The Good Widow_A Novel Page 15

  “No. I told you. I got over the initial lie. I’m still pissed at you because you fucking sold it. You sold me that twenty percent like you were a goddamn used-car salesman. You made me think it was a real, actual possibility.”

  His words sliced through me. Every syllable, another sharp cut.

  I wanted to believe it was a possibility.

  “The doctor didn’t say it was impossible.”

  “But she also didn’t say it was very likely.”

  “Twenty . . . percent—it’s still something.” I was crying so hard, I could barely get the words out.

  “Enough with statistics, Jacks. Enough! If someone told you that you had an eighty percent chance of dying, would you feel good about those odds?”

  I glared at him. Searched his dark pupils for the man I’d thought I’d married. But his eyes were cold, his jaw set, his stance like that of a bear about to pounce. And in that moment, I was convinced he might actually hate me.

  “Are we ever going to get past this?” I asked him, my voice soft and measured. This argument had become an endless circle, a wicked carousel that neither of us knew how to escape. It was true—I’d let my emotions cloud my judgment when I met James. His love for me had made me feel invincible. And that 20 percent had felt conquerable. But I had been so wrong. About myself. About him. About us. And I was so, so sorry about that. But I didn’t know how to explain that to him. How to say it without sounding hollow. “You’re going to have to choose to stop resenting me if we’re ever going to make it. Because we can’t go on like this.”

  James looked at me, his eyes flickering, and I held his gaze—I had to see what was really behind those beautiful eyes, the ones that had instantly engaged me so long ago. We stared at each other without saying anything until, finally, he broke away and looked down.

  “It’s very possible that I may never get over it.” He forced on a pair of pants, then a shirt, not bothering to tuck it in, then grabbed his roller bag and flew down the hallway as I tried to holler after him, his words having cut me so close that I could barely breathe.

  I’ve played back that morning so many times, wishing I could change things—that I could wrap my arms around him instead of hurling insults, that I could have chosen differently so he didn’t walk out the door that day with resentment burning in his heart.

  But learning about Dylan has made me face the reality that I’d lost James long before that argument. He had slipped away from me once and for all on that New Year’s Eve. He may not have cheated on me until several years later, but the fuse had been sitting there, waiting to be lit.

  Nick doesn’t speak right away when I finish my story. He may not understand why Dylan would stray, but now he knows why James did.

  “It’s still not your fault,” he says after several beats.

  “How can you say that?”

  “He could have left, Jacks. If he was that upset about your lie—which, by the way, I think is a pretty understandable one to tell—he could have divorced you. He didn’t need to have an affair, to get another woman pregnant.”

  “Maybe it was his fuck you to me,” I say.

  “From what you’ve told me, he wasn’t an evil genius. He was a guy who didn’t appreciate what he had but was also too much of a coward to let you go. If he really loved you, you guys could have adopted children.”

  I thought of his family’s zealous pride in their Costa Rican heritage. How whenever we were with his mother, grandchildren—or the lack of them—was always a topic of conversation. She’d mention how many kids James’s uncles had between them. Eighteen! How out of place she felt at family gatherings as she listened to all the other grandmothers brag about their star soccer player grandsons or their granddaughters who were learning to cook paella. James would simply glare at me as his mom rambled on. I once overheard her asking James if he planned to divorce me if I couldn’t conceive. “It’s not too late for you. You’re still young; you could meet a nice young childbearing woman,” she said, and I walked away before I could hear his answer.

  I shake my head. “That’s not how they do it in his family.”

  Nick sighs. “Then that was on him. You guys had options. James was just too much of a prick to consider them.”

  “And now he’s dead.”

  Nick pauses before responding. “I’m sorry that he hurt you. But if we leave this island with one thing, it’s that I want you to know that Dylan and James were adults who made their own choices. We could beat ourselves up about the things we did that may have pushed them away, but they chose to betray us. That’s on them, not us.”

  Intellectually I know he’s right. But my heart will always believe my lie pushed James away.

  “Fuck them,” Nick whispers. He’s huddled close, his face almost touching mine.

  His proximity feels right. After all, I just shared my deepest regret. It seems fitting he’s as close to my heart as he can be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  DYLAN—BEFORE

  Dylan sat on the toilet in the ABC drugstore bathroom and held her hand to her mouth. She’d been pretty sure the two pink lines would appear, announcing that her life was about to change. But she was still surprised by how intensely the realization that she had a baby growing inside of her took her breath away. By how torn she felt—both deliriously happy that she would share a part of James that his wife didn’t, and scared shitless that he might not be as thrilled about the news as she was.

  She knew James wanted children. Once, when they were drunk, she’d worked up the courage to ask him. She played mind games like that sometimes. Extracting the kind of information from him she would if they were in a real relationship and the answers would actually impact her. But when he’d told her that he did want kids, her heart sank sharply. What if his wife got pregnant? Would he stay married to her? He didn’t elaborate, and Dylan had fallen silent, shocked at how much his words had hurt. That had been an opportunity for him to say, Yes! With you! And she feared, for the billionth time, that she’d never be more than the girl he hid behind closed doors.

