Page 102 of Look on the Bright Side

“So now you’re husband of the year?”

“No. I’m just saying, I’m trying to make things right with us. You asked me to, and I am.”

“Anyway. Hurting your back made you have an affair?”

He started to contradict her and then, wisely, did not. He took a bite of his meal, chewed, swallowed. “I felt like an old man,” he said. “You know? Once upon a time, I could do anything, and now I had to lie on the couch with ice and Motrin.”

“Sounds like a vacation to me.”

“And I’m married to the most capable, talented, energetic—”

“Ew. Stop.”

“No,” he said, putting down his fork and leaning forward. “No, Ellie. You are. You are those things. Look at you. You’re sixty-three years old, and you’ve never done more than you have in the past five years. You run the gallery, you’re a grandmother…I mean, the way you connected with Matthew was so beautiful and instantaneous, and Esme and Imogen worship you. Our kids are in awe of you. You paint and run a business. You’re a success in every way measurable. I think you’re right up there with Grace Henry and Winslow Homer, and you just get better every year.”

She took a bite of the risotto and said nothing.

“And I’m lying on the couch with ice and Motrin, and I can’t even fix the fucking fence. Or paint that butt-ugly bathroom, or do half a dozen things I’ve been wanting to do. I have to pace myself, like an old man, or I’ll end up back on the couch.”

“Why didn’t you say your back was the reason you didn’t do those things? You always acted like you were just about to do them as soon as you finished something more important.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not incredibly proud of it.” He took another long, slow inhale. “I didn’t want you to know. Stupid male pride, wanting my woman to think I’m still big and strong and capable.”

She had always loved when he called her his woman. Against her will, the words caused a tingle in her veins.

“So, last September,” he went on, “I had a forced retirement, and you…you were just hitting your stride. You sold every painting last summer. It was amazing.”

“Let’s not forget the summer of Mathilda, Gerald. I’ve had to dumb down my work ever since.”

“You say that, but your stuff is still gorgeous. I…I was jealous. And a little…ashamed. I know you went back to work because I could never earn quite enough. We both know that.”

“I was always going to paint again, Gerald.”

“I know. But you started up earlier than you wanted to. In that moment, that year, I needed you to. I never said it out loud, but we both knew it. We were scraping by, and you stepped up. Fast-forward twenty years, and yeah, you have the business and your art, and you have an employee and the baby artists who think you’re a goddess, and I…I didn’t have anything like that. I didn’t know how to tell you that I was so proud of you and so jealous at the same time.”

She let that sit for a minute. It felt…authentic. “You could’ve tried, Gerald. You owed that to me. And you could have done something to expand your own life. Taken a class, started a new hobby, spent more time with the kids or your dad. Instead, you go to Facebook and start flirting with an old classmate.” Her anger rose again. “Did that fix your ego? Because the guy on Facebook chatting with Camille Dupont sounded utterly pathetic. ‘My wife is so busy! I’m so boring.’ ” And you’re not. You never were.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“It’s not a compliment. It’s a fact.” She speared another scallop. “Back to Facebook. What made you start talking to a woman who’s completely devoid of morals and makes a pass at a married man?”

He winced. “Yeah. Well, I didn’t know I’d…connect with her. I was literally flat on my back, watching The Crown on my iPad, feeling like a loser. Figured I’d see who was around, which people might be out there I’d like to get to know again. I didn’t seek her out. I’d forgotten about her, to be honest.”

“Until you remembered her.”

He nodded, shame painting his features a dull red. “Yeah.”

“And then you were young again? A new man? Full of potential and excitement? I mean, Gerald, we watched so many other couples fall apart. Remember when Brad Fairchild left Lillie, and you were so disgusted with him? So embarrassed for him? Then you do the same thing!”

“No, Ellie, I didn’t do the same thing. I let myself be entertained. I never would have cheated on you. It was a flirtation. I never did more than kiss her on the cheek that one time we met. It was…fun.”

“I guess I’m not fun, then.”

Gerald sat back, his face hardening a little. “You know what, honey? At the time, no. You were working. You were painting these beautiful canvases and running the gallery and hiring Meeko and mentoring the baby artists and teaching classes, and then, at the end of the day, I’d cook us dinner, and we’d have an hour, two hours, together, then go to bed.”

“I think that’s called marriage, Gerald,” she spat.

“I know. I know. I just felt…lonely, Ellie.” His voice broke. “The kids were gone, the summer was over, our grandson went back to California, my career was done, my body’s falling apart, and you didn’t see any of that. I know I’m completely at fault here, but that’s where my head was.”

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