“Why are you dressed like that?” my voice is raspy like I spent the night screaming.
“I took the day off of work.”
He won’t look at me, a bad sign. I am trying to remember what I did to him, when I catch a whiff of my hair. Smoke. I inwardly groan as the memories come drifting back. That was so stupid.
“Why?” I ask cautiously.
“I need to think.”
He heads out of the bathroom, and I follow him downstairs. Sam is feeding the baby, he raises his eyebrows when he sees me, and I run my fingers through my hair self-consciously. Screw him. This is entirely his fault. Ever since he showed up, my life has slowly started unraveling.
Caleb kisses the baby on top of her head and walks toward the door like he is late for something. I chase after him.
“What do you need to think about? Divorce?”
He stops suddenly, and I slam into his back.
“Divorce?” he says. “Do you think I should divorce you?”
I swallow my pride and the challenge that is on the tip of my tongue. I have to be smart. I’ve let myself get carried away lately. Pushed him when I had the chance to make things right.
“Let me go with you,” I say evenly. “Let’s spend the day together — talk.”
He looks unsure, his eyes darting to the nursery door. “She’ll be fine with Sam,” I assure him. “It’s not like I do anything anyway…”
My statement seems to seal the deal. He nods once, and I want to scream in relief.
“I’ll just be five minutes,” I say.
He heads out to the car to wait for me. I launch myself up the stairs two at a time and slam through the door of my closet almost falling over in the process. I put on a clean pair of jeans and pull a t-shirt over my head. In the bathroom, I splash water on my face, wiping away the smudged makeup and take a swig of mouthwash. I don’t bother with new makeup.
I come running out the front door, and I have a small heart attack when I don’t see his car. He left me. I am ready to fall down in the driveway and cry when his shiny BMW turns the corner. Relieved, I get in and try to play it cool.
“You thought I left you,” he says. There is humor in his voice, and I am so relieved to get something other than coldness, that I nod. He looks over at me, and I see surprise cross his face. I look down at myself self-consciously. I very rarely let him see me without makeup, and I never wear t-shirts.
“Where are we going?” I say, trying to distract his attention from how disgusting I look.
“You don’t get to ask questions,” he says. “You wanted to come along, so here we go…”
I’ll take it.
He turns the radio on, and we drive with the windows down. Normally I would have a fit about the wind messing up my hair, but I’m so beyond caring, I almost enjoy the feel of it on my face. He heads south on the highway. There is nothing but ocean in this direction. I can’t even begin to guess where he’s taking me.
We pull into a gravel driveway about an hour later. I sit up straighter in my seat and peer around. There is a lot of foliage. Suddenly, the trees open up, and I am staring at aquamarine water. Caleb takes a sharp left and pulls the car underneath a tree. He gets out without saying a word. When he doesn’t do his usual spiel of coming around to open my door, I jump out and follow him. We walk in silence, trailing the water until we come to a small harbor. There are four boats, bobbing gently on the swells. Two of the four are newer looking fishing boats. He passes these and heads for an old Sea Cat that is in bad need of paint.
“Is this yours?” I ask, incredulous. He nods, and I feel momentarily affronted that he never told me that he bought a boat. I keep my mouth shut and climb onboard without his help. Sea Cats are a British brand. I'm not surprised; he usually buys European. I look around in disgust. I am allergic to things that are not shiny and new. It looks like he has started to work on it. I smell the sharp tang of sealant, and I spot the can next to the hatch.
I try for a nice, neutral comment. “What are you going to call her?”
He seems to like my question, because he half smiles as he messes with the rope that holds us to the dock.
“Great Expectations.”
I like it. I was prepared not to, but I do. Great Expectations is the name of the book where he chose Estella’s name. Since I gave birth to the screaming pile of flesh, I feel pretty good about the whole thing. So long as it has nothing to do with Olivia. Don’t think about her, I chide myself. She’s the reason you’re in trouble in the first place.
“So are we going to take her out?” I ask the obvious question. His head is still bent, but he lifts his eyes to look at me as his hands work. It is one of those things that only he does. I find it incredibly sexy, and I get butterflies. I sit down on the only available seat — which is ripped — and watch the muscles in his back as he turns on the engine and steers us out of the harbor. I am so insanely attracted to him, even in the wake of our fight, I want to rip off his clothes and climb on top of him. Instead, I sit ladylike and watch as we cruise over the water. We stay like this for a long time, him at the wheel and me waiting. He turns off the engine. The shoreline runs in a parade of sand dunes and houses to my left, the ocean dark and blue to my right. He walks to the helm and looks out over the water. I lift myself from my seat and walk the few steps to join him.
“I leave tomorrow for Denver,” he says.
“I won’t go postpartum and kill your daughter — if that’s what you’re getting at.”
He tilts his head slightly and looks down at me. “She’s your daughter, too.”
“Yes.”
We watch the waves lap against the side of the boat, neither of us speaking our thoughts.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the boat?” I run my fingernails over the pad of my thumb.
“I would have eventually. It was a spur of the moment purchase.”
That’s fair enough, I suppose. I’ve bought shoes that probably equaled the cost of this thing without telling him first. But, spur of the moment meant it was an emotional purchase. The kind I made when I was in depression or worried about something.
“What else are you not telling me?”
“Probably the same amount of stuff you’re not telling me.”
I cringe. So painfully true. Caleb could see through walls like nobody’s business. But, if he really knew what I was not telling him, he’d be gone tomorrow ... and I couldn’t have that.
