“Well, thank goodness you two are here,” Vera says, and smiles. “It’s hardly a family dinner without you! Seth, how’s your stay so far?”
Under the white tablecloth, I put my hand on Delilah’s thigh, just above her knee, and give her a slight squeeze. She puts her hand on mine and squeezes back.
“Wonderful,” I say, silently thanking the powers that be that Delilah did the lying. “This place is beautiful.”
Vera smiles, her face lighting up as she leans in.
“We were so happy you could make it after all,” she says, and Delilah squeezes my hand again.
There are appetizers, wine, fancy bread. Winona and I laugh about Bree’s hide-and-seek skills and her love of a television show called Dinosaur Train, which as far as Winona can tell, is pretty much about dinosaurs who ride a train. I tell her how much Bree reminds me of Rusty, and reassure her that Rusty’s the greatest.
Olivia’s moved off of nursery colors and onto baby names. Vera is regaling Delilah with a dramatic story about a fundraiser with an unclear charity policy, and how horribly it went off the rails. Her brothers-in-law are having a detailed discussion about cars I’ll never own. Salads arrive, and I triple-check that I’m using the right fork.
“Seth,” calls Ava, seated next to Winona, leaning in. “How was your first time skiing?”
“Second,” corrects Delilah, pulling herself from the fundraising conversation.
“It may as well have been my first,” I point out, and Ava laughs. “Hard, but fun.”
“Skiing is hard,” Ava agrees. “I can’t imagine having to learn as an adult.”
“The whole pizza, french fries thing did feel a little juvenile,” I tease Delilah, who smiles and rolls her eyes.
“Sure, but you remembered, didn’t you?” she says.
“It didn’t save me.”
“I learned as a kid and last year I fell butt-over-teakettle on a run that wasn’t even hard,” Ava offers. “One of my skis came off and a ten-year-old returned it for me.”
“They should have an area that’s just for adults trying to learn,” I say. “So no one has to watch us disgrace ourselves.”
Ava laughs again.
“Sure, but at a certain point you really just have to go do it,” she says. “Like, I was totally terrified of the black diamonds runs until finally Nolan just took Delilah and I down the —"
She stops mid-sentence, her blue eyes wide as she glances at Delilah.
“Down Crunch Street?” Delilah asks, taking a bite of salad.
“Right,” Ava resumes. “He pretty much had to talk me through every single turn, but he was so sweet about it. Anyway, it’s just practice! Muscle memory and stuff. Besides, you’re kind of tall so you’ve got further to fall and that makes it harder. Do you guys want more wine?”
Ava tops our glasses off. We keep talking about skiing, and even though Nolan doesn’t come up again, I can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s standing right behind me. That he could talk to Vera about her fundraiser and the brothers-in-law about cars, take Ava down the hard ski runs, know which wine to pick.
That maybe it’s no wonder he’s the one she married.
But then Delilah leans in toward me, her hair brushing my shoulder, and she points her fork at an olive on my salad plate.
“You gonna eat that?” she asks.
“You know I’m not,” I tell her and she stabs it, pops it into her mouth, smiles at me.
“Thanks,” she says. “You want a crouton in exchange?”
I can’t sleep.
I don’t know why. Between the skiing, the sex, and the wine, I should have been out before my head hit the pillow, but instead every time I finally doze off, I wake up again half an hour later with the strange, unsettling feeling that I’ve left something undone, some problem unsolved.
I lie awake, tick through all the possibilities. There aren’t many, because I’m on vacation, and nothing needs my attention in the middle of the night in West Virginia.
I fall back asleep, barely. I wake up in a huge, comfortable bed, Delilah warm and naked next to me. I still feel like there’s something moving just underneath my skin.
Finally, around four in the morning, I give up. I get out of bed, pull on a shirt, a sweater, my plaid pajama pants. I walk into the living room, rub my eyes, wish I’d brought slippers with me, pad to the fireplace and turn it up.
I’m standing exactly where Nolan was in the photo I found, the one hidden in the closet underneath towels and sheet and her wedding album. I look down at my feet. I walk quietly to the bedroom door, close it silently.
The box is exactly where I left it, of course, under a stack of sheets and towels, all bleached perfectly white and folded neatly. I take them out, put them on the floor.
The cardboard sags in my hands, and for a moment I think it’s going to give way and send everything crashing to the floor, waking Delilah up. I brace it with a hand underneath. Look at the bedroom door again.
I know better than to think I’m acting right as I place the box gently on the dining table, push the flaps aside. I know that the clean slate and starting over were my idea. I know she’s long-divorced and the past isn’t supposed to exist, let alone matter, but none of that stops me.
The album is still on top. Hardbound, leather cover, glossy pages inside. I flip through it and try not to linger on any one page: the kiss, the first dance, the posed photo under a lit archway. Her family is there. Her sisters are teenagers; Vera looks remarkably the same.
The photos I found before. The two of them, standing right there, looking happy. Her hair shorter, her face rounder, his arms circling her middle like he’s caught her and is pulling her back.
There’s more. A birthday card, the greeting that came with flowers. A few more photos, one with them on skis. A cutesy, fake-rustic sign that says “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott.” Tchotchkes. Their wedding guestbook.
And then, at the bottom: a small jewelry box that rattles when I pick it up. I’m pretty sure I know what I’m going to find, but when I pop it open, I’m still surprised.
There are two rings. One’s expected, the glittering monster I saw on her finger at the Whiskey Barrel. The other I’ve never seen before: a matching wedding band, tiny diamonds embedded in delicate gold.
I don’t think about the fact that tens of thousands of dollars of jewelry are sitting in a cardboard box in a closet. I don’t even wonder what they’re doing here.
I just try to imagine them on her finger, and I can’t.
I’m still staring at them when the bedroom door opens and she leans out, naked except panties, blinking.
“Hey,” Delilah says, voice foggy. “You okay?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I tell her, folding my fingers around the rings as if I can hide what I’m doing.
“Yeah, that bed is a little weird,” she says. Yawns. Stretches. The Kraken and the vines move like they’re alive. “It just takes a little…”
She trails off, arms crossed over her chest, leaning in the door frame.
“What are you doing?” Delilah asks, suddenly sounding more awake.
I tighten my hand, the diamond digging into my palm.