I didn’t care what she said, that gave me no comfort.
“Cheater or not,” Charlene continued, “one thing I do know is that Steven only loved one woman and it was you. Yes, he messed up, but I don’t think that should change how you feel in retrospect.”
I took in my sister’s words. I’d never understood how a person could claim to love you yet cheat on you. But I did know that six weeks had passed since my husband’s death, and I was getting tired of trying to make sense out of my heartbreak.
Charlene was right. In my heart, I knew that my husband loved me. I just needed to figure out how to make that my primary memory.
40
Felise
I COULD HEAR MY YOUNGER sister’s voice like a roaring cannon.
Don’t do it! Don’t you dare do it!
As difficult as the prospect was, though, I dismissed her advice and prepared to face my husband. I know a lot of women would tell me to take this secret to my grave, but I couldn’t do it. The guilt was killing me. The money I had given Sabrina had bought me some time, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to come up with the rest, and even if I could, I could not continue living in fear of her deciding one day to tell Greg.
No, the only option I had was to come clean, pray my husband forgave me, and then begin repairing my marriage.
I eased the key in the lock and made my way inside. I had hoped to buy myself a little time. Some wine would help give me the liquid courage I needed. But as soon as I walked in, I saw Greg sitting at the kitchen table with a distressed look across his face.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I said as I walked in.
He was in interrogator mode. “Where have you been?”
I frowned. Why was he acting like the police? “Out. Running errands. Is that okay?”
“Can you have a seat, please?” He motioned to the seat across the table.
This was not going the way I had planned at all. “For what?”
“Can you just have a seat?”
I eased into the chair because the tone of his voice was worrying me. He was already mad. Maybe I should come clean later.
“Do you want to tell me what is going on with you?” he asked.
“Wh-what are you talking about?” I asked. “Going on with what?” I hoped he wasn’t about to start in on me again about the fact that we hadn’t made love. I knew that at some point I was going to have to push images of Steven out of my mind and make love to my husband, but today wasn’t that day.
“You. You just haven’t been yourself lately,” Greg said, eyeing me skeptically. “And I’m trying to figure out why.”
I managed a weak smile. “You’re exaggerating.”
He shook his head. “No. No, I’m not. At first I thought my neglect was the problem, but it’s not. You’ve been acting strangely for several weeks now.” The way that he was dissecting me with his eyes was making me extremely uncomfortable. “Where’s the negligee?”
“What negligee?”
“The one you bought for our anniversary. You keep all your lingerie in the second drawer.”
I knew he was obsessive about his clothes, but now he was trying to regulate mine?
“Huh?” I said. I realized that was my opening. That was the hook I needed to tell my husband what really happened on the night Steven died. But when I opened my mouth, the harsh look in his eyes silenced me.
“Where is it?” Greg repeated. “I didn’t see it anywhere. I saw the receipt in your jewelry box but can’t seem to find the negligee you had on when you left here that night.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had tossed that negligee when I left the hotel. I knew that after what happened, I’d never be able to wear it again.
“So, you’re snooping on me?” was all I could think of to say.
“Where. Is. It?”
“Greg . . .” I took a deep breath. The door to confession was wide open. All I had to do was walk through it. “Look, there’s something—”
“I said, where is it!” He pounded the table so hard, it shook.
I jumped in fright. “I–I don’t know. I was just upset, and I threw it away.”
“You threw it away?” he said, looking at me crazy. “You want me to believe that you threw away a two-hundred-dollar negligee? Because you were mad at me?”
Now I was getting nervous because I didn’t know where this line of questioning was going. “Why would you care? What is your problem?”
“No, I’m trying to figure out what your problem is,” Greg replied. “Shoot straight with me,” he said. “Are you seeing someone else?”
That accusation made me relax a bit. He didn’t know anything. “Are you kidding me? No. Why would you ask me something like that?”