Just One Night, Part 2_ Exposed(37)

Dave lets the fork drop back to the table, but he holds his silence. I nod, knowing he’s giving me his answer. He won’t be going to Freeland, he won’t be fighting me anymore. This battle is over. He’s letting me go.

Discreetly I take the ruby off my finger and push it in his direction. I’m careful about this. I don’t want anyone else to notice. He scowls at the offensive piece of jewelry.

“I hate this ring,” he mutters. “I hated it when you picked it out and I hate it even more now.”

“Of course you do,” I say; there’s no judgment in my voice. “You want a woman who is comfortable with the easy transparency of diamonds, not the flawed passion of rubies.”

“Silks,” he says. “That’s what the jeweler called the flaws in a ruby. I don’t understand it. Why would you give such a pretty name to an imperfection?”

I smile and sigh. “I know you don’t see the beauty in that. That’s why we don’t work.”

I look down at my hands, now naked of adornment. “I am sorry I hurt you. It shouldn’t have taken an affair for me to find myself. I should have figured it all out by myself. I should have been stronger. I’m so, so sorry that you had to suffer for my weakness.”

Dave nods curtly. “Will you leave together?” he asks.

I glance up at Robert’s table. “No. He’ll leave a few minutes after me. If you like, you and I can walk out together, for appearances.”

He perks up slightly at that. It’s the first thing I’ve said during this entire meeting that he’s comfortable with.

He signals for the check and I pull out my cell and send Robert a text.

I’m going to walk out with Dave but then we’re going our separate ways, permanently. Everything has been handled. No need to follow.

I watch as Robert glances down at his phone as a waitress brings him a cup of coffee. He reads as he sips, not bothering to put any cream or sugar in it. He takes it black. I didn’t know that.

It’s funny but that bothers me. How many other little details do I not know about the man who has redefined my life?

His response is quick and to the point.

You shouldn’t be alone with him. I’ll follow.

It’s the response I predicted but I had hoped for better.

Everything is fine. He and I are done hurting each other. I need you to trust me with this.

I press Send as Dave gives the waitress his credit card.

I can see Robert’s frown as he reads. For a moment I question the wisdom of using him as my “perceived threat.” It’s a little like using a mountain lion as a guard dog. You have no real control over who and when it will attack.

But Robert meets my eyes from across the room and gives me a stiff nod before sending yet another text.

If I don’t hear from you in five minutes I’m coming after you.

It’s funny because I know his interest is in protecting me but the text makes me feel like I’m the one he’s targeting.

I put my phone back in my purse, smile at Dave. “Let’s go.”

He gets up first, stands politely by as I gather myself. We walk out side by side, past the tattooed man and dyed-haired woman, past Robert, only stopping briefly at the table filled with the wheelers and dealers who greet Dave warmly and me with the civility required.

Once outside we walk the block to where I’m parked. My ring is in his pocket; my keys are in my hand.

When we reach my car I turn to him. “We have things in one another’s houses. Shall I bring your stuff to your place and pick up mine or visa versa or—”

“I’ll bring your stuff to you, pick up mine,” he interrupts. “If it’s all right I’ll do it while you’re at work; Monday afternoon should work. I’ll mail you the spare key you gave me . . . or—”

“You can just leave the key under that plant—”

“The potted cycad by the kitchen entrance—”

“Yes, the one I bought at Boething last year—”

“I remember.”

We stop. He shoves his hands into his pockets, directs his attention to the passing cars. Good-byes are never elegant. There are always things left to be said, little memories that need to be shoved aside, littering our minds until time finds a way to discard them. Finality, which should be so easy, is always awkward.

“I guess I should go then,” I say softly.

He nods, turns but then stops. “I had an affair, too.”

I drop my keys. Confusion followed by a new sense of indignation. All the righteous anger he had thrown my way and he had been guilty, too? Was he kidding?

When he turns back to me I expect to see the triumph of a man who’s delivered a knockout punch, but instead I just see sadness.