“I don’t think I’ve ever been here at night,” Emily said, glancing around. “I didn’t think this place could feel so…empty.”
“It’s not empty,” Bette said, walking toward the far end of the room. “It’s calm.”
Emily, who was following her, staying just a few steps behind, nodded even though Bette couldn’t see. Instead of heading to the office at the back of the center, Bette stopped at an extra-large plinth and gestured for Emily to sit. Which she did. The plinth was more than wide enough for two people to sit comfortably apart, but Bette didn’t take the extra space. When she sat down beside Emily, their thighs brushed.
“Do you know those two doctors in the staff lounge?” Bette asked.
“Not well,” Emily replied, finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate on anything except for the heat radiating off Bette’s leg. It wasn’t just warmth, it was a complete distraction, as if her brain had decided that every future thought had to revolve around that one point of contact. She cleared her throat and focused on Bette’s face instead. “But I’m sure they’ll tell everyone what they saw tonight. You kissing me—especially like that—will be news tomorrow. If Oakridge had a newsletter, we’d be on the front page.” Emily added that last bit hoping to ease some of the tension clearly sitting in Bette’s posture.
It didn’t seem to help.
Bette bit at her lip, her eyes on her hands smoothing out the front of her pants. “I should’ve checked that we were alone.”
“Does it bother you?” Emily asked, not sure how Bette had even known she was in there. A good guess perhaps. Not that it mattered. She was just relieved Bette had finally come to her senses.
“What?” Bette looked up, eyes searching Emily’s face.
“That they know about…” Emily hesitated, unsure how to say it, unsure what it even meant. The kiss. Bette’s confession. Whatever it was that was unfolding between them. Emily wasn’t about to get her hopes up. Not yet anyway. Not until Bette hadwritten everything out on a piece of paper—in bulletin form. Easy to read. Easy to understand.
“Us,” Emily added after a pause, carefully watching Bette’s face for any sort of flinch or hesitation, any indication that the word was a mistake.
But there was nothing off, no sign of reluctance, no flicker of doubt in Bette’s eyes, which meant only one thing; Bette wasn’t going to run away this time.
“You know,” Bette said, staring off ahead at the anatomy posters stuck on the wall across the room. “I was married. For a long time.”
“I know,” Emily said, reaching forward to touch that faint, almost invisible ring tan on Bette’s finger. “You told me, remember? The night of the gala, when, you know…” She let the words trail off. If she said them out loud or even thought about what Bette did to her while she was pressed up against that stone wall, she wouldn’t be able to control the hum between her legs.
Sex in the rehab center was no doubt frowned upon.
Bette looked surprised for a second before that memory seemingly clicked into place. She smiled and nodded. “I do remember.”
“But you never told me what happened?”
“Do you want to know?” Bette asked, her gaze steady, though a slight wariness flickered in those beautiful honey-brown eyes.
Emily knew the right answer was to say no, to let it go, to keep the distance, and not dig into the past. But she couldn’t. In order to understand Bette, truly understand her, Emily had to find out about the woman who had hurt her.
And besides, how could they move forward without airing out all the messy truths first?
“Yes,” Emily said softly, dying to reach out and take Bette’s hand in her own. But she didn’t. Not yet anyway. “I want to know.”
Bette took a deep breath as if she was summoning the courage to speak. “I married Reba when I was thirty. We were together for about fifteen years.”
Emily bit back the gasp threatening to break free, swallowing it like it was a bitter pill. Fifteen years was a hell of a long time. A whole chapter of someone’s life. But she didn’t say anything, just nodded, giving Bette the space to continue.
“I thought we were happy,” Bette went on, her voice surprisingly calm. “Turns out while she was supposedly working in her studio on some new art piece, she was screwing our neighbor, Lucy Thomason. Mother. Wife and local dentist.”
Emily’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’tthat.
Bette turned to Emily and gave a bitter smile. “Months, Emily. It went on for months and I didn’t have a clue. Not until I came home one day from a walk and saw them in the driveway, in the backseat of my Mercedes. You’d think they’d be a little more discreet. Turns out, Reba was dying to get caught.”
Emily’s stomach twisted. The visual of Bette’s ex-wife—though she had no idea what she even looked like—in the backseat of her car was like a sucker punch. The casual cruelty of it. The sheer disrespect. It made her blood boil.
“After that,” Bette said quietly. “I started thinking about the signs I missed. There were so many. Reba making excuses on weekends to spend time away from me. Heading to her studio at night saying she needed inspiration. Waking up in the mornings to an empty bed… And I just let it go.” Bette let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I didn’t even question it. I trusted her.”
Emily wanted to scream. Wanted to find this Reba woman and run a knife through her most valuable and loved painting. Or whatever hurt her more deeply.
“I can’t say it was all her fault.” Bette continued. “I didn’t exactly give her the attention she needed. I was busy with work, busy with…everything. I guess I made it easy for her?—”
