Four days, sixteen hours until Halloween
Corinne
When I come through the door, I’m exhausted. I’m still sick, but I’m also excited. I can’t wait to tell Jude about the baby. I walk into the living room, and he’s sitting on the edge of a chair, staring at his phone. He’s frowning.
“Hey,” I say softly.
His head snaps up in surprise, and he doesn’t smile.
“Hey, you’re home early.”
I chuckle. “No, I’m home on time.”
He checks his watch. “I guess so. It’s been so long, I’d forgotten.”
That’s annoying, and his annoyed tone is annoying, and I fight back anger. It’s probably my hormones, I tell myself. Calm down, girl.
“I was just heading to bed,” he tells me as he stands and stretches, his muscles rippling like the surface of the ocean. “It’s late.”
And with that, he walks down the hallway without another word.
I’m silent as he climbs into bed and hugs his edge. After I join him, he’s very careful not to touch me, and I find myself getting angry.
“I get that you’re upset because of my hours,” I tell his broad back. “But you’re acting like a child. What is going on here? What are you really upset about?”
“I’m not upset,” he tells me quickly. “I’ve got a rough patient. I’m just thinking about that. It’s not you, Corinne.”
Not sweetie, not honey. Corinne.
I’m almost stung by that.
I let it go, and he falls asleep, and in the night, he’s careful not to touch me, to stay on his side of the bed.
In the night, the few times I wake, I’m careful not to touch him, and he’s just as careful not to touch me.
Jude is gone when my eyes open.
He didn’t leave a note, and his running shoes are still sitting by the foot of the bed.
I grab my phone and dial his number. It goes straight to voice mail. I swallow hard. He doesn’t usually act like this. It’s so unlike him.
I call Michel.
“Hey, big bro,” I greet him. “Is Jude with you?”
There’s a pause.
“No. Why? Is something wrong?”
I swallow again. “We had a fight last night,” I tell him. “I don’t know where he is.”
“He didn’t meet me for breakfast today,” Michel tells me. “Do you want me to go looking for him?”
I think about that for a minute. If anyone can calm Jude down, it’s Michel. But no.
“Nah. I’ll do it. Thank you, though.”
“If I hear from him, I’ll have him call you,” he promises.
“’Kay.”
We hang up, and Jude still doesn’t answer his phone. It’s too early for work, and so I know where he’ll be.
Eating.
I throw a pair of yoga pants on and a T-shirt and don’t bother with makeup as I set out for the little diner that he loves.
It’s been a while since I’ve been there, and Vilma is surprised as I walk through the door.
“Dr. Cabot,” she greets me. “It’s so nice to see you.”
“Likewise,” I tell her. “Is my husband here?”
She nods. “Right this way.”
Relief floods me. I found him. Thank God.
When we round the corner, I see him...sitting at a little table with a waitress. She’s got her back to me, and Jude looks utterly forlorn. Her long hair flows down her back, and she’s patting his arm, and my guilt overwhelms me. He has to seek comfort from a complete stranger in the middle of a café because he couldn’t get it from me.
“Hey,” I greet him when I reach the table.
He looks up, and for a minute, he almost looks annoyed. But that can’t be right. He blinks, and the annoyed look is gone, and I had to be mistaken.
The waitress slips away without saying anything, and without introducing herself. I make a point to not even look at her. I won’t give her the satisfaction.
Because something about her attitude bothers me. It was almost possessive, almost agitated with me. But that also can’t be right. I’m just feeling guilty.
I slide into the seat she vacated, and Jude stares at me.
“Did I wake you?” His voice is chilly.
“No,” I admit. “But I’m sorry you didn’t. I hate fighting with you, Jude. Tell me what’s going on so we can fix it.”
He looks away, his gaze stony.
“I’m not fighting,” he says, staring out the window. “I’m just tired of being ignored. I get that you have issues. I get that you struggle this time of year. I know all of that. But this goes on all year, Corinne. You work all hours of the day, and you don’t return my texts or phone calls, you don’t come home until late at night, and I didn’t sign up for that. I didn’t sign up to be married to voice mail. And that’s the only way I talk to you lately.”
