My stomach roiled. “She kissed you?”
He nodded. “Yes, but that’s not my point.”
“What is your point?”
“Being with Jane on 9/11 made me rethink my life.”
“Rethink your life? What are you saying? Do you want to leave me for her?”
Salvador shook his head. “I don’t want to leave you, Ruthie. I want to love you, but—”
“But what?” A vice tightened around my throat. I couldn’t breathe. My legs wobbled, and it took everything in my power not to drop the plate I was holding.
“You won’t let me get close to you. You put up these barriers. Whenever we start to get close, you shut down. You push me away. You leave.”
I wanted to defend myself. To yell at him. To run as far away as possible so he couldn’t hurt me. And yet, I knew he was right. I did push him away. I pushed everyone away, afraid if they got too close, they’d see me for who I really was.
“Please don’t go,” I whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Oh, Ruthie.” Salvador pulled me into his arms and held me. I didn’t want to lose him, and yet I had to keep a distance between us in order to protect him from learning what really happened the night that Cheryl died.
* * *
In the spring of 2002,Salvador and I took the girls to Cannon Beach on the Oregon coast for a few days. Because of the restaurant, we seldom took a vacation. With Brandy soon graduating and leaving for college in the fall, we both felt it was important to spend time together as a family.
On our last day, I tried talking the girls into walking down to Haystack Rock. They both turned me down, insisting they’d been pooped on by one too many seagulls.
“You could always wear a hat like Mom,” Salvador suggested, gesturing at the baseball cap on my head.
“I just washed my hair,” Brandy said.
“Me too,” said Lia. “And getting pooped on by a seagull is just gross.”
“That’s why I wear the hat,” I said. “Well, that and the wind. Without it, my hair just flies in my face.”
Salvador smiled at me. “I guess it’s just the two of us, Ruthie. Are you ready?”
“I am.”
On the beach, Salvador took my hand. I held on to it, determined not to be the first one to let go. Since finding out about his emotional affair, I’d tried to be a better wife. I’d tried to let him in while not letting him get too close. I’d tried to forgive him.
At one point, Salvador and I talked about seeing a marriage counselor. We never actually made an appointment, but thinking about going seemed to help both of us.
Now, here we were on this beautiful beach, holding hands. When we reached Haystack Rock, the wind picked up, knocking my baseball cap off my head.
Laughing, we ran after it. Salvador reached it first. After brushing off the sand, he put it on my head, tucking my hair behind my ears. The tender gesture nearly moved me to tears. I started to tell him I loved him, but he interrupted me.
“I have to tell you something, Ruthie.” Distress filled his face.
“Don’t,” I said.
“Ruthie.”
“Just don’t. I don’t want to ruin our vacation with whatever you have to say. I just want to enjoy this moment. I love you.”
He hesitated a beat. “I love you too, but this is important. Please.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay.”