Chapter Twenty-seven
When Bev came home from the park and we prepared supper together, I told her about Barbara’s visit.
Though Bev had nothing against Barbara personally, she was unsympathetic toward Barbara’s anguish and believed they were trying to put pressure on me—to make me feel guilty for not forgiving Wes.
Bev also suggested that they were dangling money in front of me as a way to convince me not to divorce their son.
“Maybe they’re afraid you’ll go after his trust fund in the divorce,” Bev suggested.
I couldn’t discount that as a possibility.
“How much is it anyway?” Bev asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied as I stirred the chicken soup we had taken out of the freezer. “He never told me.”
“You have a right to know,” Bev replied. “You’re still married to him, and I’m no lawyer, but if you do get a divorce, I’m pretty sure you’d be entitled to half of it. Although the Radcliffe’s might fight you on that. I’m sure they have high-powered lawyers.”
I sighed. “That’s the last thing I want—to go through a vicious, ugly divorce. I don’t want his money. I just want out.”
Bev turned to me, looking pleased. “Really? Have you decided then?”
I let out a breath and stirred the soup again. “I don’t know. That just came out. I haven’t made up my mind yet. I need more time to think about it.”
Bev didn’t push the issue. She said nothing more as she set rolls and the butter dish on the table. When everything was nearly ready, she turned to me again. “Should we call Scott and invite him over? There’s enough here for the three of us.”
I turned off the burner and shook my head. “I don’t think we should. It was a bit strange last night.”
“How?”
“Well…” I paused and dipped the soup ladle into the pot. “When he came over after Wes left, I cried and he hugged me, and it kind of felt like there was something happening between us. I’m not sure what to make of it. I mean, we’ve been very close since Angie and Wes left, and there’s been a certain intimacy with Scott that I don’t feel with anyone else, but last night, it was really nice to be held in his arms. He’s just so… I don’t know… I felt so comfortable and safe. And he smelled so good.”
“Finally,” Bev replied with a hint of frustration. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”
“Yes, I know.”
“He’s a wonderful man, Claire, and I’m one hundred percent certain he feels the same way about you. I can tell by the way he looks at you. He’s in love with you, but he doesn’t want to say anything because he knows you’re gun-shy after what happened, and you’re both still married, and he doesn’t want to behave dishonorably.”
I held up a hand. “Please stop. Things are complicated.”
Bev flopped down onto a chair at the table and spoke gently. “I know, but I can see what’s happening here, Claire. You’ve always been a tough nut to crack when it comes to love, because of what happened with Dad, and I could absolutely brain Wes for knowing about that and then doing what he did to you. But don’t let that scare you off from love forever. Remember, the worst thing did happen to you with Wes. Your worst fear came true, but you survived it and you’re okay. Focus on that, and be brave and open when it comes to what might be happening between you and Scott.”
I considered that for a moment. “I get it. But he’s just as confused and unsure as I am. And who’s to say Angie hasn’t called him today and done the same thing Wes did last night? Maybe she’s already asked him to forgive her and take her back.”
“And how would you feel about that?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “Horrible. I’d probably want to scratch her eyes out.”
Bev squeezed my shoulder. “Now we’re talking.”
I served up two bowls of soup and carried them to the table. “Let’s just have dinner with the two of us tonight, until I figure all this out.”
“Fine,” Bev replied, “but I don’t want to see you lose out because you were indecisive. Don’t let Angie beat you to the real prize.”
I sat down to eat. “It’s not a race. Whatever is meant to be, will be.”
“Oh, please,” Bev said. “Don’t give me that. You can’t just sit there and wait for destiny to choose your future for you.”
I sighed. “That’s easy for you to say, but I’ve been knocked around a bit lately and I don’t know which way is up.”
“Well, I know which way is up.” Bev pointed across the street. “It’s that way.”
I thanked her for her opinion, and picked up my soup spoon.
* * *
Wes texted me a number of times over the next few days, and then he called, just to ask how I was doing. I wasn’t rude to him on the phone, but I was clear about the fact that I still wasn’t sure how much I could forgive. I asked him to give me more time.
He then changed the subject and told me he was trying to get his old job back. I offered no encouragement, because I had no idea if the school would be willing to hire him back, and I certainly wasn’t about to ask. Finding a job was his problem.
Then he mentioned that he was considering going back to school for a law degree now that he had the trust fund.
“It could be a new start for us,” he said. “And if we had a baby, we could afford for you to stay home and be a full-time mom, even while I was going to school. If that’s what you wanted, of course.”
I couldn’t help but feel that he was dangling carrots in front of my face, saying all the things he thought I wanted to hear, but I wasn’t biting. I didn’t want this to be about money or status in any way, shape, or form. Besides, I loved teaching.
That night, Scott sent me an email from across the street:
How are you doing? I’ve been thinking about you. I’m here if you want to talk about anything.
I replied and told him that I’d been thinking about him as well, but I hadn’t made any firm decisions.
Then I couldn’t help but ask if he had spoken to Angie, because that was my biggest fear—that she, too, had realized her mistake and wanted her husband back. What woman wouldn’t want Scott?
He responded to my email with this: Not a peep from Toronto.
I was overwhelmingly relieved.
Another three days went by, and I was surprised when Wes left me alone completely. He didn’t call or text. At first I thought he was giving me the space I’d asked him for, but when I woke up on the fourth day to discover that he had sent me a long-winded email at three in the morning, I sat down immediately to read it, because I knew something was up.
As soon as I read it, I felt sick.