Page 24 of First Street
“We text,” I said with a shrug.
“Ah. The language of modern love. Emojis, memes, and passive aggressive messages.”
I gave him a look, but he pressed on with a smirk. “But tell me, how are things in the magical kingdom of marriage these days? Still a thrilling rollercoaster of resentment and compromise?”
“I’m managing,” I muttered, finishing my wine.
“That bad, huh?” he said. Without missing a beat, he refilled my glass like a bartender who’d heard it all. “Drink up, sweetheart. If nothing else, I’ll be your fairy godmother for the evening. I don’t have a wand, but I’ve got a corkscrew and excellent taste in escape plans.”
I couldn’t help but smile. God, I missed him.
Arthur and I hadn’t had a chance for a real conversation since the day he called me with the news of my mother’s death. He was still under the assumption that I was here for the funeral arrangements. Anything beyond that—my plans about what came next—we hadn’t discussed.
“You know, your mother had an official position on Rhys that I, frankly, agreed with,” Arthur said, topping off his wine and sitting back in his chair like a man with opinions and a long night ahead. “Clare always thought you were way too smart to stay in that mess of a relationship.”
That was hardly news. I knew exactly how my mother felt about Rhys. They never really had a relationship to begin with. Mostly, polite indifference with the occasional sharp comment from Clare when she thought I wasn’t listening. And sometimes when she knew I was.
“She wasn’t subtle,” I said, half-laughing. “The first time she met him, she asked if he came with a return policy.”
Arthur snorted. “I believe her exact description to me was, ‘Well, he’s handsome in that glossy-magazine, emotionally unavailable kind of way’.”
“Yep. That sounds like her.”
His face softened then, his smile fading just a touch. “You don’t have to keep pretending everything’s fine, Skye. Not with me. I’m certainly not a therapist, but I’ve got good ears and two bottles of wine left in the kitchen.”
I looked down at my glass. The silence between us suddenly felt charged with all the things I hadn’t said out loud. Not to him. Not to anyone.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing. My job, my marriage. Trying to keep everyone supported and happy without completely losing myself. You know what I mean. It feels like everything is about to come crashing down on me.”
“That’s okay. You don’t need a five-year plan.” Arthur reached across the table and took my hand. “You know I’m here to help in any way I can. And as for the marriage situation, give yourself permission to want something different.”
He always knew how to cut through the noise.
“And for the record,” he added, lifting his glass, “if Rhys were ever to mysteriously disappear, I’d be happy to provide an alibi. Something glamorous. Possibly involving Paris and a scandal involving an opera singer.”
I laughed.
Ocean’s enthusiastic voice floated in from the other room. Rhys was important to my daughter, and everything Arthur and I just said was bullshit.
“She needs him. She needs both of us.”
“Kids manage. You managed,” he said, raising his glass like a toast to my dilemma. “Do what’s best for you and your daughter. Not what’s best for his career or whatever supports his narcissistic little diorama of the perfect life.”
Ocean walked in at that moment and handed me the phone. “Dad wants to talk to you.”
I took the phone into Arthur’s sitting room. As I caught my reflection in the tiny screen, I barely recognized myself. Tired, strung out, worn thin. Rhys, on the other hand, looked flawless. Behind him, I could make out the warm glow of a bar, soft music, laughter. He was somewhere social, alive.
“Did you get a haircut?” I asked, just to break the ice.
“What’s this I hear about you staying longer? What happened to the plan we made?”
“Things are out of my hands. The funeral. The appraisals. There’s no way I can finish everything up that fast. But we’ll get there.”
There was no way I was going to bring up what Jo had told me yesterday about the intruder in the barn. And as far as staying longer, I would say anything to keep Ocean happy.
“You’ll get here when?”
“I don’t know, Rhys. There’s a lot happening. More than I expected.”
