Page 82 of For the Record

“The store’s flooded, bad. Several pipes burst last night from the water pressure above it. A lot of the merchandise is ruined. Almost all of it.”

My chest ached, and pain shot through my palms. I knew I was going to have to break two pieces of news to my wife today. Both that could potentially break her heart.

I hung up without a goodbye and dropped my phone.

“Who was tha—”

“The store is flooded,” I rushed out, heading for a pair of shoes in my closet. “We need to go now.”

I didn’t provide further details. I wasn’t planning to tell her this way. I had points to make, explanations to give. It wasn’t meant to be some last-minute, forced, hurried confession.

“My—My store?” Her lower lip wobbled, and in that moment, I would have done tremendous things to take myself back six months and start this marriage over. Start it right.

I nodded and rifled through my closet, to avoid her eyes and to grab us both T-shirts. We ran out the door in little more than pajamas, her with those bunny slippers she wore around my house. I attempted to make her stop and slide on real shoes, especially considering she needed arch support desperately right now, but she ignored me, pushing right out the door and to her car. I insisted on driving, and truth be told, I think the only reason she accepted was because her brain was working so fast right now, putting puzzle pieces together. There was no way she could focus on the road.

She wasn’t supposed to find out that way. This was never meant to go this way. Why did he call me right when I had her happily in my arms? None of it could be blamed on anyone but me. I knew that. It would have been nice to chalk this up to some simple mistake, but it wasn’t just one mistake. It was hundreds of chances that I’d lost—no, that I volunteered to give up. Time and I were in a race, and it had won.

The ten-minute drive was silent, the streets of Philadelphia around us still mostly asleep as the sun rose in the distance. My mind raced to piece together an explanation, but did that even matter now? Just when we had things figured out, I had to go and screw it up all over again.

I knew what the risks of marriage were when you didn’t love someone enough. I knew that lost connection meant divorce. But no one ever warns you of the risks when you love someone too much. When you love them to the point of causing pain to them. Because right now, that felt just as heavy on my heart.

We pulled onto the street. The streetlamp lit up enough of the store to see standing water inside. The power was fully out, the brand new neon sign on top now blacked out.

Rachel opened her door without a word and walked toward the entrance as if she was in a trance, her eyes glazed over. She leaned into the glass, two hands cupped around her eyes so she could see in. Her fingers shook, but still, she didn’t say anything. She didn’t cry. She didn’t yell or shout at me. Just stood there silently watching.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my keys, searching for the one with a yellow cap before putting it into the door lock and twisting it to open. Only then did Rachel look up at me, and that’s when I saw a mixture of fury and confusion swirling in her eyes.

Currently playing: Someone's Gonna Break Your Heart by Fountains Of Wayne

***

Adam was the other investor. The “out-of-state” one. That was the only explanation. The only reason Arthur would call him directly when the place flooded. It was why he suddenly had a key to the front entrance. Why he hadn’t heard from Poppi or her husband, I had no idea.

My arms wrapped around my abdomen. I was going to be sick, truly. My stomach cramped, twisting and turning at the thought of looking Adam in the eye right now. My vision was blurry as he opened the door, burning hot sensations pushing at the back of my throat in a lump that I refused to acknowledge. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not in front of him.

I had an overwhelming urge to throw something, specifically at Adam Wells’s face.

All of the memories came rushing through me as I stared at the ruined checkered floor that I loved so dearly, each one hurting more than the last. The night where I cried to him over the thought of losing the store. The slideshow I showed him, asking for his opinion of each sentence. The time I told him my feet hurt from being at the counter all day and then the following week, when a cushioned pad appeared right where I stand. The way he listened to me every time I talked about how much I loved the store. And never once did he decide to tell the truth.

I was not going to cry.

I walked through the entrance, ignoring Adam’s protests.

“It’s not safe, and you’re not wearing proper sho—”

My bunny slippers stomped on the floor, sloshing the muddy water. The pain in my feet from yesterday felt like nothing compared to this growing ache in my chest.

Betrayal, lies, deceit. Each word flung around in my brain as I searched for any reason for him to not tell me. Did I give him a reason not to? I shook my hair out, pulling at the hair tie in it. No. Even if I gave him a reason not to tell me, there was no excuse. This wasn’t on me, and I wasn’t taking the blame.

I turned to Adam, my gaze shooting daggers at him as my fists clenched at my sides. “You bought it.”

His eyes stayed on mine. “I just invested in i—”

“You bought it,” I corrected. Technicalities meant nothing here.

“I did.”

“Over a year ago?” My question came out almost whiny as I fought to hold myself together.

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