Chapter 3
Daniel didn't answer Natalie.
He reached for the coffee on the table, touched the handle, then let go.
"When did I ever say I didn't want to live by the ocean?" I asked.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
He glanced at Natalie.
"You're used to your life now. There's so much to do for the kids, and then there's my mother. Even if you did move out here, you wouldn't know how to walk away from all those responsibilities."
"So you decided for me, and moved in with another woman?"
"Claire, be realistic. Could you drop everything and move three hours away?"
I stared at him, wondering if he could actually hear himself.
"Are they only my kids?"
"That's not what I said."
"And your mother? She's your responsibility!"
His jaw tightened.
"Can we deal with what's happening right now?"
"That's exactly what I'm doing. You get to stay here with this woman because I'm at home taking care of your mother and the kids for you."
Natalie leaned against the kitchen island, slowly turning her cup between her fingers.
I looked at Daniel.
"When did the things you need me to stay and do become proof that I don't want to leave?"
His phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and declined the call.
A few seconds later, it rang again.
"Answer it," I said.
"It's just the restaurant."
He answered, the volume a little loud. In the quiet kitchen, I heard the person on the other end give the restaurant's name.
The Salt Room.
I remembered that restaurant, its terrace built out over the water, rocks visible below at low tide.
I'd sent Daniel the reservation page and suggested we have my birthday dinner there and spend the night in town.
He'd glanced at the map.
"Drive three hours for dinner? There are restaurants around here."
On the phone, a server was confirming a reservation for two at seven that evening.
"Mr. Bennett, we've arranged the terrace seating you requested."
Daniel turned away.
"I'll call you back."
"If you need to cancel—"
"I know."
He hung up.
Natalie put down her cup.
"We booked dinner last week."
She didn't look at me as she said it. As though my standing there wasn't reason enough for their dinner plans to stop mattering.
"I remember," Daniel said.
He actually answered her first.
Suddenly, the kitchen felt too hot, my jacket clinging to my back, and I couldn't get enough air.
"When you wished me a happy birthday this morning, you already knew you were taking her there tonight, didn't you?"
Daniel gripped his phone.
"I can cancel dinner."
"That's not what I asked."
He looked at the cake box.
The lid had been knocked slightly askew, exposing the crushed frosting inside.
"Yes," he said.
One word.
I nodded, afraid I'd cry if I tried to speak.
He knew I'd be waiting at home.
He knew there were steaks in the fridge that I'd prepared, and he knew I'd do what I always did: find a reason for his absence that hurt a little less.
But he'd booked a table on the terrace, everything I'd been hoping for.
"How long?"
"Claire…"
"How long have you been together?"
He slipped his phone into his pocket.
"It happened gradually."
"Can you tell me how long?"
He didn't answer.
Natalie straightened.
"Three years, Daniel. You don't have to act like we just met."
I looked at her.
There was no guilt on her face, only irritation at his evasiveness.
She wasn't going to let him stand in front of me and make their relationship sound like something he could deny whenever it suited him.
Three years.
I tried to fit that number into my own life.
Three Christmases, three wedding anniversaries.
Countless Fridays when he'd left with an overnight bag and I'd reminded him to pack his medication.
I didn't ask about those holidays.
There was one night I'd never forgotten.