Page 20 of Shame

“I guess I deserve that.”

I frown. “Stop that.”

He hunches his shoulders and now he won’t look me in the eye. “You just said—”

“I’m aggrieved. I have the right. You need to be kinder to yourself.” I take another deep breath— I’m so tired of breathing deeply, calm blue oceans—and move to the door. I’ll let Sam think the sheets in the dryer are there because he did laundry. I need out of this apartment. I need to get away from Luke before I say something else kind and he takes it the wrong way.

He follows, standing too close as we wait for the elevator. As it opens, he leans in and murmurs, “I really do hear you, you know.”

Time will tell. “Good.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m out of the apartment later?”

I don’t turn my head to look at him. I stare straight ahead and nod. “Thanks.”

In the lobby, I march straight ahead, trying to outpace him, but he has longer legs than I do. When I get to the sidewalk, he’s right beside me again.

“Thank you,” he mutters. “For not telling Sam.”

“For now,” I tell him. “I’ll keep this secret for a while. For my own reasons, not for yours. But you need to take care of yourself, and get some help, because we are going to tell him at some point soon.”

“What do you mean, get some help?”

I unlock my car for the second time this morning, and this time I’m first to the door. I pull it open. “Therapy, Luke. You’re all messed up, and not my problem anymore. It’s time for you to pay someone to care about your feelings.”

10

Luke

“Tell me why you’re here.”

I glance around the therapist’s office on the second floor of a converted house just off College Street. Getting straight to the point. “My wife found out I was having an affair a week ago. It was the worst day of my life. I moved out, because she needs space, but she told me to get some therapy.” I let out a rough breath. “So I’m here. And I want to do this for me, I guess, but also for us. I want to figure out where I went wrong, so I can maybe show her I won’t do it again.”

“You want to repair your relationship.”

“Yes. And I don’t know how.”

“Is that something she’s interested in?”

I hesitate. “I need to do this. I need to try.”

“Why?”

“Because I love her.” The words rip from my chest and leave a wound. “I know how that sounds. Why would I cheat on her if I love her?”

“It’s a good question.”

“Why does anyone do anything?”

“Like what?”

I shrug. “You tell me.”

He nods. “Okay. Well, I mean, we could start with your childhood.”

I tense up.

He notices. I notice that he notices, and he scribbles something on the notepad he’s holding. “Maybe we’ll come back to that. How about substance use?”

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