the girls, is setting the table in the dining room for dinner.
She wants tonight to be special, a precursor to their trip, and because she’s a disastrous cook herself she stopped at Garelick & Herb earlier and picked up stuffed chicken breasts, wild rice, various salads—all Daniel’s favorites.
The iPod is plugged in, the music is romantic, and although Bee feels a little self-conscious—the two of them will be slightly lost at their eighteenth-century French refectory table in their formal red dining room—eating in the kitchen as they always do means they’ll sit without talking much, Daniel may start reading the papers halfway through, and the meal will be over in ten minutes.
Bee wants to relax tonight. No children . . . No excuse . . . She wants to light candles, sip wine, and talk to her husband. Really talk to him. She wants to reconnect with him, like they did in Nantucket. She wants it to be romantic. She wants him to remember why they’re together, why they got married. What it means to be in love, for whatever else is going on, she is quite sure he loves her, he just needs help to show it.
“So do you think we ought to book something before we go? I was looking through this magazine and we could charter a boat, go out for a picnic.”
“Sure,” Daniel says, forcing down another mouthful of chicken, his throat having closed up because he doesn’t know how he’s going to do this.
“Daniel, for God’s sake,” Bee says with a sigh, placing her knife and fork down with a clatter. “Could you show a bit of enthusiasm? You agreed to take this house in Nantucket and now you don’t seem to want to go, which, quite frankly, is ruining it for me.”
“It’s not that I’m not enthusiastic.” Daniel lays his own knife and fork down and closes his eyes for a few seconds. He opens them to see Bee looking at him quizzically.
“What is it?” she asks, her voice almost a whisper. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there? Is it . . . me? Is this it? You want to leave?”
She has never asked him that before. Perhaps she has been too scared of the answer, and Daniel, up until very recently, had never thought that this would be the way it happens.
As he looks up and finally meets her eyes, he sees she wants him to say “No, no. Don’t be silly. Of course not.”
But he can’t. Not now. This is it, he realizes. His window of opportunity, which feels frightening, and unreal, but if he doesn’t take it now, he doesn’t know how he can carry on living such a huge lie, a lie that seems to be growing bigger and bigger with every passing hour.
Daniel struggles to form the words. This isn’t how he wanted it to happen. He had made a commitment to Dr. Posner to have some more private sessions with him, to work out how to tell Bee, but he has to do it now, and as he tries to speak, Bee’s hand flies to her chest.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “You are. I think I’m going to be sick.” She jumps up, running to the bathroom where she retches into the toilet bowl.
“Bee, I’m so sorry.” Daniel runs after her and helps her up, standing helpless in the doorway as she rinses her mouth out.
“Just tell me,” she says. “Tell me why. Things are going well. I thought we were making progress, that’s the point of this vacation, for God’s sake. Oh God,” she groans. “The vacation. What am I supposed to do?”
“I’m just not happy,” Daniel says. “I can’t keep pretending that things are fine when they’re not.”
“What do you want me to do?” Bee says quietly. “Whatever you need, I’ll do. I’m sorry I put pressure on you about sex. I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. What do you need? Whatever you need I can do it, I swear. Daniel, I love you, I’ll do anything to make this work.” Desperation shines in her eyes as she pleads, convinced she will find a way.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Daniel says sadly. “I swear, this is nothing to do with you. This is just about me, about figuring out what I want.”
“So figure it out. You don’t have to leave to figure it out. Stay. I’ll help you, or give you the space. You can sleep in the spare room if you want, but don’t go.