Page 6 of Every Silent Lie
“Because no one gives a document that much attention without it needing a signature.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Yes.”
I look up at him, just as he looks down at me, and there’s that flutter in my stomach again. And this time, not a ping, but an explosion in my chest. I have to look away. “What do you do?” I ask.
“For a living?”
“Yes.”
“Acquiring and merging. More acquiring. You?”
“CFO.”
“Of?”
“A shipping company. TF Shipping. I was brought in to get it in a healthy financial shape ready for the owner to bring in a team who’ll prepare it for public debut.”
“So that was the paperwork.”
“No, the paperwork was my divorce papers.” I don’t know why I peek up at him now, maybe to see his reaction? I should have known, though. There is no reaction.
“Struggling to sign them?”
“No.” I have no idea where these words are coming from. And yet they won’t stop coming. “I’m struggling to accept the reasons he’s cited.”
“Which are?”
“Not going to be discussed with you.” I swallow down the predictable lump growing, frustrated it still exists. “And you?” I ask, moving things along.
“Me, what?”
“Are you married?”
“Yes.”
My steps falter a little too much to go unnoticed. What is that inside? Disappointment? I frown to myself, my gaze dropping to my feet. And now I have no clue what to say. The silence has been comfortable. The conversation had been surprisingly easy, and I don’t want that to change. “How long have you been married?”
“Technically, five years.”
“Technically?”
“I’d have been divorced four years ago, but I don’t know where to send the papers.” He looks at me. Holds my eyes. Now he’s searching for my reaction and, like him, I don’t have one.
“You don’t know where she is?”
He shakes his head as we turn onto my street, and naturally my mind races. What’s his story? Where is she? Why did they break up? But more than my endless questions about Dec, what is happening inside me?
The heat, the flutters, the breathlessness.
“I’ve never met someone who also enjoys walking, despite the cold,” he says, breaking the silence.
“I walk everywhere I can. It’s something my mum and I used to enjoy.”
“Interesting. My mum was similar. She used to say that walking in the cold staved off sickness because it built our immunity. I don’t think it’s true anymore, but I still equate the cold with good things.”
“I like that sentiment.” I like this man. This walk has stirred something inside, and it isn’t just intrigue. “This is me,” I say, pointing to the door into my apartment block. Dec looks up at the building as we stand at the bottom of the steps, only a few feet between our chests. “Thank you for walking me home.”
