He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, take her, but instead his hands curled in on themselves, clenching tight at his sides.
“I thought you were at dinner with your brothers,” Beth said.
“They were irritating me, so I left them to irritate each other.” He propped a shoulder against the door frame, struggling to steady his heartbeat. He’d been inventing dinners all week—anything to stay away from home. From her. But tonight was different. “I merely wanted to see if you were all right.”
Her smile held a hint of sadness. “So now you’re talking to me.”
He did not deny his lack of attention. How could he? He didn’t want to see her, couldn’t stand eating with her, could barely keep on living in the same house with her without going insane. Holding her little hand in his at court had been painful. Hearing her say she loved him with the same mouth she’d both kissed and lied to him had been among the most painfully mocking things in his entire goddamned life.
She rose to her feet in an easy, effortless move that made her body sway under the loose pastel green robe she wore. “Landon, about what I said at court—”
“I didn’t come here to talk about what you said,” he interrupted.
The hurt that came to her eyes made him want to charge across and do something to erase it. But she quickly wiped her expression clean, and he quickly dashed the thought of doing anything for her except what he’d promised he would and had already accomplished. Getting her son back.
Made visibly nervous by his visit, since he’d been doing a damned fine job of staying away from her room for weeks, Beth chewed her lower lip. “What did you come up here to talk about, then?”
I wanted to look at you one last time.
“I came to let you know…” His blood swirled. After the brutal feel of his own exposure at court, admitting to a room full of people what he had not admitted even to himself, every atom, cell and nerve in his body vibrated with yearning for her. Every night, every day. He had to leave, now, before he regretted it. He clamped his teeth and shook his head, frustrated with himself. “Forget it.”
He spun around, but she called his name.
“Landon!”
He stiffened, and his head came up a bit, but he didn’t turn until several slow, painful seconds passed. He faced her once more, not wanting to notice how her hair fell in a golden waterfall past her shoulders, framing her delicate face, not wanting to think that she looked vulnerable and beautiful and ready for bed.
“It’s about the divorce, isn’t it,” she said.
Something cracked inside, but he’d be dead before he showed it. He nodded. “I wanted to say goodbye.”
The next day started easily enough, ordinarily enough, except for the yellow folder Beth found on her nightstand. Landon must have gotten close to leave it there during the night, and her stomach tumbled realizing she must have slept through it.
So…
It was indeed goodbye.
During the morning she felt numb. Couldn’t bring herself to open it. But she knew what it was. She accompanied Thomas to drop David at school, then she called her mother to let her know they’d be coming over today and staying for a week or two, until she could rent the small one-bedroom house at Crownridge she’d spotted.
David would miss the dogs. Between packing for them both and stealing sidelong glances at the envelope, Beth scoured through the dog books in Landon’s study in search of the right breed for them. Maybe a little dog, which wouldn’t bark and disturb the neighbors. She pored over the books, and stopped at: Old English Mastiffs.
Her insides wrenched as she read the description. So. This was why Landon didn’t have a Doberman, or a German Shepherd. Mastiffs were loyal to the death. And it struck her how, above anything else, her husband valued loyalty, and how Beth had disappointed him.
She and David moved out that afternoon, before Landon returned from work, but even then, she didn’t dare open the envelope.
She found herself staring at it the next morning, torn between finding out its contents or setting it on fire in the kitchen stove.
“Your father says Hector’s going to get a life sentence, and there’s really nothing he can do about it but serve it. Beth! Are you listening to me? I don’t appreciate seeing you moping, Bethy. We really must do something about it.”
Beth sat at the small old breakfast table—the envelope next to her plate. Outside, cars drove by. But no. No black Navigator or blue Maserati pulled over in front of Mom’s home. Probably, there never would be.
She sipped her coffee, wondering what to do, wondering if she’d always been such a coward, when her mother’s frequent, worried glances prodded her to speak. “I heard you,” she said at last, sighing. “Hector’s getting at least thirty years. I’m sorry, Mother, but I’m not pretending to be surprised. The man had gotten away with it for too long.”
“Speak louder, Bethy, I’m not wearing my hearing aid. And stop looking at those papers and open them, for heaven’s sake. Here. Take this knife.”
Okay, then.
Opening them now.