He Held Her Son the Night I Lost Ours novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Roommates

Tara walks in wearing Willa's robe and moves in, Clark calls his wife cold in the hallway, and Willa packs. Behind his golf bag she finds a signed lease for Clark and Tara's new apartment.

I got the blanket up just before Tara walked in.

She was wearing my silk robe, with an apron tied over it and a spatula in her hand.

"You're still in bed!" She crossed to the window and yanked the blackout curtains open. "I made breakfast. Come eat before Ollie inhales it."

I sat up slowly.

"You opened my bedroom door."

"Clark told me where the spare key was." She twirled the spatula. "Now, I need to tell you something, and I need you to be nice about it."

She smiled with perfect teeth.

"My lease fell through. Clark won't let me put Ollie in some motel by the highway. So we're staying here a little while. Roommates!"

I looked at the ceiling and counted to five.

"Get out of my bedroom."

She left humming.

I put on a turtleneck and jeans and walked into my own kitchen.

Ollie sat on a stool at my island, swinging his feet, his mouth orange with juice.

Clark stood beside him, cutting a pancake into squares.

Tara slid a plate in front of him. "Try it. Don't make me suffer alone."

Clark took a bite and made a face. "What is that?"

"Excuse me?" She smacked his arm with the spatula. "I am a delicate woman who has never worked a day in her life, and I got up at six to cook for you."

"You put cinnamon in the eggs."

"That's flavor!"

"That's a crime."

Ollie shrieked with laughter.

Clark ruffled his hair without looking up.

For six years this apartment had been quiet.

Clark read his newspaper, and I read my phone.

Now it was loud, and none of it was mine.

"Can you keep it down?" I said.

The laughing stopped.

Tara's face crumpled. "Sorry. God, I'm so sorry, Willa."

Clark looked up at me, and his eyes went flat.

He put a hand on Tara's shoulder and rubbed it once.

"It's fine. She didn't sleep. She'll be human in an hour. Eat."

I stood there. "I don't like noise. I don't like people I didn't invite living in my house. And I don't like anyone opening my bedroom door without knocking."

Tara's eyes filled instantly.

She tugged Clark's sleeve.

"Do you have to come at her like that?" he said to me, low. "Is this about last night? One dinner, Willa. It's not like you were dying."

I almost laughed.

I looked at his left hand instead.

His wedding ring had been gone eight months.

It was platinum, engraved on the inside with our date.

He'd said he would find it, probably on a job site or at the gym.

He had never once looked for it.

"Maybe we should just go," Tara whispered, tears running perfectly down her face. "Ollie and I will figure it out. We always do."

Clark was already untying her apron.

"Stop. Get your coat. I'm taking you both to the aquarium."

Ollie cheered.

Chairs scraped, and shoes went on.

Keys jingled.

The door didn't quite shut behind them, and I heard Clark in the hallway, easy and low.

"Don't take it personally. She's always been like that. Cold. It's just how she's wired."

Tara laughed, wet and relieved.

The elevator dinged.

I stood alone in my kitchen.

The plastic hospital band was still on my wrist, bright white against my sleeve.

Clark had sat three feet from it for twenty minutes.

He hadn't asked, and he hadn't even looked.

I cut it off with the kitchen scissors.

Then I carried every plate of their breakfast to the sink and ran the disposal until it was empty.

I got my suitcase down from the hall closet and started packing.

I packed my passport and my laptop.

I packed the three drawings I'd kept of a courthouse I never got to build.

I packed the coat with the silver frame still in its pocket.

My phone buzzed on the bed.

Sylvia: Dinner at your place Wednesday, 7. Tara will cook. Be gracious. That girl has been through enough.

His mother had never once asked how I was.

I typed: Of course, Sylvia.

Then I went on packing, because I could use Wednesday.

At the back of the bedroom closet, behind Clark's golf bag, my hand hit a stiff envelope.

It was taped flat to the wall.

I peeled it off and opened it.

A lease.

Two bedrooms, on the Upper West Side. Signed in June.

Two names on the line: Clark Haliburton and Tara Lang.

A deposit receipt was stapled to the back, paid from Clark's firm account.

There was no lease that had fallen through. There had never been a motel by the highway.

I photographed every page with my phone.

I read the date again.

The move-in date was Friday.

The day after my flight.

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