Page 38 of His Loving Wife

I’m enraged, listening to him speak to Noah like this. Almost taunting him. “Andrew—”

“And what about you, Willow?” he continues, cutting me off. “What did you feel?”

Her eyes dart toward me, as though asking for permission. “I was also afraid.”

“We’ve established that. We all were.” He stares at her to continue.

“And I was angry. That someone could get that close to us.”

“It’s infuriating, isn’t it? Someone was in our home. Under our roof. Invading our family.”

“Andrew, this is enough.”

He turns to me. “What about you, Kate? What did you feel?”

“I don’t think this conversation is appropriate. We’re on vacation. We shouldn’t be—”

“Then when should we talk about this? We can’t just keep hiding this conversation between the two of us, addressing it when only in the presence of our therapist. It happened to our entire family. We’re all impacted by it. And what happened on the boat reignited those feelings in all of us. I think the least we can do is revisit it openly and admit how it might have shaped us.”

I feel my eyes prickling with tears, but I clench my jaw, trying to keep them in. I don’t want the children to see me cry. They are staring at me, their food untouched, their cheeks pale. I wonder what they’re thinking. To hell with that night, I want to know what they’re thinking right now. And Andrew’s eyes are still on me, casting accusations.

“Were you like Willow?” he asks. “Were you angry someone was able to get so close to us?”

“Yes.” All I can manage is that one word.

“And what else?”

Shame, I think.I was ashamed.

My eyes bounce between Andrew and the children. “I was heartbroken.”

“But we’re better now, aren’t we? Just look at us.”

Andrew is smiling now, like he’s impressed with what tonight’s conversation uncovered. I’m still not sure why he initiated this discussion. He acts as though it was necessary. I wouldn’t describe Andrew as vindictive, but the way he is powering through with this conversation—blocking me when I try to intervene—seems intentional.

“I feel better getting this off my chest,” he says, leaning back.

Willow nods. Noah stares straight ahead. I’m still trying to fight back the tears threatening to break.

Chapter 19

Now

Andrew’s conversation looped through my mind during the night. He didn’t say more than a few words after dinner, then spent several hours chatting on his computer. When he did climb into bed beside me, he slept peacefully, like nothing happened. I suppose, in his mind, nothing did. He was simply having a conversation. One he deemed necessary.

I still can’t gauge the children’s true reactions. They played along, answering his questions and nodding when appropriate. On the outside, they didn’t seem bothered by the conversation, which is perhaps what disturbs me so much. I can’t decide if I’m being too sensitive, thus supporting Andrew’s theory that we should talk openly about that night, or if the children were frightened, but desperately trying to appease their father. Between the two reactions, I’m not sure which one I prefer.

I have a nagging feeling that Andrew did this as revenge. For the way I lashed out at him after the boat, perhaps? He has avoided me since then, choosing to forgo talking to me in favor of venting to his online friends. In a paranoid quadrant of my brain, I wonder if last night’s conversation was meant to get back at me. Punish me. Teach me a lesson.

Beside me, Andrew rolls on his side, facing me. I wonder what dreams and nightmares and thoughts are swirling around his brain this very minute. When he does open his eyes, I’m staring down at him. He smiles.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.” I’m hunched over with my forearms leaned over my knees. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby. What about you?”

I make a face, turning my mouth into a thin, straight line. We’re not supposed to keep lying to each other, even for the sake of our feelings. It’s better to be upfront about how last night affected me.

---