  But at least she knew he wanted to be a father. She just didn’t know if he’d want to be a dad to this baby.

  Dylan put her hand on her abdomen and wondered when she’d first feel the little life move inside of her. When she’d first hear the heartbeat. She was embarrassed to admit she didn’t know much about being pregnant—her only friend with kids was Katie, and they’d reconnected after she’d had her babies. But as soon as Dylan got home, she’d buy that book about what to expect and go see her doctor. She’d get all of her questions answered. Although there was one she knew only James could give her—would he be with her at that appointment?

  If he weren’t there, Dylan was convinced it would be because of his wife. They had a strange marriage, in Dylan’s opinion. Sometimes when he spoke of Jacqueline, his mouth would twist in a weird way, his voice would take on an edge, and his body would tense. But other times he seemed almost melancholy, hinting at the better times they’d once shared, or recounting a positive anecdote about her. It was almost like he saw his wife as two different people. And Dylan wondered if she was replacing the one James didn’t like, and if somehow she and Jacqueline made up the one woman he wanted. But separately, would Dylan be enough? Would this child swing the pendulum in her favor? Dylan only knew one thing for sure: this baby was going to speak the words she never could and make James decide between her and his wife. That was the only way this relationship could continue. That meant there was no hiding anymore.

  She’d first thought she might be pregnant on the morning before they left for Maui. She’d been feeling run-down and squeamish for the past week—her lower back aching at the end of her shift, her belly swirling when she served the huevos rancheros. She’d thought it was the flu and had been panicked—she was counting down the days to her vacation with James, and because Dylan believed in signs, she was terrified that getting sick and missing the trip would be the universe’s way of telling h
er that they weren’t meant to be. But then, as she was packing for Maui, she’d thrown up, and as she’d knelt by her toilet, she’d noticed a box of tampons on the counter and couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her period. But she’d been irregular before. Plus, she felt nauseated and had a terrible headache and was exhausted—all symptoms of the flu. At that moment, she was more concerned she might miss the trip entirely. She worried about that a lot—the price she’d have to pay for her actions down the road.

  And now she wondered if her baby would too.

  She’d asked James about karma once. They’d been having breakfast in bed after she’d met him in downtown LA the night before. That was Dylan’s favorite time with James—the mornings. She loved the feel of his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he slept. She always woke before him so she could listen to him breathing, wanting to cherish every moment before he went off to live the part of his life that she didn’t belong in.

  James had been telling her a story about getting a flat tire and waiting two hours for help. Then the spare had popped on the way to the mechanic. “It felt like the universe was conspiring against me!” he’d said, a smile creeping across his lips.

  “Do you think it was? Because of us?” Dylan asked. She had begun to read significance into each poor tip she received, long line she had to sit in, anything—big or small—that didn’t go her way. She worried she was being punished.

  “What? No way!” James had laughed before pausing when he saw the look on her face. “Do you really think that?”

  “Sometimes,” Dylan said. But what she was thinking was, All the time. “What we’re doing is wrong. Don’t you think at some point this will catch up with us?” Dylan motioned toward the bedsheets.

  James sighed. “Dyl, people make questionable choices all the time, but it doesn’t mean bad things happen to them as a result.”

  Dylan had thought about those words a lot after he said them. Was that how he saw her? As a questionable choice? But, like so many times before, she was too timid to push him to elaborate. So scared of saying the wrong thing and causing him to leave her. Wanting to be his refuge, not more of what he had at home.

  James had continued. “Look at all the greedy politicians and executives. They do terrible things every day and only get richer and more powerful.” He pulled her in for a kiss, and Dylan tasted his coffee on her lips before he said, “You worry too much.”

  “I guess the universe makes exceptions for true love.” Dylan laughed but studied James’s face intently. It had been four months, and he hadn’t told her that he loved her yet. There were days she was sure that he did, like when he sent her soup when she was sick or when she told him that she was cutting costs and had to stop buying her favorite soy milk latte at Starbucks, and he’d loaded one hundred dollars into the account on her phone while she was in the bathroom. Those things meant love, didn’t they?

  But James’s eyes betrayed nothing. “Maybe it does,” he’d said, and pushed their breakfast tray aside, pulling her body toward his.

  Dylan got up from the toilet and splashed water on her face. She knew she’d been in the bathroom too long, that James would come looking for her if she didn’t hurry up. She struggled to remember when she’d had her last period, finally recalling Easter brunch—how the new hostess had slammed her with too many tables, and Dylan had bitten her head off, then run to the restroom shortly after and realized why she was being such a bitch. That was over two months ago. But she was always careful when she had sex.

  Except.

  That night she’d met James in Ventura. It had taken her hours to get there in traffic, the cars on the 405 and 101 freeways an endless parade of lights. Dylan had pulled down the rearview mirror every few minutes to check her makeup. To brush her hair. The minutes before she saw James were always the best and the worst. The anticipation. The anxiety. It melded together until she laid eyes on him—then it fell away.

