Desperately Seeking Epic(28)

“What happened when you went home to Texas?” Ashley asks. I hate talking about this. It was one of the worst days of my life. But Neena asked for this one thing. A true story of how it all came to be . . . how she came to be. So I start talking.



The flashbacks of thirteen years before, and my first interactions with Paul, coursed through my mind. My attempt—and fail—at jumping left me angry. What a horrible experience. Paul James was an arrogant ass and I wanted nothing to do with him ever again. The whole thing upset me so badly I went straight to my hotel, packed my bag, and headed to the airport. It’s official, I would gladly sell my half to Paul after that experience.

In the cab ride to the airport, I called Kurt, but it went directly to voicemail. He must be in a meeting, I’d thought. Shocker. I’d call him later.

It took eight hours to make it home with layovers and such, and by the time I’d hit that blessed Texas soil, I was beat. The only thing I wanted was a warm bath and my husband. So I really hoped he was home. Through the hours of the long journey home, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. No matter how terrible life could get, I had my health, my friends, and Kurt. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but I loved him and I knew he loved me. He was extremely busy, but I could always count on that. Always.

After paying the cab driver, I drudged my achy feet up the stairs to our apartment, dragging my gigantic suitcase behind me, wondering what in the hell I packed. Unlocking the door, I pushed it open, yelling, “Babe!” It wasn’t until I was inside that I bothered to look around and saw candles lit. Then I saw Kurt standing near the love seat, hands in the pockets of his slacks, watching me.

My eyes teared up. I hadn’t realized the toll this trip had taken on me emotionally until then. The man that killed my parents left me half his business. I couldn’t get over that fact. What a mind trip. My heart swelled as I took in the room, the beautiful candles, and my handsome husband. He was my rock; my steady.

“You’re home,” Kurt sputtered, his tone uncertain.

“Yeah,” I sighed as I shut the door and flung myself on him. His arms gingerly wrapped around me. “I love you so much. Thank you for this.”

“Clara,” he grumbled my name as he peeled me away from him. “We need to—” The sound of the toilet flushing in the hall bathroom interrupted him, causing me to jerk back. Did I just hear that?

“Who’s here?” I asked as the sink cut on for a moment before cutting off again.

Kurt dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not what you think, Clara.”

I stared at him a moment, waiting for him to clarify, but he didn’t have to. The tall, leggy woman with long, brown hair that emerged from the restroom and froze when she saw me was enough clarification. Her eyes darted to Kurt, then back to me, then back to Kurt.

“Yes, that’s right,” I finally said. “I’m his wife who showed up unexpectedly. And you would be . . . ?”

“You should go Daisy,” Kurt interjected.

“Her name is Daisy?” I asked in disbelief. Daisy, to her extreme credit, grabbed her purse and left. Kurt immediately turned the lights on and started blowing the candles out. My heart sunk realizing what a fool I was. I thought this was for me. But how stupid was that? Kurt didn’t even know I was coming home. Of course it wasn’t for me.

“Who is she?” I quietly gritted out.

“A friend,” he mumbled as he lowered his head.

“How long have you two been seeing each other?” My anger anchored me, allowing me the strength to question him without breaking down right away. My voice was calm and steady, my gaze direct even though Kurt looked anywhere else but at me. Coward.

“I haven’t slept with her,” he stated as he picked up two candles and walked past me to the kitchen. “She’s a friend.”

Turning, I crossed my arms, my blood pressure rising as each second passed. “So you always hang out with your female friends in candle light?”

Shoving the candles into the cabinet, he shut the door and leaned his head against it for a moment before turning to face me. My stomach flipped when his gaze met mine. I could read his thoughts before he even spoke. He didn’t love me anymore. Not like a husband should love a wife, anyway.

“I haven’t cheated, Clara. I need you to know that. But if I’m being honest . . .” He paused and clenched his eyes closed before opening them again, “I’ve wanted to,” he finished.

I blinked furiously in an attempt to stop the tears, but they fell anyway. “I thought things were better. I thought we were better.”