Wasn’t it time for another question? This time I’d be dressed before swiping to answer. Or maybe not.
Early on Saturday morning, I finished rinsing shampoo out of my hair when a text sounded. Leaving the water running, I jumped out to check. Trying not to land on my bare butt, I tiptoed to the phone.
Hank had messaged: You dressed?
With wet fingers, I replied hurriedly. Just stepped out of the shower, but give me two minutes, and I will be.
A video chat request popped up a second later but disappeared before I could swipe to answer.
Another text from Hank popped up: Kidding. I’ll call soon.
Shaving my legs would have to wait. And right now, no one cared or noticed anyway.
I pulled on a tank top and shorts and ran into the kitchen to grab coffee. My phone came with me. When Hank sent the video chat request, I was snuggled in my bed, fueled by half the cup.
“Morning. Sorry I interrupted your shower.” He didn’t have a shirt on, which completely made my morning.
Playing coy wasn’t in my playbook. “I will interrupt anything I’m doing to talk to you, Hank. Anything.”
“I guess I don’t have to worry about you seeing anyone else.”
“I’m only flashing one person these days, and that wasn’t even on purpose.”
He grinned. “Do you prefer this to a regular call?”
“It’s nice to see your face . . . and your chest. I miss you.”
“You miss me or my chest?” He quirked an eyebrow.
The teasing and humor that bounced between us reminded me of our dating days. It made me miss Hank even more.
“You. Definitely you.”
His lips pulled into a tight line. “Question time.”
“I’m ready.” The flirty warm-up was a nice addition to the pointed questions. But it was the serious part that was growing us closer.
“Why didn’t you turn in the papers?”
I bit my lip to stop it from quivering. The question dropped me back into the courtroom, and all the feels and regret from that day flooded over me again. “I went to the scheduled court date. And I had the papers with me. You’d signed them, but I hadn’t been able to do that. I thought that in the courtroom in front of the judge, I would be able to finalize everything.”
His arms folded across his chest, he held my gaze.
“But I started crying when I talked to the judge. We went into chambers, or whatever it’s called, and he asked me about the situation. After I unloaded the whole story, he suggested that maybe I wasn’t ready to sever our relationship. So I left. I can’t tell you how many times I picked up the phone to call you. I wish I had.”
“We’ve seen each other since then, and you didn’t even drop a hint.”
“After a few months passed, I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Hi, remember those papers you signed? I filed them away and didn’t do anything with them. It sounded so stupid.”
“It does sound stupid. I can’t argue with you on that point.” His brow furrowed. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait. May I ask you a question?”
“You can ask. I might not answer.” Even through the phone, his tightened muscles were noticeable.
“What happened in Montana? Why did you move back?” I didn’t go on about how that opportunity was his long-time dream, but that made me even more curious.
He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Even before the divorce papers were served, I was thinking about coming home. Being away from you—even though we’d only been married a short time—was hard. So hard. But then I got those papers.” He paused and clenched his jaw.
I pinched my lips, trying not to cry.
“I couldn’t focus, and that’s not the kind of job you can do without giving it your full attention. So after a few weeks, I explained to my boss that I couldn’t stay.” Hank inhaled, then let the breath out slowly. “I thought I’d run back, and you’d be thrilled to have me home. My heart broke a little more with every call you ignored.”
“Hank, I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t camp on your front porch and make you talk to me. We should have talked about all of this then.”
I nodded.
“I’m not sorry I came home.” He chuckled. “Can you imagine if I’d been gone for months and then came home to find Haley and Zach together? I might not have handled that well.”
“You didn’t handle it well when you were here.” I was happy to end the call on a lighter note.
“I need to run. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye.” After ending the call, I walked back into the kitchen and poured myself a second cup of coffee.
Our anniversary was in two weeks. Would I hear from him before then? Would the day pass without any acknowledgment?
Should I wrap up the satin sheets and lingerie and give them to him for our anniversary?
I stared at the wrapped box, trying to decide if I should give it to him this weekend or next. I didn’t want to push him, but I did want him to know how much I missed him.
My skills in the kitchen continued to improve, and I could make all of Hank’s favorites. I hadn’t taken food to the station since Christmas. It was time.
Mama kept me posted on Hank’s work schedule.
On Friday evening, what would have been my second anniversary, I chased Cami out of the kitchen. “The enchiladas aren’t for you. Stop trying to sneak a plate.”
“Can I at least go with you to the fire station? I mean—hello—that’s where hero types hang out, right?”
“No way.” I didn’t want her anywhere near the fire station. I’d have to drag her away by her hair.
Once the food was packed up, I threw on my fitted jeans and a tight sweater.
I drove to the fire station, a little nervous about this visit. Instead of ringing the bell, I texted Hank. I’m outside. I brought two pans of enchiladas.
He replied right away. Rice and beans?
I was glad I’d made the extra effort to cook the sides too. Yes, rice and beans too.
Be right out. His text popped up as the door swung open.
