Chapter 18: Tom's POV: Not Yet

Tom's POV

Helen was asleep on my couch with her boots off and her feet tucked under her.

It was seven in the evening.

She had slept two hours after a day that would have flattened anyone.

I stood in the kitchen doorway with a dish towel in my hand and watched her breathe.

I had no business being this happy.

I had told myself so every morning since Tuesday, standing at the sink with the coffee going.

Four years ago I had kissed my wife's forehead in a bed that wasn't ours.

Then I had walked out of a brick building and promised myself I would never hold on to anyone that hard again.

You can't lose what you never grip.

For four years that plan had worked.

Then a woman came into my yard with a walnut order and corrected my math.

She stirred, and her eyes opened.

"What time is it?"

"Seven."

"Did I miss my own dinner?"

"I held it. It's meat loaf, so it forgives."

She sat up and pushed her hair off her face.

There was a faint yellow bruise on her cheekbone where Diane's hand had landed.

Every time I looked at it I wanted to get in the truck and drive somewhere.