Page 88 of The Husband Hour
“Did you tell anyone?”
She shook her head. “No. I just couldn’t. It felt like I’d be betraying him. He was such a private person and had so much pride. And what would it have helped? I wasn’t trying to punish him by keeping my distance; I really was trying to figure it out. And the only answer was therapy. It seemed obvious to me, but I knew it would be a tough sell to Rory.”
“But you suggested it?”
She nodded. “Yes. He returned to LA three days before flying back to Washington. I said he couldn’t come to the house, so he stayed with Dean Wade. I agreed to meet him for coffee and prepped my whole speech on why we needed therapy. I knew he would resist the idea, but I thought that ultimately he would come around. I truly believed that.”
“So you were optimistic?”
“Yes. I was optimistic. And before he was due to fly back to Washington State, we met to talk.”
Rory was already sitting at a table near the back when she arrived at the coffee shop. Their greeting was awkward. Her impulse was to hug him, but she held herself back and he kissed her on the cheek.
“How are Dean and Ashley?” she asked.
“Great. They say hi.”
She nodded, remembering Ashley’s words: “They all get nasty when they hit their heads.”
She could feel other women in the café looking at them. Did they recognize him or were they just checking out a gorgeous guy?
“Lauren, I’m sorry. I fucked up. There’s no excuse, but you have to know that’s not who I am.” He reached for her hand. She let him take it but she couldn’t look him in the eye.
“I know that’s not who you are. That’s why we’re having this conversation.”
He smiled, and she knew he thought that it was going to be that easy, because in so many ways, it always had been with her. But that was over. She couldn’t afford to be that person anymore.
“I need you,” he said. “I need you to get on that plane with me to Washington.”
She nodded, swallowing hard, resisting the urge to take the easy way out, to say, Yes, yes, that’s what I want to. I need you, I want you, I miss you!
Instead, she said, “The only way that can happen is if you agree to counseling.”
He pulled his hand away, sitting back in his seat. “Come on, Lauren. You know I don’t go in for that crap.”
“Well, I don’t go in for domestic violence. So clearly we have a problem.”
He looked at her like Come on. As if she were being dramatic. But she didn’t waver, and he finally said, “That will never happen again.”
“You don’t know that.”
“This is me you’re talking to, Lauren. You’ve known me since I was sixteen years old.”
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m afraid that person is gone.”
“He’s not.”
“Well, that person, the man I fell in love with—the boy I fell in love with—would be saying therapy is not ideal, but okay. He would be saying he would never let me down again. Isn’t that what you told me?”
He reached for her hand. “There’s an adjustment period, Lauren. If you’d gone to any of the wife groups, if you weren’t so intent on pushing this part of our life away, holding your breath until it’s over—”
“Do you know that soldiers with PTSD are three times more likely to be violent toward their spouses?”
“Now you’re a therapist, diagnosing me with PTSD?”
“I don’t know what’s going on, Rory! That’s why we need a professional.”
He stood up, dropping money on the table.
