“You mean about us,” he said, the knot of fear growing tighter.
“I mean about me,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “But yes, I’m also talking about us. Because I did want to say those things to her. I wanted to say them more than anything, because they’re true.” She shook her head, as if trying to clear her mind of the remnants of a dream. “But as my mom started talking, my real life came flooding back, and all of a sudden I could hear myself saying something different. It was like there were two radios tuned to different stations, each one playing an alternate version. In the other version I heard myself saying that I didn’t want Frank to know about any of this. And that I have children waiting for me back home. And that no matter what I said or how I tried to explain it to them, there would still be something inherently selfish about all of this.”
When she paused, Dawson watched as she absently twirled her wedding band.
“Annette is still a little girl,” she went on. “I can’t imagine leaving her, and at the same time I can’t imagine taking her away from her father, either. How could I explain something like this to her? So that she would understand? And what about Jared and Lynn? They’re almost adults, but would it be any easier on them? To know that I broke up the family so I could be with you? Like I was trying to relive my youth?” Her voice was anguished. “I love my kids, and it would break my heart to see their disappointment whenever they looked at me.”
“They love you,” Dawson said, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“I know. But I don’t want to put them in that position,” she said, picking at some flaking paint on the rocker. “I don’t want them to hate me or be disappointed in me. And Frank…” She drew an unsteady breath. “Yes, he has problems, and yes, I struggle with my feelings toward him all the time. But he’s not a bad man and I know that part of me will always care for him. Sometimes, I feel like I’m the reason he’s able to function as well as he still does. But he’s not the kind of man who would be able to wrap his mind around the idea that I’d left him for someone else. Believe me when I tell you that he wouldn’t be able to recover from something like that. It would just… destroy him, and what then? Would he drink even more than he already does? Or sink into some deep depression that he couldn’t escape? I don’t know if I can do that to him.” Her shoulders drooped. “And then, of course, there’s you.”
Dawson sensed what was coming next.
“This weekend was wonderful, but it isn’t real life. It was more like a honeymoon, and after a while the excitement will wear off. We can tell ourselves it won’t happen, we can make all the promises we want, but it’s inevitable, and after that you’ll never look at me the way you do now. I won’t be the woman you dream about, or the girl you used to love. And you won’t be my long-lost love, my one true thing anymore, either. You’ll be someone my kids despise because you ruined the family, and you’ll see me for who I really am. In a few years, I’ll simply be a woman pushing fifty with three kids who might or might not hate her, and who might end up hating herself because of all this. And in the end, you’ll end up hating her, too.”
“That’s not true.” Dawson’s voice was unwavering.
Amanda did her best to act brave. “But it is,” she said. “Honeymoons always come to an end.”
He reached for her then, his hand coming to rest on her thigh. “Being together isn’t about a honeymoon. It’s about the real you and me. I want to wake up with you beside me in the mornings, I want to spend my evenings looking at you across the dinner table. I want to share every mundane detail of my day with you and hear every detail of yours. I want to laugh with you and fall asleep with you in my arms. Because you aren’t just someone I loved back then. You were my best friend, my best self, and I can’t imagine giving that up again.” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “You might not understand, but I gave you the best of me, and after you left, nothing was ever the same.” Dawson could feel the dampness in his palms. “I know you’re afraid, and I’m afraid, too. But if we let this go, if we pretend none of this ever happened, then I’m not sure we’ll ever get another chance.” He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “We’re still young. We still have time to make this right.”
“We’re not that young anymore—”
“But we are,” Dawson insisted. “We still have the rest of our lives.”