Chapter 2

The cream envelope sat under my ceramic coffee mug when I came down the stairs at six in the morning. Inside was a handwritten note in Jake's slanted, heavy penmanship, tucked over a printed reservation slip:

Happy 34th, Em. Table for two at The Marrow, seven tonight. No shifts, no pager. Just the two of us.

I held the card with both hands. The Marrow was a restaurant that booked three months out. He had reserved it back in April. For the first time in months, a cautious flutter of joy stirred in my chest.

After my classes ended, I dropped Lily off at my mother's house with an overnight bag and a clean pair of pajamas.

By five-fifteen, I was back in our quiet house, standing in front of my closet. I reached past my everyday teacher cardigans and pulled out a tailored emerald wrap dress I had bought two autumns ago and never once worn out.

I curled my hair. I sprayed the amber perfume Jake had given me during our first Christmas together.

Looking at my reflection in the vanity mirror, I realized with a shock how long it had been since I dressed up for an evening where I was allowed to just be a wife, rather than the household coordinator. At six-twenty, the side door opened.

Jake walked into the bedroom, pulling off his blue station shirt. He looked drained, but when his eyes landed on me, his boots stopped dead on the hardwood.

His gaze traveled down the green wrap dress, taking in my bare shoulders and the pendant resting at my collarbone. A current snapped across the space between us.

He walked over to where I stood, smelling of cold dusk and cedar soap. His hands rose to my neck, his fingers warm and rough as they slid beneath my chin, gently tilting my face upward.

"You look beautiful, Emily," he said, his voice dropping into that low, husky register that had always undone me. His thumb swept along the curve of my jaw, lingering with a heat that made my breath falter.

I tilted my face into his hand, letting myself lean into him. My body still remembered how to want him, even when my heart was bruised.

Then his phone buzzed sharply on the dresser.

The vibration rattled the wood like an electric shock.

Jake's thumb froze against my skin. The tenderness vanished from his eyes, replaced in an instant by that familiar, hyper-alert stillness.

"Don't look," I whispered, keeping my eyes fixed on his. "Please, Jake. Not right now."

He looked torn. His mouth pressed into a line of genuine anguish. But the phone didn't stop vibrating; it rattled a second time, then a third.

With a helpless exhale, his hand dropped from my face. He stepped past me and picked up the phone.

"It's Rachel," he muttered, swiping the green button. "Rachel? What happened?"

I stood by the vanity, my hand rising to touch the bare skin of my jaw where his fingers had just been. The heat was already gone.

"Slow down," Jake said into the receiver, pacing toward the window. "Is Tyler hurt? ... Did the sophomore coach bench him or did something happen in the locker room?"

Tyler had gotten into a fistfight behind the gym after practice, and the assistant principal was threatening a five-day suspension.

Rachel was not screaming or sobbing, but her voice came through the speaker thin and panicky - that exact helpless tone that always pulled Jake out of his own life like a summoned dog.

Rachel had left him years ago after too many nights of carrying their home alone while Jake pulled double shifts at the station. Ever since, every call about her or Tyler seemed to land on him like a bill he could never quite finish paying.

Jake lowered the phone and rubbed his knuckles across his forehead.

"Em..."

I stood rigid in my green dress. "Can't you have dinner with me first?"

"He's fifteen, Emily. He's sitting in the dean's office refusing to talk to anyone," Jake said. "The dean wants a parent there. Rachel can't get through to him."

"It's six-forty," I said, my voice dropping into a flat, level calm that felt unfamiliar even to me. "Our reservation is in twenty minutes."

"I know what night it is," he said, stepping toward me. His hands reached out to adjust the collar of my coat, his touch instinctive and desperate to bridge the cold gulf opening between us. "I know it's your birthday, Em. But he needs me right now."

I stepped backward, letting his hands fall empty between us.

"I do too," I said. "I just never count as right now."

Jake flinched as if I had struck him. "That isn't fair. You know I didn't plan this. I'll make it up to you, Em. We'll go this weekend. Anywhere you want."

I didn't yell. I didn't throw the reservation slip at his chest.

I reached behind my neck, unhooked the silver chain, and placed it quietly on the jewelry tray next to my earrings.

"Go," I told him.

"Emily, please - "

"Go, Jake. He's waiting."

He stood frozen for three agonizing seconds, looking at my bare throat and the untouched coat on the bed. Then he grabbed his truck keys and walked out.

It was twenty minutes past midnight when the deadbolt clicked.

I was sitting on the living room sofa in my flannel pajamas, holding a mug of cold tea. The house was pitch-black except for the single yellow reading lamp beside me.

Jake slipped in quietly, carrying a ribbon-tied box of chocolates from the confectioner near the high school. He looked shattered, his jacket dragging from one hand.

He placed the box on the coffee table in front of my knees.

"He's grounded, but the dean agreed to an after-school detention instead of suspension," he said in a low murmur.

He sank onto the edge of the cushion near my legs, his hand reaching out, hovering half an inch above my bare foot before pulling back. "I'm sorry, Em. I'll take next Friday off. The entire night will be yours. I'll make it up to you."

I looked at the gold satin ribbon on the box.

"How many things have you promised to make up to me, Jake?" I asked.

Jake stared at me. His lips parted.

I watched him try to find a number. I watched him search his memory, looking for promises he had actually kept.

He found nothing. He closed his mouth, and the silence in the living room settled over us like wet concrete.