“I took the day off of work.”
He won’t look at me, a bad sign. I am trying to remember what I did to him, when I catch a whiff of my hair. Smoke. I inwardly groan as the memories come drifting back. That was so stupid.
“Why?” I ask cautiously.
“I need to think.”
He heads out of the bathroom, and I follow him downstairs. Sam is feeding the baby, he raises his eyebrows when he sees me, and I run my fingers through my hair self-consciously. Screw him. This is entirely his fault. Ever since he showed up, my life has slowly started unraveling.
Caleb kisses the baby on top of her head and walks toward the door like he is late for something. I chase after him.
“What do you need to think about? Divorce?”
He stops suddenly, and I slam into his back.
“Divorce?” he says. “Do you think I should divorce you?”
I swallow my pride and the challenge that is on the tip of my tongue. I have to be smart. I’ve let myself get carried away lately. Pushed him when I had the chance to make things right.
“Let me go with you,” I say evenly. “Let’s spend the day together — talk.”
He looks unsure, his eyes darting to the nursery door. “She’ll be fine with Sam,” I assure him. “It’s not like I do anything anyway…”
My statement seems to seal the deal. He nods once, and I want to scream in relief.
“I’ll just be five minutes,” I say.
He heads out to the car to wait for me. I launch myself up the stairs two at a time and slam through the door of my closet almost falling over in the process. I put on a clean pair of jeans and pull a t-shirt over my head. In the bathroom, I splash water on my face, wiping away the smudged makeup and take a swig of mouthwash. I don’t bother with new makeup.
I come running out the front door, and I have a small heart attack when I don’t see his car. He left me. I am ready to fall down in the driveway and cry when his shiny BMW turns the corner. Relieved, I get in and try to play it cool.
“You thought I left you,” he says. There is humor in his voice, and I am so relieved to get something other than coldness, that I nod. He looks over at me, and I see surprise cross his face. I look down at myself self-consciously. I very rarely let him see me without makeup, and I never wear t-shirts.
“Where are we going?” I say, trying to distract his attention from how disgusting I look.
“You don’t get to ask questions,” he says. “You wanted to come along, so here we go…”
I’ll take it.
He turns the radio on, and we drive with the windows down. Normally I would have a fit about the wind messing up my hair, but I’m so beyond caring, I almost enjoy the feel of it on my face. He heads south on the highway. There is nothing but ocean in this direction. I can’t even begin to guess where he’s taking me.
We pull into a gravel driveway about an hour later. I sit up straighter in my seat and peer around. There is a lot of foliage. Suddenly, the trees open up, and I am staring at aquamarine water. Caleb takes a sharp left and pulls the car underneath a tree. He gets out without saying a word. When he doesn’t do his usual spiel of coming around to open my door, I jump out and follow him. We walk in silence, trailing the water until we come to a small harbor. There are four boats, bobbing gently on the swells. Two of the four are newer looking fishing boats. He passes these and heads for an old Sea Cat that is in bad need of paint.
“Is this yours?” I ask, incredulous. He nods, and I feel momentarily affronted that he never told me that he bought a boat. I keep my mouth shut and climb onboard without his help. Sea Cats are a British brand. I'm not surprised; he usually buys European. I look around in disgust. I am allergic to things that are not shiny and new. It looks like he has started to work on it. I smell the sharp tang of sealant, and I spot the can next to the hatch.
I try for a nice, neutral comment. “What are you going to call her?”
He seems to like my question, because he half smiles as he messes with the rope that holds us to the dock.
“Great Expectations.”
I like it. I was prepared not to, but I do. Great Expectations is the name of the book where he chose Estella’s name. Since I gave birth to the screaming pile of flesh, I feel pretty good about the whole thing. So long as it has nothing to do with Olivia. Don’t think about her, I chide myself. She’s the reason you’re in trouble in the first place.
“So are we going to take her out?” I ask the obvious question. His head is still bent, but he lifts his eyes to look at me as his hands work. It is one of those things that only he does. I find it incredibly sexy, and I get butterflies. I sit down on the only available seat — which is ripped — and watch the muscles in his back as he turns on the engine and steers us out of the harbor. I am so insanely attracted to him, even in the wake of our fight, I want to rip off his clothes and climb on top of him. Instead, I sit ladylike and watch as we cruise over the water. We stay like this for a long time, him at the wheel and me waiting. He turns off the engine. The shoreline runs in a parade of sand dunes and houses to my left, the ocean dark and blue to my right. He walks to the helm and looks out over the water. I lift myself from my seat and walk the few steps to join him.
“I leave tomorrow for Denver,” he says.
“I won’t go postpartum and kill your daughter — if that’s what you’re getting at.”
He tilts his head slightly and looks down at me. “She’s your daughter, too.”
“Yes.”
We watch the waves lap against the side of the boat, neither of us speaking our thoughts.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the boat?” I run my fingernails over the pad of my thumb.
“I would have eventually. It was a spur of the moment purchase.”
That’s fair enough, I suppose. I’ve bought shoes that probably equaled the cost of this thing without telling him first. But, spur of the moment meant it was an emotional purchase. The kind I made when I was in depression or worried about something.
“What else are you not telling me?”
“Probably the same amount of stuff you’re not telling me.”
I cringe. So painfully true. Caleb could see through walls like nobody’s business. But, if he really knew what I was not telling him, he’d be gone tomorrow ... and I couldn’t have that.
