The Good Wife(139)
“What is going on?” Boone asked, flipping on the light as he entered the bedroom and came to stand at the foot of the bed.
Sarah sat up. “What are you doing here?”
“Brennan called me. Said you were sick and couldn’t get out of bed. Not even when the kitchen caught fire.”
“The kitchen didn’t catch fire. The foil he wrapped the pizza in did. And I wasn’t in bed when it happened. I was getting ready to take a shower.”
“Why is our eight-year-old cooking his own pizza?”
“Because he didn’t want to wait for me to make it.”
“And why should he wait for his dinner?”
“Because in real life, people wait. They wait for things all the time, Boone. It’s part of life.”
“Oh, so you’re going to tell me about life.”
“Yeah.”
He grimaced. “Have you been drinking?”
“No!”
“Not even a glass here and there?”
“No.”
“So what’s going on?”
God, he sounded cold. “I’ve had a bug.”
“Is that why you didn’t go to your dad’s house yesterday?”
“Yes.” She picked at the comforter. “Why didn’t you go?”
“Why do you think?”
She held her breath, trying to keep her cool.
“Brennan said you’ve spent the last four days in bed.”
“I took them to swimming and a friend’s house today.”
“Why was Brennan cooking without supervision?”
“He was supposed to wait.”
“He said he’d waited hours.”
“Not hours.”
“But more than an hour.”
“He knows where the pantry is. He could get himself a snack—”
“Just like he could microwave his own pizza?”
“You’re right. It’s my fault the microwave caught fire. It’s my fault he was hungry. It’s my fault our marriage is over. Just like it’s my fault that I gave up law school and all my dreams when I fell in love with you.”
“What does that mean?”
Sarah’s chin jerked up. She met his gaze, her expression just as furious and flinty as his. “It means I’m furious. I blame me. You never asked me to give it all up for you. I did it myself. I did it without thinking twice. And now I don’t understand why . . . why did I give up what I wanted, what I needed, to be with you?”
“Wow. So that’s how you feel.”
“You know how I feel? Angry. Betrayed. Betrayed by what I thought it would be. Betrayed by what I thought it would mean. I loved you. I still love you. But somewhere in loving you I stopped loving me.”
He looked at her for an endless moment before nodding. “Okay.”
Okay.
She wanted to laugh if only to keep from crying.
Okay.
What the hell did okay mean?
“I’m saying this because I love you, Sarah. But you need to get away . . . get some rest. Pull yourself together so you can be a good mom to our kids, kids I know we both love very much.” He paused, waiting for her to speak, and when she didn’t, he continued. “I’m going to stay here with the kids until I leave Friday for the next road trip. I’ll find someone to stay with them while I’m gone. If you’re feeling better next week, come home. If you need more time to sort through things, then stay away. Just let me know by text or phone what you want. But I can promise you this, we’re not going to tear those kids apart. We’re not going to put them in the middle, not like Meg and Jack did. I’d rather cut off my right arm than have those kids hurt. They’re good kids. They deserve to be protected. Can you agree with me on that?”
She nodded. Her eyes burned.
“And I’m not kicking you out, Sarah.” He dropped his voice, his tone gentling. “This is your home, and you’re a great mother, a very devoted mother, but you’re clearly burned out. You need some time to take care of you now.”
“But where do I go? What do I do?”
“You could travel, or go to a spa, or do a girls’ trip somewhere.”
Her shoulders shifted. “I don’t know anybody here.”
“You have your sisters.”
Sarah blinked, taken aback. But he was right. She did have her sisters. Funny, she kept forgetting about them. Forgetting about her big, sprawling Brennan family.
How was that possible?
But then, how was it possible that she and Boone were divorcing?
Tears filled her eyes and she struggled to breathe through the heartbreak. A life without Boone . . . a life without the person she loved best . . .
“Maybe you go do one of your Brennan Girls’ Getaways, where you go to Capitola,” he said, still gentle, his expression kind. “You like the beach. You can sleep in. Drink.”