I shoved my hands into my back pockets, hoping he’d give me a reason to pull them out. “Hi.”
“Bringing me dinner tonight isn’t a coincidence, is it?”
“I couldn’t let the day pass without seeing you.” It had been more than two months since I’d told him the truth, and this was the hardest day yet.
He rubbed my shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“I don’t want the food to get cold, but there is one I want to ask you. Can I call you later?”
“Always.” I opened the trunk. “I bought these bags. I can stack multiple pans in each. Just give it back to me whenever you have a chance.”
“Thanks.” He lifted the two bags out of the trunk. “Happy Anniversary, Nacha.”
“You too, Hank.” I watched him walk into the station before climbing into the car. The trip home felt long.
Cami was pouting in the kitchen when I got home. “I had to go get takeout. I’m sure it doesn’t taste nearly as good as your food.”
“Thank you, and I’m sorry. I’ll make you something tomorrow night.” I started down the hall.
She jumped up and ran in front of me. “Aren’t you going to tell me what he said?”
“He didn’t say much. But he might call me later.”
She hugged me. “That’s awesome. If he’s calling you, that’s great news.”
I still hadn’t told anyone about Hank’s questions. And if I wasn’t careful now, Cami would find out. “We’ll see. I’m just glad he’s still talking to me.”
I crawled in bed and read until the phone beeped. I read his text over and over.
Will you go to marriage counseling with me?
The idea of sitting in front of a stranger and airing our dirty laundry made me extremely uncomfortable
, but it wasn’t an unreasonable request. For Hank, I’d do almost anything. Except it wasn’t just for Hank. It was for us. I loved that thought.
I didn’t want him to assume a delay was hesitation, so I replied quickly. Yes.
Thank you. I’ll be in touch. He wanted to work to save our marriage, and that knowledge was the best gift I could’ve gotten today.
I sent a kiss emoji before turning off the light. Maybe tonight, I’d be able to sleep.
Chapter 20
I’d arrived early because traffic wasn’t that bad. And I spent the extra ten minutes sitting in my car, trying to convince myself not to hyperventilate. Besides Hank and Mama, no one knew how I felt about my father leaving. That information would be fair game in counseling.
But this wasn’t just about me. Shining a light on my dysfunction was the best hope of survival for my marriage. My marriage. Thinking those words, I climbed out of the car and bumped into Hank’s chest.
He caught me by the shoulders. “I wondered if you were ever going to get out of the car.”
“Oh, hi. I didn’t see you there.” I wanted to lean into him and have him whisper that it wouldn’t be so bad. But it would be bad. I knew it. “I wasn’t going to stay in the car. I’m eager to work through our issues.”
He clasped my hand and started down the sidewalk toward the main doors. “You look like you’re about to hightail out of here.”
“I’m a little nervous.”
The glass doors opened, and he didn’t let go of my hand. “You aren’t the only one.”
I expected that I’d have a week or more to prepare for this, but he’d snagged an appointment for Tuesday. Maybe not having so much time to think about how painful it would be to rip off the bandage would help.
I hadn’t convinced myself that was true. “How did you get the appointment so quickly? I was surprised since you called yesterday.”
He pressed the button for the elevator. “Tandy is a retired sex therapist. She referred me to a friend of hers.”
Jealousy clawed at my throat. When had I devolved into a green-eyed monster? Trying not to let that show, I asked sweetly, “Tandy?”
He tugged me into the elevator before answering. “My neighbor.”
The elevator doors closed, blocking my retreat.
I refused to look like a jealous fool because of an old lady who liked gawking at my husband. “Oh.”
The office was right outside the elevator.
He pulled open the wooden door and let go of my hand. “Trust me, okay?”
“That’s the reason I’m still here. And, you know, because the elevator doors closed before I could slip out.”
He didn’t laugh, and that worried me even more.
The point of marriage counseling was to focus on our relationship and discover what needed to be mended. Tips for how to mend the broken parts would also be helpful. But I sat in the waiting area wondering what the lady at the desk thought of Hank and me. He still had a firm grasp on my hand, but that was probably because he feared I’d run if he let go. I wouldn’t.
Did she score couples in her head, setting odds for if they’d make it?
The office door opened, and a woman old enough to be Hank’s neighbor abruptly stopped my wondering. “Please, come in.”
Fear buzzed in my head.
The therapist smiled, and I could see the pity in her eyes. She hadn’t given us good odds. How much had Hank told her over the phone?
“I’m Marla. I’m glad you’ve chosen to come.”
Hank let go of my hand. “Hank Sparks. This is my wife, Nacha.”
My smile wasn’t for Marla. Hank hadn’t called me his wife in a long time.
“Hi. It’s nice to meet you.” Why had I said that? We were in counseling, not at a dinner party.
“Have a seat.” She pointed at the small sitting area.
I headed straight for the love seat, but we’d look hopeless if Hank chose the armchair leaving me to flounder on my own.
After dropping onto one end of the love seat, I held my breath. Hank sat beside me, and I wanted to hug him.
