The Good Wife(147)
“He’s so mad at me, Dad.”
“He wants off the leash.”
“He’s not on a leash.”
“You’re snooping and sneaking and checking up on him—”
“I’m trying to protect us.”
“Listen to me, babe. Trust on a leash isn’t trust.”
* * *
Sarah hung up, wandered outside, wandered across the lawn, then crossed the street to the beach, watched the waves break on the sand and the kids jumping waves. The sun was beginning to drop into the sea, a bright orange ball that turned the horizon copper. Families were gathering towels and blankets. Teenagers flirted by the volleyball nets.
She could see the place where Boone had sat, watching her play volleyball that second day. She’d worn a pink bikini, the bottom so tiny her mother had almost had a heart attack.
God, she’d been so confident then.
She’d fallen for Boone, but she didn’t let him know it, keeping him guessing, making him work.
She’d loved the chase, and the challenge. It’d been thrilling. Those long-distance calls. Her first visit to him in Atlanta. Her first night there, and how they’d made love for hours.
With Boone, she felt like the most amazing thing in God’s creation.
He proposed before the end of summer. They married at Thanksgiving. She left San Francisco to be with him. They were only in Atlanta another year before he was traded to Houston.
It had been a good life.
They’d had a great marriage.
And if she closed the door on the past, they could have a good future.
If she could close the door. That was the key. She had to trust him, and let him go.
A virtually impossible thing for a competitive girl like her.
Maybe that’s why she hadn’t forgiven him. It was her pride. She was angry he’d embarrassed her. Humiliated her. Played her.
“It’s going to be a beautiful sunset,” Meg said, joining her at the beach wall.
Sarah glanced at her sister. Meg wore a colorful tunic, Tory Burch, Sarah thought, recognizing the red and blue and ivory pattern.
“You doing okay, Meg?” Sarah asked, remembering what Kit had said about Jack not forgiving Meg, and how it’d crushed her.
“It’s not my favorite year.”
Sarah would have to agree with that.
“I wouldn’t say this to anyone else,” Meg said after a moment. “But I know you’re struggling, so I’m going to be honest with you. I wish I’d done things differently. With Jack.” She pursed her lips, considered her next words. “I wish I’d asked for a divorce.”
Sarah’s jaw dropped.
Meg nodded. “I wish I’d taken more time to think about what I really needed before I insisted we stay together and work it out. But I didn’t take time. I was scared and ashamed. Worried about what everybody would think.”
“So you really did want to be with Chad?”
“I really wanted to be happy.”
Sarah didn’t know what to say to that.
Meg studied her youngest sister. “I don’t know what’s best for you. Only you know that. So here’s my advice: don’t worry about what other people think. This—your marriage—it’s your marriage. This is your life. Those other people . . . they have their own lives. They have their own relationships. They don’t get to have a say in yours. They don’t get to vote. My opinion . . . Dad’s . . . Kit’s . . . Boone’s parents’ . . . none of our opinions matter because none of us are in your marriage. None of us are in your bedroom, or your bed. You are. And you, and only you, know what’s best for you.”
Sarah drew a deep breath. There was a great deal to process, but Meg’s words resonated with her. What her sister said made sense.
“Dad said I’m an athlete who’s walked off the field in the middle of the game, forfeiting the game,” Sarah said. “I’m not quitting because the ref made a bad call. I’m quitting because Boone cheated.”
Meg smiled at her. “But you love the game.”
Sarah frowned. “Do you mean, I love Boone?”
“I mean you love it all. Boone, life, challenge. You love to play. You love to put it out there. You’re dangerously competitive, you take risks, you go for it. And you did. Always. In school, on the volleyball court, with Boone.”
“Dad wants me to work it out with Boone.”
“Dad wanted me to work it out with Jack. That’s Dad. He’s old-fashioned. He likes his girls married. He likes everything tidy and safe. And yet he’s the retired firefighter. His only son is a firefighter. His dad and brothers and grandfather and great-grandfather were all firefighters, too. This risk thing is in the genes, Sarah. It’s part of our DNA.”