Page 23 of Reckless Love

“Almost like it never happened,” I say, showing him my bandages.

His lips tip up slightly, as though he’s suppressing his amusement at my callback to his claim.

“Why are you still here?” I ask more directly.

“Your husband is off the island with some of our security staff, so we’ve had to adjust schedules and coverages,” Stephen says. “Datu got your mail. It’s on the kitchen island.”

I wander over and start ripping open various bills. When I get to one that doesn’t have a return address, I hesitate. Probably junk mail or some charity trying to get our attention.

I rip the envelope and then I tug out the card, flipping it open. Inside is a cut-out message—such a cliché—telling Raul to back off the union organizers or else he’ll be “sorry.” Nice and vague.

“Well, isn’t that sweet?” I say, holding the card up toward Stephen.

“What’s that?” he asks, coming closer.

“A threat, I guess,” I say with a shrug. “Whoever it is, they’re not very good at it. People still buy physical newspapers and magazines?”

Stephen takes the card from my hand and skims it before setting it down. He seems lost in thought.

The incident with my car, Jenny trying to talk to me, the protesters outside the gate, and now this anonymous mail make me realize The Nile employees are desperate, but I don’t really understand why. And I’m not sure I should even be asking myself that question. Raul won’t listen to me.

“What do you think about The Nile trying to unionize?” I ask.

“What I think doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. Your opinion has always mattered to me.”

“Take off the rose-colored glasses,” he snaps, startling me. “My opinion has never mattered to you. You’ve always done whatever the fuck you wanted, consequences be damned. Let’s not rewrite history now.”

“I did care what you thought, even if I didn’t show it.”

“Nah,” Stephen says with a sharp shake of his head. “You’re looking back and assuming you must have cared. We’re not rewriting the past because it makes you feel better.”

“Fuck you,” I say. “I’m not the one rewriting the past to make myself feel better. You left me, and if you have to admit I actually cared, that makes you the bad guy.”

“I’m the bad guy?” he sputters in disbelief before he holds up a hand to me. “We’re not doing this.”

“At some point, we are doing this,” I say, invading his space. “You don’t get to leave the country, almost die, and turn up as though we didn’t spend eight years tearing each other’s clothes off.”

He glances over his shoulder toward the front entrance, where Datu is presumably stationed since Stephen is in here with me.

“We made our choices,” he says in a low voice. “I’m not looking back at anything with fondness, and neither should you.”

His words sting more than the actual slice of a knife earlier. I’m staring at him, dumbfounded that he’d say that, that he could possibly believe that, when the front door opens with the arrival of the night crew.

“You can’t mean that,” I whisper.

“I do,” he says, and then he leaves me to stride toward the front foyer.

I stare after him, and I wonder if it’s possible that I’m the one who has it wrong because the only way I look back is with fondness for what we once had. Maybe I’ve allowed that time to take on a golden glow, but we shared so much for so long that I can’t believe none of it was meaningful to him. One of us is lying to himself. Or herself.

Chapter Nine

Stephen

“Stephen, is that you?” my mom calls out when I open the front door.

“Yeah, Mom,” I say. “How are you feeling today?”