I suck in a breath. “I had no idea you were this upset about it,” I say slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’re never home to tell,” he answers, and his voice is resigned and tired. And holy shit, have I really let things slide this much?
I put my hand on his, and he doesn’t move away. “Jude, I love you. I’m so sorry I’ve made you feel like this. I’ll work on it. I swear to God. We’ll fix it.”
He relents now, his face softening, and I want to melt into the chair. When his sun shines on you, it’s so so warm. When it doesn’t, the world is cold. It makes you pray to have it back.
“It’s okay,” he says, even if he does sound a little stiff. “I know. I’m just... I’m not being rational. It’s not your fault, Co. You’re just trying to work hard. I get it.”
“I feel weird lately,” I tell him. “I feel like... I don’t know. I feel like...you might be distracted. Like you don’t like me.”
I don’t want to say what I really want to say. That there might be someone else. Because there isn’t. Right? There’s no way.
Jude looks away, his hand tapping anxiously on his leg. He’s still upset. He’s just trying to cover it.
“That’s insane, Corinne,” he says finally. “You’re the only person in the world besides my brother who I truly like. Honest.”
“I have an idea,” I tell him. “I’ll take the day off work. We’ll spend it together.”
He hesitates, then shakes his head. “That’s okay. You can’t do that, and I have patients, too. But thank you for the gesture.”
I stare at him. “Okay. But it’s not just for you. I need to spend time with you, too. I’ll take off early and meet you for dinner. We’ll fix this, Jude.”
“Okay.” He squeezes my hand and looks over my shoulder. I follow his gaze, and the waitress has her back to us across the room. “We need our check,” he tells me.
His check. I didn’t get anything.
The girl comes back, and I’m determined not to look up at her. She’s not important. I don’t want to know if she’s beautiful. And also, I don’t know why, but I feel a strong urge to show her that she’s not important. I keep my gaze on the table. I watch her put the check down, and her hand seems to linger next to Jude’s for a second. A second too long. I grit my teeth and keep my gaze on the table, on her hand that is so so close to my husband’s.
There’s something something something in my gut.
Something startling.
When she walks away, I finally look up and level a gaze at my husband. “How well do you know her?”
His gaze is sharp. “Not very. Why?”
I don’t know. “Something felt weird for a minute. I think she might like you more than you realize.”
I can feel the girl staring at us now from across the room, and surely I’m wrong. She’s just waiting to pick up his check. I steel my nerve and don’t look up at her. Fuck her.
Jude is annoyed. “Seriously, Corinne? That’s ridiculous. The kid is twentysomething. I think it’s just your guilt talking. You’re trying to displace it onto me.”
It’s therapist-speak for I’m trying to distract myself from my own guilt by getting angry with Jude.
He could be right. I do feel guilty.
There’s nothing going on. Jude would never.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.”
“Damn straight,” Jude says shortly. “I’m almost offended, honestly.”
He’s icy cold again, and he’s right. What was I thinking?
I apologize again, and he shakes his head, and I can’t do anything right with him lately, it seems.
I refuse to look at her. I refuse to look at her. I refuse to look at her. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
Outside, Jude turns to me.
“I’ll be home for dinner. Will you?”
“Of course,” I assure him, squeezing his arm. “And if you need to talk today, call me.”
“Will you answer?” He’s direct, and he has every right to ask.
It makes me uncomfortable and I nod. “Yes. No matter what I’m doing.”
He smiles now, but it’s tight and short, and when I lean up to kiss him, it’s also tight and short. His cheek feels like stone, and it doesn’t give. He gets into his car and drives away, and as I’m buckling myself into my own, I feel someone staring at me.
I look up, and I see the outline of the waitress through the window. I still don’t see her face, but she seems like she’s probably pretty. She waves. I wave back.
I’m an idiot for thinking anything was amiss. She’s just a kid, and she’s a waitress in a café where Jude eats every day. She likes tips, and it’s her job to be nice.
Lord, I’ve got a vivid imagination.
With a sigh, I nose my car out of my parking spot and drive home.