Chapter 21: A Year of Tuesdays

Roderick's POV

"Because Mommy said I could," I told my daughter.

Junie considered that, one hand still wrapped around the rabbit's ear.

"Are you going back to the guest room?"

"I don't know yet."

"Mommy says the guest room is for people who snore."

"I do snore."

"I know," Junie said. "I heard you through the wall. It sounds like a lawnmower."

Leah made a noise into the pillow that was half a laugh and half a groan.

I carried Junie downstairs on my hip and made pancakes with too many chocolate chips.

At eight I drove her to school.

I held her hand across the whole parking lot.

She let me do it all the way to the door, which she had never done before.

When I came back, Leah was in the kitchen in my old Minnesota sweatshirt.

Our son was asleep against her shoulder, and she was pouring coffee one-handed.

I took the pot from her.

I wanted to say so many things that I couldn't pick one.

"Leah," I said. "End the separation. I don't mean the guest room, or the trial. I mean all of it. Stay married to me."

She looked at me for a long moment.

"No," she said.

It landed in my chest and stayed there.

Six weeks ago, I'd have started negotiating.

I would have built her an argument with three points and a closing statement.

I'd have heard "no" as the opening of a conversation.

I put the coffee pot down.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?"

"You said no. I heard it."

She tipped her head.

"That's new," she said.

"I'm told I'm in training."

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