Chapter 39

“Can’t,” I say.

Henry squints. “You can’t go out.”

He and Clark are standing on my front stoop. Clark’s truck is idling in the driveway. They obviously thought this would be more of an in-and-out mission than it’s turning out to be.

“Gotta save. It’s all sandwiches and cheap beer until the business starts bringing in money.”

I have spent the last couple of days making phone calls, the first baby steps toward becoming a general contractor and business owner. It’s pretty exhilarating. It’s not going to be easy. I’m going to be eating a lot of peanut butter and tuna fish and forgoing nights out for a long time, but my finances and credit are good, my work history is solid, and I played high school football with the business loan officer at the local bank. Never hurts.

Henry and Clark wanted to quit Kevin’s crew too, in solidarity, but I told them to wait. I told them I’d hire them as soon as I could, but in the meantime, they should keep making steady money.

Clark gives me the stink eye. “So basically, you just became a free man again, and now you can’t have fun because you’re cheap.”

I flip him the finger.

Henry sighs. “So if we go to O’Hannihans, you’re not coming.”

“Right.”

Henry rolls his eyes and sighs again. “Then you know what? It’s gonna have to be pizza and cheap beers here.”

I think he’s afraid if he leaves me alone here, I’ll fall apart, what with how I’ve been since Maddie left and the whole temporarily unemployed bit. But I’m actually feeling pretty optimistic for the first time in a while. It’s good to have a plan.

The three of us end up sitting around my living room, putting back Bud Lights, watching basketball, and destroying a large pizza.

The last of the pizza has just slid down Henry’s gullet when there’s a knock at the front door.

“You expecting anyone?” Clark asks, looking hopeful. Like I’ve arranged for a troupe of strippers without mentioning it, possibly.

I shake my head.

I get to my feet and head to the door, figuring worst case, my mother or my sister dropping in; best case, Lani taking my temperature to see if I’m back to being a willing fuck buddy (I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.).

Only, you know.

It’s Maddie.

Suddenly there’s this crazy jumble in my chest, this mixed-up salad of everything I’ve ever felt for her or about her. What she meant to me when we were kids and how bad I’ve wanted her as long as I’ve known how to want anyone and how good it felt to be with her and how bad it feels not to be. And I want to, I don’t know, get down on my knees and beg, but also slam the door in her face.

She looks so good. She’s wearing work clothes, some green blouse-thing shot through with silver over a slim, short black skirt and heels.

Her face is flushed, her eyes bright—

“Did you sleep with her?”

She’s pissed.

“What?” I’m wracking my brains for anyone she could legitimately be talking about, but the last person I slept with was so utterly and thoroughly her that my mind is basically a blank.

“Penelope Mills. Did you sleep with her?”

For a moment the name doesn’t even register, and then I remember. Penelope Mills.

I think she sees the truth on my face right then, but she keeps at it. “Did you? Jack. Answer me. Did you sleep with her?”

She’s so intense. Like it was twenty seconds ago and not five years ago that Penelope Mills walked out of my apartment with her shoes and her bra in her hand. Like it still matters that much. And the thing is, it does, and I know it too.

From behind me I hear whispering and rustling, and then Henry and Clark materialize and slink around us, toward the door. “Time for us to be going,” Henry says, wincing in my direction. Sorry, man, he mouths.

But I’m not sorry. Not really. I can’t be sorry to see her. I’ve wanted this every moment of every day since I walked out of her and Gabe’s new place, without realizing how much. And even if she’s angry, she’s here.

As soon as Henry and Clark are gone, she resumes the inquisition.

“Did. You. Sleep. With. Her?”

I should have told her the truth. So many times. And it’s probably too late now—I think the rules are that if she comes to your house and shouts in your face, it’s too late, but regardless, it’s our moment of truth. This week, I stood up for myself and began to remake my life, for better or for worse, because of her, because of the kind of woman she is and the kind of man I want to be for her and our son, and I can’t lie to her again, not even by omission. I will never, ever lie to her again, not even by omission.

I shake my head. “No.”

Her eyes get bigger. “Did you even kiss her?”

“No.”

“Did anything happen between you?”

“She—she took her dress off. And—her bra.”

It’s funny—even though she’s creeping close to the truth, I feel as guilty as I ever have. Guiltier. Because of the look on her face. Like we’re finally getting down to the real nature of my betrayal.

“And then I made her put them back on. And I threw her out.”

It feels good to say it. Right. Freeing. I wonder if it always would have felt like this, or if it had to come down to this moment.

She shakes her head angrily. “Jack, why? Why—why would you do that? Why would you let me think you had if you hadn’t?”

I don’t know how to answer. It’s like the words are trapped behind a barricade.

“Jesus, Jack, how could you? How could you do that?”

Suddenly, she’s crying. And coming toward me. Pounding her fists against my chest, raining blows on me, sobbing. “You broke my heart!”

There is really only one thing to do, as there is only ever one thing that I can do when Maddie cries. I take her in my arms, trying to contain the flailing fists and the hiccupy sobs and all the rage coming off her in waves.

“You let me think—” Sob.

“I was pregnant!” Gasp.

“I can’t believe you!”

And then more sobs, her body shuddering in my arms.

Gradually, she calms down.

“Why?” She pulls away. “Why would you do that? Did you do it to get rid of me? To get rid of me and Gabe? You didn’t have to do that. You could have just said you didn’t want to be involved.”

I’m shaking my head. “No. No!”

“Then why?”

I understand now why I’ve avoided this conversation for so long. Because the answer to her question is such a small, mean thing. I’m ashamed of how tiny and twisted my heart is.

“When you looked at me like that—”

If this is what it feels like to be a real man, it fucking sucks. My voice breaks on the words, and I want to pull the shutters closed between us so she doesn’t see if the rest of me breaks, too.

“Like what?”

Her voice is much gentler now, like she knows. Like she knows how close to the edge I am. And maybe, maybe—like she knows that she’s the only person who can get me here, the only person I will ever let see me like this.

“You trusted me.”

She shakes her head, confused.

“You always trusted me. And then, at the lake, at the boathouse, you trusted me with you. With your feelings, with your body. But when you saw Penelope leaving my apartment, you looked at me the way everyone always looked at me, like I was a mistake.”

A little breath whooshes out of her. Her eyes are huge. I should stop—I’m hurting her—but I can’t.

“You were the only one who’d ever had that kind of faith in me. And I knew. Even if it wasn’t Penelope, it was going to be someone. Or something. I’d hurt you, I’d hurt the baby, I’d screw us up. It was just a matter of time, and then what you were thinking about me that night would be true. And I just—” My voice breaks again, but I have to finish. I have to explain, as little sense as it will probably make to her.

“I couldn’t.”