Chapter 13: The Question

The porch of the Siasconset house faced the water, and the wind off it was cold enough to hurt.

I had left my apron on a chair in the dining room. I stood at the rail in my work shirt with my arms crossed over my stomach.

I heard the screen door open behind me.

"Aimée."

Preston's voice was hoarse. He had been crying, or he had been trying not to.

"Don't come closer," I said.

He stopped three feet away. In the porch light his face looked young and wrecked, the face I had married.

"I'll fix it," he said. "Tell me what you need, and I'll do it. Solène, the house, the club, all of it. I'll end it tonight."

"She's carrying your baby."

"I know that."

"Then you can't end it tonight."

He pressed his hand over his eyes.

"I never wanted you to find out like this," he said.

"How did you want me to find out?"

"Gently. With a plan. With my mother there and a counselor, and a, a place to go."

"A place to go," I said. "On Monday. After my appointment."

He didn't answer.

I turned and looked at him.

"I have one question, and I want you to think before you say it."

"Anything."

"When you found out she was pregnant, which of us were you going to tell first?"

He opened his mouth. I watched him look for the answer I wanted.

I watched him find it, and then I watched him decide it wasn't safe.

"Solène," he said. "She told me first, in September. I owed her an answer before I owed it to anyone."

"Before you owed it to your wife."

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