Thought I Knew You(92)

I shook my head vehemently, willing him to understand, to believe. To believe what?

“No, Greg, it wasn’t like that. Not for me. I wasn’t in love with him when you and I were married. It’s a recent development.”

He sat, gazing out into the room, perfectly still. Finally, he said, “I was not a good husband to you, Claire.”

I started to shake my head, tears springing to my eyes at the painful truth of his words.

He held up his hand. “Did you find out about the inheritance? From my mother?” When I nodded, he continued, “I was so angry at that money. I watched my mother struggle. My whole life, we had nothing. I had the same pair of sneakers my entire four years of high school. I wore them every day, even in the summer. Even when I worked, she demanded my paychecks, saying she would put the money in an account for me. I paid for everything myself, struggled for everything. She worked two jobs, and for what? After she died, and I received that money, I couldn’t figure out the point of all of it. She had the money, sure, but she was never going to spend it on her life. Never going to enjoy anything. We never went to Disney World, never took a vacation. We didn’t even turn the heat on until December. My strongest memories of my childhood involve being cold and my home being dark. I put half the money into a savings account and the other half in an offshore account with a higher interest rate. There was almost a million dollars total, but I swore I would never touch it. I wanted to leave it to my kids to spend, when it wouldn’t be tainted with cold, dark memories.”



“By doing that, you tainted it,” I interjected. He looked up, surprised. “When I found it, I was dumbfounded. And even now, knowing there’s probably twice that amount somewhere that I still didn’t know about, I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you confide in me? Wasn’t I good enough? By isolating yourself, you isolated me. I have never felt so alone in my life, being your wife.” I started to cry, remembering my loneliness on nights when Greg would wander the house and snap at me if I dared to approach him.

Greg reached out and touched my knee. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why. I felt like I needed to be strong for you and the kids. I had all this anger and nowhere to put it. It makes no sense now.”

He put his arms around me, pulling me close. We stayed that way for a beat, but I pulled back, wiping my eyes.

He looked sad, defeated. “I ruined everything.” Then softly, he added, “It’s all my fault.”

I placed my hand over his, and my mind flashed back to our wedding day, our hands one on top of the other, in a simple, innocent promise. In sickness and in health. “It’s not all anyone’s fault. There were two of us not doing such a great job.”



“Could we ever go back? Try again? Make it work?” he asked.

I tried to read his face to see what he really wanted, but I couldn’t. For the first time since his accident, he seemed able to hide his emotions.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Greg. I’m sorry.”

He nodded as if he knew that would be my response. He stood up, not meeting my gaze.

I got to my feet. “Moving on was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But I did it, and it’s been over two years. I can’t make myself feel something. Do you see that?”

“I think I need to be alone. Will you come back tomorrow?”

“I’ll come back, Greg. We’re still a family, okay? I’ll always come back.” And I left.





Sometimes on my visits, Greg and I would eat dinner together. Other times, when Greg had an ill-timed therapy session, I’d find a restaurant and huddle in a back booth to read a book or the newspaper. I discovered a diner a few blocks away from the rehabilitation center that made the most delicious chicken salad I could imagine, and I found solace in the isolation. No one knew where I was or expected anything from me. And most importantly, I wasn’t letting anyone down. I was just… being.

On Saturday, after leaving Greg, I sought comfort in the familiarity of my diner. I sat at my booth, staring out the window at a flat gray parking lot, lost in thought. In one way, a weight had been lifted. I had finally told Greg about the divorce, about Drew. My future had some shape to it. Greg would surely be in it, but not as my husband. Alternatively, the finality made me sad. I wanted to rewind the past two years and start over, go back to a time when things were simple. But were they? Two years ago, we were barely speaking, and Greg was seeing another woman. So no, things weren’t simpler. They had just appeared that way. Was that better? Surely not.