“Babe, I am so sorry.”
I spun around to see him standing in the hallway, an apologetic look on his face, a bouquet of roses in his hands.
“I was so scared you weren’t going to come home.” He held the flowers out toward me. “I know this won’t make up for me being a jerk, but I want to make it up to you.”
My body trembled as I fought back tears, which made Greg pull me into his arms.
“Baby, don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna work on being a better husband. I promise.”
I knew I needed to pull myself together, so I nodded dutifully.
“How about I take you out tomorrow night?” he asked.
An entire evening alone together? “No,” I sniffed. “I have to work the four-to-twelve shift.”
I dropped my purse on the floor. Like clockwork, Greg immediately picked it up and set it on the counter.
That was the least of my concerns. Right then I just wanted to get away from him, shower, and try to pull myself together. I made my way upstairs and had another urge to cry when I walked into the bathroom. Greg had taken Post-it Notes and posted messages all over my bathroom mirror.
I pulled one off.
I’m sorry.
Then another.
I love you.
And two more.
Please forgive me.
I’m trying.
The fact that he’d cluttered up the whole mirror meant a lot. Seeing the clutter had to drive him crazy. And that deviation from his strict routine made me cry even harder.
Feeling miserable, I shed my scrubs and stepped in the shower. The hot water mixed with my warm tears as I tried to cry everything out of my system. All day I had wondered if the maids had discovered Steven yet. I played out all kinds of scenarios, from it being ruled a simple death by natural causes to the FBI coming in and taking me down.
When I got out the shower, I knew I was a wrinkled prune, but I did feel a little bit better. Fran was right. I was going to have to get past the guilt. I was going to have to learn to live with what I’d done.
I dried off, slipped into my lounging gown, and walked back into the bedroom. “What are you doing?” I said when I noticed Greg sitting up on the bed with his laptop.
“I was just looking at some tickets to a comedy show. Mike Epps is at Reliant this weekend and, well, I was hoping I could take you.”
I forced a smile. I loved comedy shows, and any other time I would’ve been thrilled that my husband had taken the initiative. However, I was in no mood to laugh. But I knew if I protested, Greg would continue trying to make up for last night, and that would only make me feel even more guilty. Right then I just wanted to be left alone.
“I’d like that. Why don’t you go get the tickets in person? You know, if you buy them online, they have that ridiculous surcharge. Plus, I’d really like some ibuprofen.”
He looked up in concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I just have a headache. And we don’t have any pain medication,” I said, praying he didn’t go check the medicine cabinet.
“Okay. I’ll go pick up the tickets and get you some Advil.” He had researched the subject thoroughly, and that was what we had to have in the house. He closed the laptop and came over to kiss me. “I hate when you stay away overnight. Promise me that no matter what kind of jerk I am, you won’t stay at Fran’s again.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything. He assumed I’d spent the night at Fran’s because that’s where I usually went when we argued, which lately had been quite frequently. I was actually surprised that he hadn’t called Fran’s looking for me, but I know he hated people being in our business. Greg’s obsessive ways were driving me insane. The worst of them was, we had to have weekly meetings to review where every dime was spent. He calculated, down to the penny, how much money we were blowing by letting the faucet drip, or leaving the bathroom light on. All he did was work, nitpick, then work some more.
As soon as Greg left on his errands, I went to his laptop and typed in “what happens when you leave the scene of a crime?” I had been searching for ten minutes when my cell rang. Fran’s name popped up on the screen. She’d tried to call earlier, but I was working and I’d forgotten to call her back.
I answered, “I’m fine, Fran.”
“You know I have to check, girl. So, are you holding up okay?”
“As well as can be expected,” I replied with a heavy sigh. “I worked today so I didn’t have to be around the house. I was scared I would confess.”
“Good grief, remind me never to rob a bank with you,” Fran said. “Your conscience is eating at you, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”