Page 55 of Nothing But It All
I settle back, resting against the side of the boat.
We sit quietly for a few minutes, riding along with the waves. Tall pine trees loom overhead. They provide a bit of shade as we float into the shadows.
“I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do here,” Jack says.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’re sitting on this boat staring at each other, and I don’t know if I’m supposed to make small talk like you’re a stranger or talk to you like you’re my wife.”
“What’s the difference?”
He cocks a brow toward the sky.
“We’ve been married strangers for a long time,” I say. “This should come naturally to us at this point.”
“The fact that it’s not natural means something, does it not?”
I shrug.I don’t know.
The truth is that when we’re all together, playing euchre or hanging out on the boat with eighties hits—the only music we all can agree on—rocking through the speakers, I remember what it used to be like with us.
The heat in Jack’s eyes across the bow of the boat. How his fingertips would graze the small of my back like he couldn’t manage not to touch me. The inside jokes we’d laugh about despite everyone else thinking we were goofy.
I felt so safe with Jack for so long. I was happy—blissfully so—with him for so many years. And then ... then I just wasn’t.
“I had no idea you were thinking about divorce. And it’s bullshit that it took that to make me realize what was going on. That’s probably a symptom of the problem. But, Lo, there has to be a way for us to work on this. To fix it. Please.”
My breath stalls in my chest as his words ring in my mind. I can’t shake them. I almost can’t move on from them.
I expected a reaction from him—a guilt trip or a charge of overreaction. I hadn’t considered that he would want to resurrect something he’s simply let go.
He says he doesn’t want a divorce, but is that really true? Is he panicking because he hasn’t had enough time to sit with the idea of ending things? Or does he mean it when he says this isn’t over?
Could things go back to the way they used to be?
I wonder,I’m scared, that it’s the same phenomenon that occurs when a nasty person dies. No one goes to their funeral and talks about the awful parts of their life. No one says, “Uncle Joe was an asshole who cheated on Aunt Nancy and gambled away all their money.” It’s never that. It’s always tears and tales of all the good things that person did—even if they have to practically make them up.
Is that what it would be if I gave in? Would I get a couple of good days with my family, if I’m lucky, and then go right back to the life I’ve been desperate to change? Am I effectively in the funeral stage of my marriage, remembering all the good parts before I bury it forever?
“Fine,” he says, running his hands down the length of his crimson board shorts. “I’ll pick. You are hot as hell, Lauren Reed.”
His tone is thick with intent, and his gaze settles so heavily on mine that I can barely breathe.
“If I wasn’t already married to you, I’d be figuring out how to be,” he says. “And since I already am, I’m figuring out how to stay that way.”
I look across the water, my cheeks matching the hue of his trunks.
He gives me a moment to let that sink in to my brain before he moves on—thankfully, in a different direction.
“You know they’re not coming back, right?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “What do we do?”
“Well, Dad was right. That trail over there will practically take us to the back door of the cabin.”
I turn to him. “I’m not really feeling a two-mile hike in this heat.”
“Wanna camp out here with me, then?” He grins. “There’s not a ton of room for you to fake sleep. Keep that in mind.”
