“Ronin’s not going.”
“But it’s Thanksgiving.”
I nodded, turning the music on in the shop. “We’ll be gone for almost two weeks. Snow is expected here. He couldn’t take that much time off.”
“That sucks.”
Yes. A lot of things sucked at that point in my life. Sucked might have been a monumental understatement if my worst fears turned out to be true.
Ronin fell back into his hole quickly over the following days. He found every excuse to arrive home late, fall asleep before I got Anya to sleep, and leave in the morning without a goodbye. His behavior made it easy to leave. If he was having an affair with Lila, not going to San Francisco wasn’t going to stop it. But more than my fear of infidelity, I just wanted my husband and my best friend to not be in so much physical and emotional pain all the time. My distrust and accusations would ruin all of us, and I wasn’t prepared to blow up my world.
At least, not until I had time to myself to figure some things out. And not until Lila returned my messages or called me back.
The Monday before Thanksgiving, Ronin drove us to the airport in Denver in spite of my insistence that I could leave my car there so he also didn’t have to pick us up.
“Be good for Mommy, okay?” He hugged and kissed Franz while I unfastened Anya from her seat. After he unloaded our luggage, he kissed Anya on the cheek. “I’m going to miss you like crazy.”
Tears stung my eyes. Why did our leaving for two weeks feel so final? Why did he have unshed tears pooling in his own eyes as he grabbed my face and kissed me? I tried to hold it, but I couldn’t. I choked on a tiny sob as my emotions broke free.
“Shh … no, baby. Don’t cry.” Ronin hugged me as Anya tugged my hand and Franz sat on his suitcase.
I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat. Ronin wiped my cheeks and kissed me one last time. “Call me … every day. Okay?”
I nodded, holding my breath and the rest of the emotions threatening to break the dam.
“Mommy, don’t cry.” Franz wedged himself between us, hugging my waist.
I pulled my suitcase and guided Anya to the door with Franz pulling the other suitcase beside me. After we made it to the entrance, before the glass doors shut, I gave one glance back at Ronin, but he was already pulling away from the curb.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Lila
“There will be thirty of us for Thanksgiving,” Graham announced, opening the door to the library.
I was surprised he found me there. Equally disappointed. I liked having a safe haven. I also liked snuggling under a blanket with Desolation Angels on the sofa where Ronin touched me. That would be what I thought about before I took my last breath.
My attention shifted to him as he perused the shelves of books. “I called Evelyn yesterday. Did you know she’s in San Francisco with the kids? Ronin stayed home. Something about not being able to get off work.”
“No. I haven’t talked to her in a while.”
“Oh … are you two having a tiff?” Graham’s ridiculous game of ignorance usually angered me, but I had no more anger left inside of me. The recent infidelity between the four of us used up the rest of my give-a-fucks. Ronin stayed for me. There was no way he’d miss Thanksgiving with his family because of work.
“That would please you, wouldn’t it?” I said.
“No. I like my girls to be happy.” He pulled a book from the shelf, glanced at the back of it, and returned it to its spot before continuing his stroll around the room.
“I’m not your girl.”
“You’re my wife.”
“I’m the person who will haunt you for the rest of your life.”
He chuckled, brushing his fingers over the thin strips of tape along his scarred cheek. “Like a ghost?” Graham found our situation amusing. A perfectly healthy woman planning her suicide wasn’t funny. It proved I married a psychopath. Maybe it also proved I wasn’t “perfectly healthy.” Emotionally damaged? Depressed beyond words most days? Yes. My biggest problem? I lacked the will to live most of the time. Except with Ronin. With him, I felt a spark of hope.
I didn’t kid myself; that spark would die. I would die.
“More like Karma,” I murmured.
“How ungodly of you to wish bad luck upon me.”
I closed my book and rested it on my lap. None of it felt funny to me. Everything felt tragic. “I don’t wish you bad luck. I pray for you. I pray for us.”
“Is God not answering your prayers?”
I shrugged. “Time will tell.”
“You know …” Graham sat at the opposite end of the sofa.
I drew my knees toward my chest, letting the book fall aside as I tightened the blanket around me.