“Nacha and Hank, I want you to feel like this is a safe place to share your feelings without feeling judged or ashamed. Some of the questions I ask may feel uncomfortable, but it’s all a part of the healing process. Do you have any questions before we start?”
I shook my head. Didn’t she realize that the judgement and shame came straight from my own brain? There was no safe place from that.
“Hank, how are things in the bedroom?”
So we’re starting there. Okay. I stared at my hands, reminding myself that this was the best way to save my marriage—the counseling, not staring at my hands.
Hank inhaled, then let the breath escape at a painfully slow rate. “The biggest problem, bedroom wise, is that hers is thirty minutes away.”
“So you’re separated?” Marla would probably be really good at poker.
He shrugged. “I guess that’s what you’d call it.”
Marla turned to face me. “Nacha, why don’t you tell me why the two of you decided on marriage counseling.”
“All right.” I opened my mouth to start no less than five times, but words couldn’t make it past the lump in my throat.
Hank shifted and angled toward me as he draped his arm across the back of the love seat. His thumb brushed along the back of my neck.
I glanced at him, and he nodded.
With him caressing my neck, I told her what happened, owning every bad decision. When I got to the part about admitting that we weren’t divorced, Marla didn’t completely cover her surprise. Maybe she shouldn’t play poker.
Did I win something for shocking the therapist?
“That’s why we’re here.” I squeezed the tissue in my hand, wondering when I’d grabbed it.
“Thank you for your honesty, Nacha.” Marla leaned forward. “What are you hoping will happen by coming to counseling?”
I leaned into his hand. “I want us to live in the same house and be husband and wife again.”
Marla cocked her head and focused on Hank. “In your eyes, what is the biggest problem in your marriage?”
His thumb stopped moving. “I don’t trust her.”
Marla asked how that made me feel, but I was too busy sobbing into my tiny tissue to answer her.
So far, counseling was going great. Just great.
Hank opened my car door. “I guess I’ll see you next week.”
“Yeah.” Hopefully, I’d stop crying before then. I wiped my eyes. “If you think of any questions, call me. I’ll answer.” I stared at the keys in my hand.
“Nacha.” Hank stepped closer.
I didn’t want him thinking I was mad, so I met his gaze. “Yes?”
“It’s hard for me too.”
“I know.”
He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. So much for not crying.
“I want this to work.” He kissed the top of my head. “I really do.”
Would it be weird to stand in a parking lot for a week? If I didn’t move, maybe Hank would continue holding me.
“Me too.” I slipped my arms around his waist. “Thank you for being supportive. I don’t think I would’ve made it through the session otherwise.”
He stepped back and brushed tears off my cheeks. “I should go.”
“I’ll see you later.” I sat down behind the wheel, hoping I could make it out of Schatz county without Eli pulling me over. If that happened, I might never stop crying.
Chapter 21
As luck would have it, Hank was working on Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t going to let that pass without making note of the day.
Covered in flour and powdered sugar, I added words to the last of the five-dozen heart-shaped cookies.
Cami took tiny bites of the one I’d let her have. “The icing is really yummy. I can’t believe you made that many conversation hearts. Wouldn’t it have just been easier to buy those little heart-shaped candies?”
“Maybe.” But then I wouldn’t have been able to have Only You on every single one.
Her gaze cut to the gift sitting on the chair. “You bought Hank an Xbox for Valentine’s Day? That’s an expensive hey-I’m-still-here-waiting-for-you gift.”
“I got him one for Christmas. I’m just using the box.” I chose not to address the other part of her comment.
Hank and I were on a path. It was long and winding, but we were moving forward. I hoped.
“While the icing dries, I’m going to run and change. Do not eat any more of the cookies.” I stopped in the doorway. “They tasted okay?”
“Delicious. You’re a regular Paula Dean. How much butter is in these anyway?”
“You don’t want to know.” I laughed and hurried back to the bedroom. The unseasonably warm weather meant I could wear my sundress with the buttons down the front.
Hank loved that dress.
Driving like I had a wedding cake in my backseat, I made it to the station without ruining any of the cookies. Visions of the box hitting the floorboard kept me from speeding to see him.
I parked outside the station and texted Hank. I’m here. I brought you Valentine goodies.
I waited a minute then two without a response. The fire trucks were in the bays, but the ambulance was missing.
He was probably out on a call. Should I wait? Or leave?
As I was trying to decide, the ambulance pulled into the station.
Hank replied a minute later: Just got back from a call. Give it to one of the guys.
I didn’t want to leave the cookies or the gift with anyone except Hank. I don’t mind waiting.
My phone rang, and Hank’s face filled the screen. “Hello.”
“Hey.” He sounded worn. “It’ll be a bit. I need a shower, and I’m not good company.”
“Take as long as you need. I’ll be here.” I meant that in every possible way.
He sighed. “Thanks.”
To kill time, I scrolled through social media, then when that got boring, I played solitaire. I’d gotten good at solitaire in the last year.
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