Her eyes bore into mine, and I try to imagine the thoughts filling her mind. I’ve spent hour upon hour trying to figure out the workings of her mind over the last two years. Hell, even before that, when our marriage spiralled into a whirlpool of arguments and accusations, I spent hours trying to work her out. What I’ve decided is that I will never come close to understanding my wife. The other thing I decided? Marriage is for fools. Handing your life over to someone else and giving them permission to fuck with everything you value is something only those who are crazy in love would ever do. The rest of us know better. I’ll never do it again.
She leans forward and places her arms on the metal table between us. Her face is just as pallid as it was the last time I was here, and she still appears ill. Ice slithers down my spine when I realise just how much I don’t care. Am I really as cold as I feel? “Exactly why are you here, Luke? Do you actually want this marriage?”
“Why the fuck else would I be here?” I snap.
Careful.
You need this.
We sit in silence.
She stares.
I try not to glare.
I clench my fists by my side and remind myself of everything I’m working for here.
I end up breaking the silence. And faking the shit out of this visit. “I’m sorry…” I reach for her hand and do my best not to flinch when our skin meets. “I’m tired, and I’m a bastard. I love you, and I need you out of here just as much as you need to get out.” The words taste dirty even as I think them, let alone speak them.
Her breathing picks up, and then tears fall down her face. Within a minute, she’s sobbing. All I can do is hold her hand and watch in fascination as my wife gives me an Academy Awards-worthy performance. Because it sure as hell isn’t real.
She spends a good five minutes turning on the waterworks. Finally, she gets herself together enough to talk. “I love you, Luke. I feel so alone in here, and I spend my time wondering where we are at and what you’re thinking.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I think I’m actually going crazy.” Another sob tears through her, and she gasps for breath. “I just want to come home.”
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If I were a Hollywood producer, I’d hire her right fucking now. My mind begins cataloguing the last six years that I’ve known her. What was real? What parts of my life can I look back on and know were honest?
I let her hand go. I can’t take one more second of touching her. “Right, so we need to sort through the information the investigator needs. He thinks he’s close to a breakthrough, sweetheart.” Bile threatens as I let that endearment pass through my lips. But I’m closer than I’ve been in a long time. I just need to push myself a little harder.
She takes a deep breath and nods. “What does he need?”
“Did you have a chance to think about those things I asked you the other day?”
Nodding, she says, “I think I was with Alanis the Monday before Mum died. It’s hard to remember that far back, but pretty much every Monday we spent together shopping.”
Her best friend.
The friend who uncovered the truth.
The woman I owe so much to for putting an end to the lies.
“And do you remember if you took the car to that carwash?”
“No, never. The only car wash I’ve ever used is the one you and I went to together. But I still don’t understand why he thinks this information is relevant.”
I want to sag with relief that she finally gave me this information. However, I hold myself together. “I don’t know, but he made it clear it was important.”
She frowns. “Is that all he wants to know? It doesn’t seem right that he’s only asking those questions.”
My carefully held together patience frays. “I told you, I don’t know,” I snap.
Jolene recoils and I swear silently. I need to keep her onside in case the detective demands more information. Raking my fingers through my hair, I mutter, “Sorry.”
She doesn’t respond, but the expression on her face settles back into acceptance.
We sit in another few minutes of tortured silence. The minutes drag by, and I feel like I’ve been sitting here for hours rather than the short time I have been.
Finally, she cuts through the quiet. “We can get us back on track, right?”