Rain moved into the house, with Greg right behind her, and saw the takeout on the counter. Chinese from her favorite spot, way out of his way home. Another even sharper note of guilt joined the cacophony in her head.
She moved through the kitchen to the stairs, dropping her purse as she went. Lily was in full-scale meltdown, and Rain’s head was going to explode.
“Let’s get you fed, in the bath and straight to bed,” she said, keeping her voice soothing and light. “Okay, baby? You’re so tired.”
Thankfully, Greg didn’t follow her upstairs, just stood at the bottom and watched her climb. She turned back to him at the landing, and there was something unreadable on his face.
She nursed the baby, then bathed her. In the tub, Lily was sated and quiet, happily splashing in the warm water, the dim light.
Her visit with her father, the things he said, the images still dancing in her head from Henry’s email. It all receded as Lily settled, happy again, splashing and cooing. Lily used chubby fists to rub at her eyes as Rain lifted her perfect baby body from the tub, dried her with her duck towel, kissing her toes and belly button.
While she was nursing, Greg came in and kissed the baby on the head.
“We should talk,” he said quietly.
He lingered a moment, watching them. She waited for a comment about her nursing, but instead he offered her a sad smile, and left the room.
Downstairs, he’d set the table and was waiting for her with a glass of wine.
“I should have called earlier,” he said when she sat. “To let you know I was coming home.”
“And I should have called to let you know what we were doing today,” she conceded. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I’m sorry.”
She took a big sip of wine, felt the warmth of it move through her, ease some of her tension.
“I’m worried, Rain.” He closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
Something about his tone was off, and then her eyes fell on the stack of letters next to his plate.
“When were you going to tell me about these?”
He laid his palm on the pile and regarded her, brow furrowed.
“Where did you find those?” she asked, a tightness in her throat.
He sighed. “In the drawer of your desk.”
She could get angry about that, she guessed. Violating personal boundaries and all of that. Snooping was low, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t like that with Greg. Plenty of couples she knew led these weirdly separate lives—different bank accounts, phones that were off-limits to partners, locked offices, password-protected computers. But she and Greg were entwined—she’d have no qualms about sitting at his desk; his email browser was always open. He might answer her phone.
That he was in the drawer of her desk wasn’t a big deal; that’s where the checkbooks were. There were no off-limits spaces. In fact, she kind of had a thing about that. She remembered the room that belonged to her father, the one they were never supposed to enter. It came up again and again in her parents’ arguments. You’d rather be in that room than anywhere else in the world. What goes on up there, Bruce? Rain didn’t want secret spaces and locked doors in her marriage to Greg. They were best friends first, then husband and wife.
That she’d not told him about the letters, that was a big deal. She’d meant to. She wasn’t really even hiding them. Why hadn’t she told him? Why had she kept them? Worse—why did she read them, sometimes more than once? Shame was hot on her cheeks. Another drink of wine. No good words to say.
“I don’t know what to think about this,” he said when she stayed silent. “I’m—concerned.”
“I don’t answer but he keeps sending them,” she said, finally.
He pointed at the address. “He knows where we live.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
She had been unsettled when the first letter arrived—after they’d had Lily, after they’d moved. But she hadn’t been surprised. And wasn’t she even a little relieved?
“But,” she said quickly, “it’s not like that. He’s not going to hurt us.”
Why did it sound like she was defending him? She put her hand in her pocket and touched that crystal heart. Greg cocked his head and squinted at her, the look of the skeptical newsman. It would annoy the crap out of her if she wasn’t so far in the wrong.