  They’d found a little Spanish tapas bar near the beach and sat outside. It was spring, but the weather hadn’t quite caught up with the season, and it was chilly even with the heater. They’d feasted on small plates of stuffed olives, croquetas, and prawns in olive oil. Dylan had never tasted food so good and loved how he took the time to explain each dish to her. They’d walked next door where an eighties cover band was playing, James making a joke that she hadn’t even been born when those songs were on the radio. They’d danced until they could hardly stand, then stumbled back to James’s hotel room, him sliding his hand up her skirt in the elevator, kissing her so deeply they missed their floor. Once they got to the room, he’d thrown her down on the bed and hiked her skirt over her hips. She turned to face him, but he twirled her back around hard and pulled her panties aside. Dylan had been shocked—James had never been this dominant with her before. It felt dangerous and selfish, but also exhilarating. She found herself wanting him to tell her what to do, who to be—wanting him to own her. And in his rush, James hadn’t put on a condom.

  After, as they lay in bed, James was back to the James she knew, sweetly cuddling her, blanketing her bare shoulder with soft kisses. “Sorry, I got a little carried away there.”

  Dylan laughed. “You think?”

  “Did it scare you?”

  “No,” Dylan said quietly. “I was surprised, but I liked it.”

  “I was just watching you dancing in the bar, your skirt swinging up and giving little hints as to what might be under there, seeing the way the other guys were looking at you. It was so hot, I couldn’t control myself when I got you alone. I wanted you to know you belonged to me.”

  Dylan took a deep breath. “I do.”

  Dylan startled at the sound of the knock at the door. “Dylan, are you in there?”

  “Yes, sorry, I’ll be out in a minute!” she said as she frantically wrapped the test in toilet paper and stuffed it in the bottom of her straw purse.

  “Sorry,” she said as she swung the door open.

  “Still having stomach problems?” James asked.

  “Yes, but not too bad.”

  “You sure?” he said, and took her hand. “You gonna be okay?”

  Dylan searched James’s face. “I’m going to be just fine.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  DYLAN—BEFORE

  “You got us a Jeep?” Dylan leaned against the cherry-red door and raised an eyebrow at James.

  “I did. You like it?” James twirled the key around his finger proudly.

  Dylan tried to smile, but all she could think about was how bumpy the ride was going to be. How the sharp twists and turns of the road to Hana were going to make her more nauseated than she already was. She’d hauled herself out of bed this morning, running the water and quietly gagging over the toilet so James wouldn’t hear. All she’d wanted to do was sleep all day. But she also understood that this time with James was precious, and she wanted to savor every minute.

  “Oh, shit. I should’ve asked you first. I just assumed.” He turned away, obviously disappointed. He’d been talking about this Hana adventure for weeks. The Jeep was part of the fantasy for him.

  “No, it’s going to be great,” Dylan said quickly. “I’m just going to need this.” She grabbed the Dodgers hat off his head and put it on hers. She took a drink of the overpriced bottle of water she’d purchased at the coffee kiosk by the front desk, trying to distract herself from the acid swirling in her stomach.

  “You sure this is okay, that you’re okay?” James squinted at her. “We don’t have to do this.”

  “Totally fine!” Dylan sealed her lie with a grin. Earlier, after James had left to get the rental car, Dylan had run back to the bathroom and vomited twice—unable to keep down the orange juice or the oatmeal with dried fruit that had seemed like such a good idea when she’d ordered it.

  James put his arms around her neck. “Good. I thought it would feel great on a day like this,” he said, looking up at the cloudless sky. “Besides, now you’ll be the hot girl in the Jeep. A
nd I’ll be the lucky guy who gets to sit next to you.”

  Dylan blushed at his compliment, forgetting her sick stomach for a moment.

  “This dress, by the way. It makes your skin sparkle.”

  Dylan poked her finger between James’s ribs. “Okay, now you’ve gone too far—you can’t be serious with that line! So. Cheesy. Has that actually worked on someone before?” Dylan laughed. She had a voracious appetite for James’s compliments, but sometimes he walked a fine line between making her feel special and sounding like a bad Saturday Night Live skit. She always told herself it was part of his charm and pushed away the inauthentic nature of his words.

  James laughed and pulled her into him.

  “What’s so funny?” Dylan tilted her head back and let him kiss her deeply.

  He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I love that you just said that to me. Where’s that sassy Dylan been hiding? I’d love to see more of her.” His hand moved down to her hem, and he teased her by putting one of his fingers under the white fabric and stroking her thigh.

  “You would, huh?” Dylan pressed herself into him and felt him get hard. She loved how she could turn him on so easily. Nick was so much more intense and dramatic about what making love meant. He’d never have done it here, in the parking lot of the hotel. He would have needed them to be home, in the bedroom, where couples having “sexual intercourse” belonged. For James, having sex was like an animal instinct. She knew he’d fuck her right there on the side of the Jeep if she’d let him. She wondered if that desire would change after she told him about the baby.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Dylan hadn’t realized she’d stopped kissing him. “Nothing.”