Page 1 of Lust in Translation

CHAPTER ONE

KENDALL

HE HAS SAID THEphrase “I love you” four times since the day I first laid eyes on him. We’ve been together for two years and married for one. Our relationship resembles more of a rap sheet than anything traditional and sought after. Sorority girl impregnated by fraternity boy. Small town families don’t force nuptials, yet a woman’s mental fragility encourages a marital union. The baby is stillborn on her due date. Depression implants. Marriage remains. Barely.

I’m not even sure what’s left between us. I look at Adam and I’m not sure I know him. Or if I ever knew him the way soulmates are supposed to know each other. One thing is for certain: we are bound by circumstances that no longer exist. He isn’t a bad man. He isn’t particularly good either. He’s notmyman. I recognize this isn’t something a newlywed should be thinking, but my depression forces it to the surface. I pick at all the scabs I know you’re supposed to leave alone. They’ll never heal, or when they do they’ll leave deep scars like a tattoo on my soul. Adam will be a scar. A jagged patch of regret and utter devastation.

Through the dark shadows that haunt my soul, I’m still alive enough to wonder who will call it first? Oftentimes, I think it’s on the tip of his tongue, a dying wish of a man suffering in the silence I’ve bestowed upon him. The worddivorce, a salve, never comes, though. Words like therapy, counseling, doctors; those words are vivid and forthright. I won’t be the one to call it. I can’t. I’m the one who convinced him that being together for the baby was a good thing, while Adam wanted to wait and see how it played out. Wanted to give the baby her place, and the marriage its own space.

Pregnancy blinded me. I reached out for anything, clawing at stability. A man who would be there for me—a partner. Another human in my atmosphere so I wouldn’t be alone in the parenthood void I’ve watched my friends disappear into. Marriage was the golden ticket—the end all, be all, to my worries. Except it wasn’t. Adam was right. We should have waited. Maybe I would still be pregnant. Maybe losing our baby girl was punishment for making a selfish, stupid decision. For making the same decision my own mother made all those years ago.

She married my dad right out of high school because she was pregnant with me. I was the reason she was stuck in a loveless marriage like a bug wrapped in fly paper. Her horrible mistake was in vain as I survey my current disaster and wonder if I’ll keep us trapped for the rest of our lives. I can live with misery. I deserve to be where I’m at. Adam might not deserve it.

Adam told me he loved me while he drove us to the courthouse to get our marriage license, on our wedding day, the morning after we woke up on honeymoon, and the night I lost our baby. And not one time since. I can’t do anything right, and he refuses to see that. He tells me it’s my grief or depression speaking when I say mean things. I scream that this is me now, and he still doesn’t get it. How could a man possibly understand?

Anger flares as I watch Adam’s shoulders slide up and down—an attempt at working a kink out. He’s been at his computer for six hours straight. I haven’t been able to work, so he’s been working constantly to keep up with our bills.

A wife should walk up, offer to rub his shoulders, and tell him to take a break. Instead, I say a silent prayer that he stays there for the rest of the night so I don’t have to pretend to like him. I don’t have to watch his face as he tries to make small talk. So I can fall asleep in the guest room before he even leaves his office.

With the permanent unease etched in my stomach, I make my way back to the bedroom, crawl into my unmade bed, and open my laptop to look over the email I’ve been rereading for days. It’s a job offer. One I accepted yesterday. The same job I would have died of excitement to havebefore. I didn’t apply for it the first time I saw the posting because I was pregnant and the position required long hours. Newly married couples should have time to be together. A mother wants to be close to her baby at all times.

Well, I don’t feel like a wife, and I don’t have a baby. Probably won’t ever want to get pregnant again after the torment I’ve endured with the loss of Noel. Her urn of ashes sits on the dresser that holds clothes never worn, and I stare at it longer than I should. I shake off the memory of the night I lost her, and I click open the email attachment. I let my eyes scan the words for the hundredth time. I applied on a whim because I saw the job advertised again, and in a clear moment, thought it might be good for me. For us, and the financial struggles of a one-income home.

