Chapter 9

Elle

At 5:01, the doorbell rings.

Damn.

I was really, really, really hoping that Madden got home before Trevor showed up. Because the less conversation I have to make with Trevor, the better.

But about an hour ago, I got a message from Sawyer that said:

Running late. GPS says ETA 5:05.

No worries, I texted back. Trevor’s usually a few minutes late anyway.

No such luck.

Trevor stands on the front steps. He’s tall, almost six feet, built like a runner, with reddish-blond hair that tends toward wild and is too long right now. I used to love his hair too long. I would run my fingers through it, feeling the strands sift like sand.

Now I want to tell him to get it cut.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi. Come in.”

If Madden were here, I would have pushed him out the door the instant Trevor’s car pulled up at the curb, hoping to forestall this awkwardness. And I probably would have succeeded, because Trevor’s no more eager to talk to me than I am to talk to him.

I can’t live a lie anymore.

That’s what he said to me. That he’d feel—every day for the rest of his life—that he was living a lie if he stayed with me instead of divorcing me and marrying Helen Bradley.

He felt horrible saying it. I could tell. Which didn’t make it hurt even one iota less.

He steps into the foyer. His eyes dart around, looking for salvation.

“Madden should be here any minute. I let him go for a hike with the new neighbors, and they’re a few minutes late getting back.”

“New neighbors in the Snyders’ house? You didn’t tell me it was for rent again.”

Yeah. About that. I didn’t tell Trevor it was for rent because I didn’t want him getting any insane ideas that maybe he and Helen should move in there.

Trevor lives in Seattle now, in the Broadview neighborhood, in his new fiancée’s house. They have Madden every other weekend, half of Madden’s school vacations, and every other week in the summer. Trevor wanted fifty-fifty custody, but he agreed with me that it wouldn’t make sense unless he and Helen were living closer. Neither of us wanted Madden’s school life disrupted.

Luckily for me on a number of counts, Trevor and Helen have not yet gotten their act together to buy a house closer to me.

I am grateful on a daily basis that Trevor and Helen don’t live in Revere Lake. It would be so uncomfortable for me to have my ex and his lover in the house next door, to watch their comings and goings, to maybe even one summer night hear them—Gah. Seattle’s close enough, thank you.

“Yeah, the Snyders’ house. Single dad, eight-year-old boy. It was insta-bonding between the boys. Jonah stayed here last night, and then they went hiking today. You’re going to be hearing a lot of Jonah-this and Jonah-that.”

“That’s nice for Madden.”

“Yeah.”

This is the kind of scintillating conversation Trevor and I have at pickup and drop-off.

He has said he wants to be friends, and I know he means it. Part of me wants it, too, but it is so, so hard to be that good of a person.

Just then, I hear, then see, Sawyer’s truck.

My pulse picks up a notch. This should be interesting.

“Elle?”

I jerk my attention back to Trevor.

“Anything else going on with Madden I need to know about?”

“Nothing I haven’t mentioned.” Trevor and I stay in touch by email and sometimes text.

Every time I reach out to him electronically, I think about the fact that for nearly a decade, he was texting and emailing and messaging and Skyping another woman, telling her the details of his day, his thoughts and feelings. All those parts of him I thought were for me, they never were. They belonged to her.

When I found out, I thought, Our whole marriage is a lie. And cried so hard and so long that my whole body hurt.

I turn away from Trevor and watch Sawyer unfold his linebacker’s body from the front seat of the car. It’s a riveting sight—long, strong lines and a surprising amount of grace for such a big guy.

He’s very athletic. I know from personal experience. My mouth goes dry and something throbs appreciatively in my southerly regions.

Trevor’s eyes follow mine.

“That’s the new neighbor?”

“Yep.”

The urge to tell Trevor—with words or implication or body language—that I’ve had sex with Sawyer is almost overpowering, but I manage to keep my mouth shut as Madden and Jonah run toward us.

Sawyer keeps his distance as the boys bound up, talking over each other in their eagerness to tell me about the map and the salamander and the coyote and the river they waded into and and and…

“Sounds like fun,” Trevor says. “How would you guys like to go kayaking with me sometime soon?”

My eyes meet Sawyer’s, and his eyebrows go up, just a notch. Giving Trevor the benefit of the doubt, he’s probably just running with a theme, but it does sound a bit like he’s trying to one-up my new neighbor.

“Wow!” Jonah says. “Dad, could we do that?”

“Don’t see why not,” Sawyer says easily.

Trevor strides down the steps toward Sawyer with his hand out, all jovial. “Hey there. Trevor Thomas. Great to meet you.”

“Sawyer Paulson.”

I bite my lip in an effort not to smile at Sawyer’s cool response.

Sawyer’s probably not more than five inches taller than Trevor, but he’s at least fifty pounds heavier, all of it well-distributed muscle. As a result, he looms over Trevor. And I catch Trevor’s wince mid-handshake, which makes it even harder not to smile.

“And this is Jonah,” I say. “They’re our new neighbors.”

“Welcome,” Trevor says.

But you don’t live here anymore, I think. You don’t get to issue the welcomes anymore.

“Madden, Helen made your favorite dinner for tonight!” Trevor says. “Spaghetti with meatballs!”

I feel only the faintest flicker of annoyance. One of the things that’s been most difficult since the divorce is that when Trevor’s around, I don’t like either of us—him or me. Obviously, I used to love him. I loved his little quirks and foibles—was even amused by the way he dealt with his insecurities by posturing. But overnight, once I knew that he no longer loved me, my own emotions soured. And in the last year, when I’ve been forced to be in the same place as him, I mainly wished he would go away so I could stop feeling…small.

But today for some reason, I’m not feeling that way. I think it has something to do with Sawyer’s presence, or maybe with the way he makes Trevor seem like the small one.

I hide a smile.

Trevor turns to me. “Elle. How’s the car running? Want me to check the oil and tire pressure while I’m here?”

Okay, seriously? Even when he lived here, Trevor never actually handled any dipstick beside his own. He knows next to nothing about cars.

Sawyer, perhaps too smart to stick around and be an audience for Trevor’s display of manliness, says, “Nice to meet you, Trevor. Jonah, come on—time to go.” He heads off toward his house, Jonah trailing.

“He seems like a nice enough guy,” Trevor says.

Nice is completely the wrong word. Real is the word I’d use. Or sure, like sure-footed, sure of himself.

Big. Strong. Competent.

Very attractive from the rear view.

Very.

But not nice.

“Mmm,” I say noncommittally. And then, because I suddenly feel generous, “Don’t worry about the oil and tire pressure—I got it.”

I can always just google the shit out of it. Or ask Sawyer for help.

I smile—actually smile—at Trevor, who looks taken aback. Which makes me realize how long it’s been since I’ve felt like myself around him.

Not a bad feeling.

Not a bad feeling at all.

“Madden, run and change into something that’s not muddy. And not sweatpants. Jeans and a T-shirt.”

Madden runs upstairs.

“Don’t let him drink too much soda,” I tell Trevor, and leave him standing on the front stoop, waiting for Madden.