Page 28 of Wreckage and Rain

I am not crazy.

I am not jealous.

I am not insecure.

I am a woman sitting at the wrong end of her own table watching her husband hold another woman's hand. And I am running out of ways to explain it away.

***

Colt finds me fifteen minutes later. I'm still on the patio, looking at the water.

"Hey. You okay? You disappeared."

"Needed some air."

He stands next to me. Puts his arm around my shoulders. I stiffen, then make myself relax, because stiffening will lead to questions and questions will lead to a conversation I'm not having in the middle of Vivienne's dinner party.

"You cold?"

"I'm fine."

"You wanna head out? We can make excuses."

I look at him. He seems concerned. Not guilty. Concerned. Because in his mind, nothing happened in that dining room. Hesat next to a colleague. They talked about work. He's a good husband who noticed his wife stepped away.

"I'm fine," I say again. "Let's go back in."

We go back in. I sit at the far end. He sits at the center. Cheyenne is telling a story about a client in Atlanta and the whole table is laughing and Colt is looking at her like she is the reason the room is good.

I eat dessert. I make conversation. I smile.

This is how it happens. Not with a bang. With a dinner party. With a seating chart. With a hand on a forearm and a wife at the wrong end of the table, eating crème brûlée and pretending she doesn't see the fire.

Chapter 6: Blind Spots

Colt

I buy sunflowers Monday morning because the silence between us has followed me all the way to work.

I know something is wrong. I could ask her. Instead, I stop at the florist.

Sunflowers are her favorite, and flowers are easier than admitting I don’t know how to reach my own wife anymore. They let me say I’m sorry without having to name exactly what I’m sorry for.

I stand at the counter with the card for too long before I finally write:

I know I’ve been gone, even when I was right beside you. I miss you. I love you. I’ll do better.

Colt

Summer is at the island. Laptop open. Coffee in both hands. Writing posture.

I set the sunflowers on the counter.

She looks at them. Looks at me. Her face cycles through too fast for me to track. Surprise. Something soft. Something sharp. Then nothing.

"They're beautiful." Her voice is even. "Thank you."

"I know I've been absent. Tidewater has been eating me alive. But I'm going to be more present. I want to be more present."