Page 105 of The Husband Hour
Howard adjusted his hat, and she wished she had one of her own. She tried to make it a habit to use sunblock every day but still forgot sometimes. She shielded her face with her hands cupped over her eyes until they reached the house.
“This sublease strategy…you did a good job, Beth. Thank you.”
She beamed, thinking maybe the time apart had been a real blessing in disguise. He opened the sliding-glass door to the kitchen, and a rush of cool air greeted them. Beth walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a lemon and a pitcher of iced tea she’d brewed earlier that day. She was bending down to the lower cabinet for the cutting board when Howard said, “But we do need to come to an agreement about this house.”
She stood up and turned to him. “If this sublease works out, we won’t be on the hook for the monthly rent. And we can live here. There’s no reason to sell this place.”
“I’m not living here year-round. It’s freezing and isolated in the winter.”
She stared at him, incredulous.
“You’ve always loved this house.”
“As a summer getaway! Not as our home.”
“Why not?”
His face turned red. “Because it feels like failure, that’s why not. I didn’t want to lose the store, but I did. I didn’t want to lose our house—I can barely live with the fact that I did. But I’ll be damned if I’ll spend our retirement in your parents’ old place, freezing our asses off ten months out of the year in a desolate town because it’s our only option.”
“What about what I want?”
Howard sighed. “I just can’t do it, Beth. And if that’s really what you want, I have to admit, I don’t see the compromise option here.”
“Neither do I,” Beth said, the words catching in her throat. He left the room.
Chapter Forty-Three
Howard had picked a restaurant that Lauren typically never set foot in during the summer. Tomatoes was one of the trendier establishments in town; it had brightly painted rooms and pop-art lithographs lining the walls.
The hostess led them to the back dining room, and Lauren spotted a lot of regulars from Nora’s sitting at the octagonal bar. It was strange for her to wait on people by day and then be a customer alongside them at night.
The three of them sat at a table under prints of Marilyn Monroe and Superman. The empty fourth seat was glaring.
“Isn’t this nice? A night out with my girls,” Howard said as the hostess handed around menus.
“I still don’t get why Mom didn’t come tonight. If you two would just start acting normally, things would go back to the way they were,” Stephanie said. It took all of Lauren’s strength not to roll her eyes at this typically simplistic and self-serving comment.
“If it’s that easy, why didn’t you just ‘act normal’ with Brett?” Lauren said.
Stephanie snorted. “You’re comparing Mom and Dad to me and Brett? They’ve been together, what, thirty-five years?”
“It’s complicated, sweetheart,” Howard said, looking at the wine list, then closing it abruptly.
“Are we getting a bottle?” Stephanie asked.
“I don’t think we need to drink tonight,” he said, glancing at Lauren. She gave a subtle nod of agreement.
Stephanie slumped in her chair.
“So tell me what’s been going on the past few weeks? A good summer so far?” Howard said.
“Are you serious?” Stephanie said. “We’re going to sit here and pretend this isn’t totally fucked up?”
Lauren was shocked to see tears in her sister’s eyes.
A waitress came by to take their drink orders. Howard asked her to give them a minute. “Sweetheart,” he said to Stephanie. “I don’t want you to take this so hard. Whatever happens between your mother and me, we’re still your parents. I’m here for you, always.”
Stephanie started bawling. What the hell?