It’s a government job at Harbour Point SEAL base in Cape Cod. It’s only a few miles from our home in Falmouth. I will be instructing sailors in linguistics—teaching them new languages. They need a full-time permanent linguist on staff. Their current objective is to implement a Spanish program. My language fluency is impressive and the base wants to keep me on board to help with interpreting foreign intelligence as well. With World War III raging, the demand for linguistic professionals is high.

I’m not worried about my credentials. I know I’m qualified. That’s one facet of myself I’m confident in. The rest of my life is shit, but I know I can do this job well. It’s what convinced me to accept the offer in the first place. That, and I finally feel the need to get out. I have to get out of here. Even if it means dealing with a bunch of salty sailors for hours on end.

Closing my laptop, I stare at the urn. I hear Adam’s desk chair creak and I freeze as his steps fall closer to my door. He pauses in the doorway, glances in, views a woman staring at her dead baby, sighs, and then crosses the hall to the bathroom.

I jump when he slams the door behind him.I’ll tell him when he comes out,I promise myself. When Adam exits a few minutes later, I blurt out, “I got a job.” My voice sounds strange, robotic. He seems taken aback by my tone, too. I rub my neck. “Weird. I, ah, haven’t spoken today. My voice sounds strange.”

Adam pauses mid-step and backs up, holding both sides of the doorframe. Clearing his throat, he says, “That’s great, Kendall. I’m glad you’re ready.”

He doesn’t even ask where, or what I’ll be doing. He only focuses on my depression. I bet it’s what the shrink told him to do. Don’t they know I want to be treated normally? “I start Monday. Long hours. Thought you’d want to know.”

“Of course I want to know,” Adam snarls. “I…I…” his words falter.

I rub my fingers against the cool laptop and let my gaze flick back to the safe place that scares him. “It’s at the SEAL Base. Harbour Point,” I explain. “A job teaching foreign languages. The pay is about twenty grand more than I made at the job after my internship, so you’ll be able to drop some of the extra side projects.” A business transaction. That’s what this sounds like. My heart pounds against my chest as I feel Adam’s gaze bore into the side of my face.

He doesn’t dare come into my space, but he leans in a bit more. Even if his brain knows that’s not allowed—I’m not ready, his actions seek physical contact—human touch. “I’m really happy for you. I don’t mind the side projects. I hope you know that. I’ll keep this schedule for as long as it takes for you to get—” Adam says, voice tripping.

“Takes for me to get better?” I finish his sentence, meeting his fearful gaze. I quirk one brow, challenging him to lie. “I’m better. This is me, better. The sooner you understand, the easier this will be.”

He retreats, swinging back out of the room. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have worded that differently. I don’t mind working a lot. That’s all I wanted to say. I’m happy you got this job. It’s the one you wanted a while back, right?”

My stomach lurches. He remembers this fact. He might actually care about me more than I care about him. I’m not even sure what that means at this point. I ball my fists. “It is.”

Adam strokes the stubble on his chin as I watch him formulate his next sentence. I used to find him attractive. Maybe I still do. Maybe some goddamn perspective away from my mental prison will fix more than just our finances. Maybe it will fix our marriage. He slides one hand into his pocket and rubs his lips together. “Doesn’t your stepdad have some friends at that base?” he asks.

I smile, and the awkwardness of the movement forces me to grimace a second later. Great, I’ve forgotten how to smile. “I wouldn’t exactly call them friends, but yeah, Aidan knows some of the SEALs over there.” Old memories rise to the surface, issuing a momentary salve to my heart. Before college, when my Mom found the man made for her. When her happily ever after began with a Navy SEAL down in Bronze Bay, Florida. Maybe my rebirth can happen at a Navy SEAL base here.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay? Will you drive to work then?” he asks, glancing away. I haven’t done much driving lately.

I nod. “I’ll drive.”

“I’m proud of you. It’s been a lot,” Adam says, voice trembling. He chances a glance to the dresser, but then looks down at his feet. “For both of us. I’m here for you. I tell you that all the time, I’m hoping one day you’ll take me up on it. I’m here to talk to. Not to answer questions the therapist poses, but to really talk to you about anything. Like we used to before this happened.”

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Part of me wants him to fold me in his arms. Part of me wants to run. Then there’s the part that’s here with us right now. “There’s nothing to talk about. What is there left to say? Unless you have something you’d like to talk about?”

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