Page 4 of Forgiveness

She rolls her eyes. “You really would, too. If you could get away with it, you’d do it. You have no conscience.”

“Of course I would. I’d take really good care of you. It would be a vacation for you, really.”

She snorts, shaking her head, and I grin back at her. I love this easiness between us. I worked hard to achieve it.

She was disdainful of my trick at first, but as she witnessed my brokenness in the weeks after our separation, she softened considerably. My wife is an angel, and she can’t stand it when people are in pain.

Even if the person in pain is the bastard who cheated on her for fifteen years.

Yet, even after all that I’ve done, I truly believe that over the last five and a half months, I’ve made progress in winning back her heart. I’ve been devoted to showing her how much I love and need her. How I’ll worship her from now and for the rest of her life, because there’s no other way. I can’t survive without her, and she can see it. I’ve probably lost ten pounds since I moved out of this house, and I was already lean. Every morning, my eyes are puffy from using whiskey as a sleeping pill. I look and feel like walking death.

Even if she takes me back out of pity, I don’t care. I’ll make it worth her while by devoting my life to making her happy.

The Christmas Ball is two weeks away. It’s now crunch time. I can’t be coy any longer, or else I might spook her when I ask for my date.

Before I leave here today, I have to at least drop a hint about my intentions.

Oh God, I just hope she doesn’t shoot me down. I’m not sure if I’d be able to take it. I’ve become achingly fragile since I moved out of this house.

“Are you okay?” Whitney asks. “You look pale.”

I laugh humorlessly. “I look like this all the time now. Looking like shit is my post-separation makeover.”

Meanwhile, she looks as beautiful as ever. Even now, with her hair in a knot on her head and no makeup, she looks like an angel. Anyone in their right mind would want this woman.

I’m so lucky she’s shy and skittish. She’d never in a million years start dating right after separating from her husband of twenty-three years, which is why I gave myself six months.

But six months is the bare minimum. She probably has divorced men in our circle falling all over themselves trying to get a date. Eventually, she’ll give in to someone out of the goodness of her heart.

I have to get my date before that happens.

She shakes her head, frowning as her gaze drifts over my body. “You look especially pale.”

I’m startled when she stands up and walks over to my side of the table. Before I get the chance to process what’s going on, she sets her hand on my forehead, and the warmth of it spills over my whole body like a tropical rain. That little brow of hers is furrowed in concern.

It’s blissful agony having her this close. Having her take care of me like she always used to.

After removing her hand, she purses her lips. “You don’t feel feverish, but I think you should have a routine checkup.”

I nod. “I’ll do that.”

She narrows her eyes on my face before turning around and walking back to her seat. “You’d better not be humoring me.”

“I wasn’t humoring you when I said I’d get therapy, was I?”

Her expression softens. “I guess that’s true.”

She sounds surprised. Is it just now occurring to her how uncharacteristic it is of me to seek therapy, even at her urging?

I hope so. I need her to know that her every thought and desire matter to me, that they always did, but now I will heed them. I can’t make up for all that I’ve done, but I can show her through my actions that from now on, it will be different. I will be different.

“How is therapy going?” she asks, spooning around the remainder of her broccoli soup.

I smile faintly. “I hate my therapist, but I figure that’s probably normal.”

She frowns as she sets the spoon on the table, as if to give me her full attention. It’s the same scolding look she gives either me or the kids when we’ve disappointed her, and oh God, it’s so sweet and soft and characteristically Whitney. I wish I could capture it in one of the mason jars I used to scoop up tadpoles in as a kid. I wish I could keep her warmth stored with me all the time.

“That’s not normal at all,” she says. “Trust is essential if you’re going to make progress.”

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