“Are you sure about that?” I ask questioningly, digging soul-deep into her with my eyes, trying to figure out what the hell’s going on inside her gorgeous head. “Why do you assume we’d fall back into old patterns? We’ve both done a lot of growing since the separation. I’ve finally settled down the way you want me to. Things are already very different. Why can’t you see that?”
“Have you, though? Really?” She eyes me seriously
I hesitate before replying. “Yes, more or less.”
With an explosive sigh, she exclaims, “It’s too little, too late. Besides, you’re still not leveling with me. Of course, I don’t know why I should expect any different from you. You couldn’t even be bothered to attend marriage counseling with me over Zoom.”
“I told you. I hated the therapist.”
“Yes, but you’ve never explained why.”
I reply angrily before I can catch myself, “Because he’s everything I’m not. Good looking, smart, educated, licensed. I’m a fucking brute compared to him, and I know it. Icouldn’t stand you looking at him, confiding in him, fucking being in the same room with him. It’s bad enough that you abandoned me while I was still overseas and served me divorce papers when there was absolutely nothing I could do to save our marriage. But to have you flirting with him while you claimed to want to salvage our marriage? Hell, no. You never even tried, Isadora, not in any way that mattered. And now I see no amount of convincing’ll change your mind.”
Shock leaves her eyes as wide as two dinner plates and her mouth hanging open. But I’m done.
I walk away without looking back. Fuck this shit. If she wants signed divorce papers, she’ll get them. Then, I’ll wrap up this job and be done with her. Done with her tight skirts, button-down sweaters, sexy black heels with scarlet soles, and panties dripping with thoughts of me.
Chapter Eight
IZZIE
Ihaven’t seen Wolfe all week, apart from drop-off and pick-up of the kids. And he’s worked hard to make those interactions terse and brief. I should be happy, right? After all, isn’t this what I want? Closure and the chance to move on with my life?
I guess “moving on” is still jumping the gun, considering I have yet to see signed divorce papers. But with the detached way he’s treated me this week, I can’t imagine they’re too far off. Why does the thought of our official divorce—finally getting what I’ve claimed to want for months—make me feel like I’m having a mix between a heart attack and a panic attack?
There has to be something wrong with me. I must be losing my mind because all I can think about is what happened at Travis’s place and how much I wanted it and more. When Travis and Faith caught us unexpectedly, embarrassment and shame slammed into me. How could I be so reckless and out-of-control in my former brother-in-law’s home?
I took those feelings out on Wolfe, saying things for a second time over the past seven days that I regret. Even in themidst of that heated exchange, my self-control hung by a thread. When he pointed out the fact we could be making love at his place or mine, my first instinct was to ask, “Which one?” Instead, I reached for anger, buttressing myself against the ferocious want that’s devoured me all week.
I continue to ponder the confession he made about our marriage therapist, too. I had no idea Paul made him feel that way. It brings so much clarity to the situation, only so far after the fact I don’t know if it matters anymore. Because of his intimidating appearance and cool confidence, it’s hard to imagine anything could make Wolfe feel insecure, but feeling that way and then seeing me via Zoom sitting in Paul’s office would have felt excruciating to him. How many other misunderstandings linger between us?
Wolfe has also been infuriatingly quiet on the subject of the museum and security. I know I have to trust him on the matter. I brought him in, and I need to let him do it his way. I know he won’t let me get stoned, but it’s hard to put blind trust in a man whose life remains constructed around so many deceptions.
At least he gave me the go-ahead to let the kids spend the weekend with my brother, Steve, and his family. He’s a hockey player, and he and his wife have rented a house at Tahoe for their oldest daughter, Maddy’s thirteenth birthday.
I just picked Matt and Stasia up from the after-school program, and I’ve got their overnight bags in the trunk of my car. Steve, Stacey, and the kids will be by any moment to pick them up. One of Stasia’s pigtails has come unbraided, and she complains bitterly to me as I make her hold still so that I can fix it. “Ouch!” she screams dramatically. She has one of the most tender scalps of anyone I know.
“Hold still, sweetie. When you move, it makes me accidentally pull your hair.”
“Daddy never pulls my hair.”
The thought of that giant of a man patiently combing and braiding her hair makes my heart warm. It also makes me instantly smile, even as my heart aches. God, I miss him and what we once were together.
Between Wolfe’s six months in the UAE and three months since his return, nearly a year has passed since we lived together and six months since I served him the papers. The last time we attended marriage counseling was over Zoom, and he hung up, infuriated within the first fifteen minutes.
I would have waited to serve the papers. It felt like a heartless thing to do, but he wouldn’t give me an end date on his contract. Knowing how unexpected things always seemed to come up, I went ahead with them. I wonder if the divorce papers made him come back early. They certainly seemed to settle him down. Just a little too late.But is it ever really too late when you’re married?It’s a question that’s been on my mind all week and one I still have yet to answer.
Why does that thought make my stomach drop and my eyes tear up? Although I’ve barely seen him all week, the three times I did, starting at Lucky’s, have turned my world upside down. And they have me questioning everything. But it’s got to be too late now. Right? Besides, he cheated on me. How else was I supposed to interpret his surly reaction and immature refusal to discuss the matter?
Stasia wiggles away from me as soon as her pigtail is back in place, although I have to admit my repair work doesn’t look as good as Wolfe’s original version. Who’d have thought an Army Ranger would specialize in little girl braids on the side? Matt comes running in with a new Pez dispenser. “Look what Richard gave me, Mom!” He exclaims, pulling another piece of candy out of the Spider-Man dispenser and popping it into his mouth.
“I hope you’re okay with Pez. He grabbed and claimed itbefore I could say a thing,” Richard says, following my son into the room.
The thirty-something professor has messy, curly mahogany hair and wears tortoise shell-rimmed glasses that give him a classic academic look. I feel bad for enlisting Richard’s help at the museum. I met him at Sac State, and after I got the director position, he kept asking if volunteers were needed. He already worked at a couple other museums in the region. So, I invited him to volunteer as a docent because of his exceptional knowledge of Native American artifacts. But I’m so embarrassed by what I’ve found since starting. I’m also nervous about what he’ll tell my advisor and those in the Anthropology Department once this all comes to a head.
“Pez is fine. Thank you, Richard. I’m sorry my kids are running around like this. I don’t mean to make you their babysitter.”
“It’s fine, Iz. You know how much I love your kids,” he says with a big smile. I sometimes feel like he wants more from me than a professional relationship. Something I can’t wrap my head around. After all, what man could ever compare to Wolfe? Richard’s intense gaze makes me feel uncomfortable, like an insect under a magnifying glass in the sun.
