Page 31 of The Guest Cottage
“The lies. The betrayal.” Lifting one page, she said, “An apartment he rented that I knew nothing about.” She slapped the paper on the table. “A car he purchased that I never saw.” It joined the other paper. “A credit card, probably to buy gifts for the other woman.”
Damn. Pushing his coffee cup aside and sitting forward, Cort considered how to reassure her.
She spoke again before he had a chance. “I’m sorry. None of this is your problem.”
“I encouraged you to open it.”
She shrugged. “Not opening it was only prolonging the inevitable, so I’m glad I did.” Wearily, she rubbed her forehead. “You know what annoys me the most?”
He said nothing, leaving it up to her to continue.
“Me. I’m most annoyed at myself. How could I have been so clueless? He was carrying on a separate life, and I just blithely went about my business as if everything was fine and dandy. It wasn’t, I knew it wasn’t, but I also didn’t want to rock the boat.”
If they were a little more familiar, he’d give in to temptation to leave his chair, lift her from her own, and just hold her. Sadly, he didn’t have that option. “Enjoying the peace isn’t a crime.”
“It is when it’s not real peace, when it’s just . . . existence with a lie.”
Cort couldn’t disagree. For a long time now—since he’d turned twelve, really—his preferred method of dealing with trouble was to face it head-on. Grief, however, wasn’t that easy to conquer. “How’d you find out?”
Issuing another fake laugh, one that sounded close to a sob, she dropped her head back and closed her eyes. In a small voice, she confessed, “It’s almost too humiliating to share.”
Dark suspicions rose, and with them, a lot of anger directed at a dead man. “You don’t have to share anything if you’d rather not. But if you do, know that I won’t judge.” At least, he wouldn’t judge her. Her dickhead husband? That man he’d already tried and convicted in his head. “I’ll just say one thing.”
Marlow opened an eye to peer at him.
It was the perfect reaction, one that said it all in a simple and lighthearted way. She’d listen, but she was skeptical.
Challenge accepted.
Cort gave himself a moment to think, then decided to just go with his gut, say what he knew to be true. “Sometimes talking about something makes you realize it wasn’t as bad as you thought. It’s keeping it in here”—he touched his forehead—“and in here”—he touched his chest, over his heart—“that makes the hurt fester and grow.”
Tension eased from her shoulders, and the slight tilt of her smile was more genuine. “See, you’re fascinating.”
“So are you.”
Her smile warmed even more. “Ugh. The awful truth is that Dylan started insulting me. I think he was bothered that I hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t bothered to comment on, his growing lack of interest in me. I was so wrapped up in my work, mostly because it was all I had. That sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? Again, my choice, something I accepted.”
“You coped—until you stopped coping.”
“Well, it was tough to stay in denial when he’d tell me my hair was a mess or he’d comment that I was gaining weight. In the guise of a gift, he wanted me to go to a salon for a complete makeover. He said I looked dated and older than I actually was. His exact words were, ‘You look like a forty-year-old housewife.’ On behalf of tired women everywhere, I was insulted.”
“You should have suggested he see an eye doctor.”
Another quick grin, there and gone. “He insisted that I join a gym to get in shape and shed a few pounds.” Bracing an elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, she half laughed. “I took those shots badly, I’m afraid.”
It was only because he’d had a lot of practice that Cort was able to keep his thoughts contained. If her husband was sitting here right now, he’d probably punch him in the nose. “Please tell me you got in a few shots of your own.”
“He already went to the gym daily—at least, he said he did—but I told him he was wasting his money.” She wrinkled her nose. “I accused him of being flabby.”
Silently cheering her, Cort asked, “Was he?”
“Little bit.”
Cort grinned with her. He liked how she fought. “Good on you for pointing it out.”
“It was hurtful of me, I know, but it was starting to dawn on me why we were arguing. So many little things came together. I started to pay closer attention, to him but also to myself. In some ways, he was right. I hadn’t changed my hair in forever, and my wardrobe was always whatever the stylist said was business fashionable. But it wasn’t me. It didn’t reflect my real personality or my preferences. Somehow, in my marriage, I’d lost myself.”
Cort had zero personal experience in the marriage arena, but he had friends—some with happy marriages, some with marriages that fizzled out, and some that imploded in the most godawful ways.
