wine to still the doubts I’m having. My fingers are trembling as I stare down at the wine. My stomach feels full of worry, like I’m inside one of my nightmares.
I’m sitting on the far-right side of the couch with my feet curled beneath me. The TV isn’t on. The house is dark. I’m still watching the driveway when his car finally pulls in at half past seven. I have a clear view of him as he turns off the car and the headlights fade to black. I can see him, but he can’t see me.
Both of his hands are gripping the steering wheel. He’s just sitting in the car like the last place he wants to be is inside this house with me. I take another sip of wine and watch as he rests his forehead against his steering wheel.