Morning Glory(43)

“So what happened?” I ask cautiously.

“I gave it up for her,” he says. “I quit and came home. But I resented her for it. That first year stateside was a dark time for me, partly because we worked together—the business arrangement wasn’t a healthy one—and partly because I was going through some of my own issues. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was suffering from some serious post-traumatic stress from my time in Sudan. I thought I could just jump back into regular life, but it doesn’t work that way. The brain needs time to work through what it’s seen. And I saw some ugly things.”

“Understandably so,” I say. “Surely she understood the difficulty of the transition.”

“No,” he says. “She expected more of me. I started drinking again, and with my family’s history of alcoholism, that was dangerous behavior. Don’t get me wrong, there were moments of happiness. I tried. She tried. I got sober. I even saw a therapist for a while. But in the end, I couldn’t shake my demons. So on the morning of Thanksgiving nine years ago, I woke up and she was gone. She left a note on the kitchen counter, changed her cell phone number, started a whole new life. A month later I was served with divorce papers, and I signed them. If she wanted out, I wasn’t going to stop her. I’d already made her life miserable.” He rubs his brow and looks up at me cautiously. “But she kept something from me,” he says. “Something I could never forgive her for. But I’ve come to—” His phone suddenly rings from inside his vest pocket, and he pulls it out and looks at the screen. I see something flash in his eyes, and he looks at me. “I’m so sorry, Ada. I have to take this.”

“I’ll wait here,” I say, still reeling from all he’s told me.

He steps away from the table to the nearby lobby, and I think about Kellie now in a whole new light. I actually feel sorry for her. He had the perfect marriage—an adoring, beautiful wife—and he threw it all away because he couldn’t get his act together. It’s a harsh way of looking at it, but it’s true. James would have fought for me. James would have figured out a way to make it work. But Alex is not James.

I try not to listen to Alex’s conversation. He’s only a few feet away, so I can make out bits and pieces of what he’s saying. I take a bite of my gnocchi, and my ears can’t help but listen in. “Kellie, please don’t,” he says. “You know I didn’t mean that. . . . Why must you put this on me?” He listens for a long moment, and then his frown turns to a smile. “Oh, honey, I’m here. I love you.”

My eyes shoot wide open. It’s so sorely obvious that he’s still in love with her. How foolish I’ve been to think that he could care for me when his heart belongs to Kellie. I pull two crisp twenty-dollar bills from my wallet and set them on the table beside my napkin, and before he gets off the phone, I weave my way through the dining room to the back door.

Tears sting my eyes as I run down the hill to Boat Street. I race down the dock, just as rain begins to fall overhead. I jam my key into the lock and close the door behind me. The raindrops hit the lake outside in steady succession, like my tears. And when I hear Alex knocking softly on my door ten minutes later, I don’t open it. This was a mistake. All of this was a mistake.





Chapter 17





PENNY

Careful,” Collin says as we step down to the dock. He reaches for my hand and I let him take it.

My head hurts a little, but other than that I feel all right. “I’ll bet Dex is home now,” I say.

He walks me down the dock, and I’m glad that Naomi and Gene aren’t home and relieved that Jimmy isn’t milling about. I wouldn’t want to worry him, nor would I want to explain myself to his mother.

I know Dex isn’t inside the houseboat even before we step up to the front door. He always leaves his shoes on the doormat, right beside the shriveled geraniums in the flowerpot. But his shoes aren’t there. I’m relieved, but I’m also a little sad.

“I don’t know where he is,” I say to Collin tearfully. I didn’t expect my voice to quiver like it does.

“There, now,” he says, patting my arm. “Let’s get you inside.”

He walks me to the davenport, where I lean back against the cushions and prop my feet up against the armrest where Dex’s head has lain on so many quiet Saturday mornings.

Collin brings me a glass of water and a pill, and I doze off.



The light is bright when I open my eyes. My head pounds. I sit up, disoriented. “Dex!” I cry.

Instead, Collin appears. He’s coming from the kitchen, with a plate of cheese and sliced fruit. “Morning,” he says cheerfully. “How’d you sleep?”