“What do you know?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“I’m a guy. I just know.”

“You’re g*y! You don’t have special insight into straight men.”

He shakes his head. “You are the single most offensive woman I have ever met, you know that? And, I’m not g*y.”

My mouth pops open. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugs, embarrassed. “I just told you that so you wouldn’t hit on me.”

I blink at him. He cannot possibly be serious. “Why would you think I’d want to hit on you? Ew, Sam! I can’t believe this!”

He sighs. “Are we getting a juice or not?”

I fling myself out of the car. “I’m not getting you anything. Stay here with the baby.”

I am so angry, I completely miss the Jamba Juice store and have to backtrack. Men are such worthless liars. I should have known he wasn’t g*y. He wears way too much polyester to be g*y. And, I haven’t once seen him check out Caleb. Caleb is freaking gorgeous.

I am sipping my juice and halfway back to the car when I start laughing.

When we get home, I call Caleb’s cell three times before he finally picks up.

“When you pick Estella up tonight, I was hoping you could stay a while so we can talk.”

There is a long pause before he says. “Yes, I need to talk to you, too.” I feel a surge of hope.

“Okay, it’s all set then. I’ll have Sam stay a little bit later than usual.”

I hear him sigh into the phone.

“Fine, Leah. I’ll see you tonight.”

He hangs up. I don’t even think about the fact that he never hangs up without saying goodbye, until a few minutes later.

The Past

Four months after Leah was acquitted, I filed for divorce.

Olivia

— That was my first thought.

Turner

— That was my second thought.

Motherfucker

— That was my third thought. Then I put them all together in a sentence: That motherfucker Turner is going to marry Olivia!

How long did I have? Did she still love me? Could she forgive me? If I could wrestle her away from that f**king tool, could we actually build something together on the rubble we’d created? Thinking about it set me on edge — made me angry. We’d both told so many lies, sinned against each other — against everyone who got in our way. I’d tried to tell her once. It was during the trial. I’d come to the courthouse early to try to catch her alone. She was wearing my favorite shade of blue — airport blue. It was her birthday.

“Happy Birthday.”

She’d looked up. My heart pounded out my feelings, like they did every time she looked at me.

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, you’ve just been forgetting an awful lot of things over the last couple of years.”

I half smiled at her jab.

“I never forgot you…”

I felt a rush of adrenaline. This was it — I was going to come clean. Then the prosecutor walked in. Truth was put on hold.

I moved out of the house I shared with Leah and back into my condo. I paced the halls, I drank Scotch. I waited.

Waited for what? For her to come to me? For me to go to her?

I walked to my sock drawer — infamous protector of engagement rings and other mementos — and ran my fingers along the bottom. The minute my fingers found it, I felt a surge of something. I rubbed the pad of my thumb across the slightly green surface of the ‘kissing’ penny. I looked at it for a full minute, conjuring up images of the many times it had been traded for kisses. It was a trinket, a cheap trick that had once worked, but it had evolved into so much more than that.

I put on my sweats and went for a run. Running helped me think. I went over everything in my head as I turned toward the beach, dodging a little girl and her mother as they walked along hand in hand. I smiled. The little girl had long, black hair and startling blue eyes — she looked like Olivia. Was that what our daughter would have looked like? I stopped jogging and bent over, hands on knees. It didn’t have to be a ‘would have’ situation. We could still have our daughter. I slipped my hand in my pocket and pulled out the kissing penny. I started jogging to my car.

There was no time like the present. If Turner got in the way, I’d just toss him off the balcony.

I was one mile from Olivia’s condo when I got the call.

It was a number I didn’t recognize. I hit talk.

“Caleb Drake?”

“Yes?” My words were clipped. I made a left onto Ocean and pressed down on the gas.

“There’s been an … incident with your wife.”

“My wife?” God, what has she done now? I thought about the feud she was currently having with the neighbors about their dog and wondered if she’d done something stupid.

“My name is Doctor Letche, I’m calling from West Boca Medical Center. Mr. Drake, your wife was admitted here a few hours ago.”

I hit the brake, swung the wheel around until my tires made a screeching sound, and gunned the car in the opposite direction. An SUV swerved around me and laid on the horn.

“Is she all right?”

The doctor cleared his throat. “She swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. Your housekeeper found her and dialed 911. She’s stable right now, but we’d like for you to come in.”

I stopped at a light and ran my hand through my hair. This was my fault. I knew she took the separation hard, but suicide. It didn’t even seem like her.

“Of course — I’m on my way.”

I hung up. I hung up and I punched the steering wheel. Some things were not meant to be.

When I arrived at the hospital, Leah was awake and asking for me. I walked into her room, and my heart stopped. She was lying propped up by pillows, her hair a rat's nest and her skin so pale it almost looked translucent. Her eyes were closed so I had a moment to rearrange my face before she saw me.

When I took a few steps into the room, she opened her eyes. As soon as she saw me, she started crying. I sat on the edge of her bed and she latched onto me, sobbing with such passion I could feel her tears soak through my shirt. I held her like that for a long time.

“Leah,” I said finally, pulling her from my chest and settling her back onto the pillows. “Why?”

Her face was slimy and red. Dark half–moons camped around her eyes. She looked away.