The Husband's Secret(157)
“Of course you can,” said Lauren, and suddenly she shrieked, “Rob!” Rachel heard the deep rumble of Rob’s voice in the background. She heard Lauren say, “Go and pick up your mother.”
Poor dear Rob. Under the thumb, Ed would have said.
“No, no,” said Rachel. “He’s only just stepped out of the shower. I’ll drive myself.”
“Absolutely not,” said Lauren. “He’s on his way. He wasn’t doing anything! I’ll make up the sofa bed. It’s surprisingly comfy! Jacob will be so happy to see you tomorrow morning. I can’t wait to see his face.”
“Thank you,” said Rachel. She felt all at once warm and sleepy, as if someone had placed a blanket over her.
“Lauren?” she said before she hung up. “You don’t have any more of those macarons, do you? Like the ones you brought for me on Monday night? They were divine. Absolutely divine.”
There was the briefest of pauses. “Actually, I do.” There was a quiver in Lauren’s voice. “We can have some with a cup of tea.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
EASTER SUNDAY
Tess woke to the sound of heavy rain. It was still dark, about five a.m., she guessed. Will lay on his side next to her, facing the wall and snoring gently. The shape and smell and feel of him were so ordinary and familiar; the events of the past week seemed inconceivable. She could have made Will sleep on her mother’s couch, but then she would have had to deal with Liam’s questions. He was already far too aware that things were not quite normal; at the dinner table tonight she’d noticed his eyes darting constantly back and forth between herself and Will, monitoring their conversation. His wary little face broke her heart, and made her so furious with Will she could barely look at him.
She shifted slightly away from Will’s body so that they weren’t touching. It was handy that she had her own guilty secret. It helped bring her breathing back to normal during those sudden bursts of rage. He’d wronged her. She’d wronged him right back.
Had they both been suffering a form of temporary insanity? It was a defense for murder, after all; why not for married couples? Marriage was a form of insanity; love hovering permanently on the edge of aggravation.
Connor would be asleep now, in his neat apartment smelling of garlic and laundry powder, already beginning the process of moving on and forgetting her for the second time. Was he kicking himself for falling for that no-good, coldhearted woman yet again?
Why was she making herself sound like a woman in a country song? To soften it, presumably; to make her behavior seem tender and melancholy, not slutty. She had a feeling that Connor liked country music, but she might have been making it up, confusing him with another ex-boyfriend. She didn’t really know him.
Will couldn’t stand country music.
That was why the sex had been so good with Connor: because they were essentially strangers. It was his otherness. It made everything—their bodies, their personalities, their feelings—seem more sharply defined, and therefore superior. It wasn’t logical, but the better you knew someone, the more blurry they became. The accumulation of facts made them disappear. It was more interesting wondering if someone did or didn’t like country music than knowing one way or the other.
She and Will must have made love, what, a thousand times? At least. She started to calculate it, but she was too tired. The rain got harder, as if someone had turned up the volume. Liam would have to do his Easter egg hunt with an umbrella and rain boots. It must have rained on Easter Sunday before in her lifetime, but all her memories were sun-dappled and blue-skied, as if this were the first sad, rainy Easter Sunday of her life.
Liam wouldn’t care about the rain. He’d probably love it. She and Will would look at each other and laugh, and then they’d look away again, fast, and they’d both be thinking about Felicity and how strange it was without her. Could they do this? Could they make it work on behalf of one beautiful little six-year-old boy?