him for a nice evening. And as she went upstairs, she felt quiet and pensive. There was a lot to think about, a lot of feelings to sift through.
Brock didn't question where she'd been the night before, but there was an odd atmosphere between them all the next morning in the office. It was as though he knew, but refused to ask her. And then finally, at lunch, he couldn't stand it any longer.
“You were out with him last night, weren't you?”
“With whom?” she asked stupidly, feeling her heart pound and hating herself for lying as she ate her sandwich.
“Your husband,” he said coolly. He knew. He had good instincts.
“Sam?” She paused, prepared to lie finally, and then decided not to. She owed Brock more than that and she knew it. But his jealousy scared her. But so did her feelings. The worst thing was that she loved both of them, and she knew it. She owed Sam for years past, and Brock for the past year. But what did she owe herself? That was the question she just couldn't answer. “He wanted to have dinner to talk about Annabelle … I didn't think you'd mind,” she said, lying to him again, but he knew it. She felt so uncomfortable and so confused. She wanted to hate Sam for it, but she didn't.
“Why didn't you tell me?” Brock asked her, looking worried and unhappy.
“Because I was scared,” she said honestly, “that you'd be angry, and I wanted to see him.” It was hard telling him the truth, but she knew she had to.
“Why did you want to see him?”
“Because he's going away for a long time, and I feel sorry for him, and as you put it, he's still my husband.” She looked sad and confused and unhappy. And her eyes told their own story.
“Did he kiss you?” He was no fool. And his jealousy jumped out on his skin like gooseflesh.
“Brock, stop it.” She tried to avoid him but he wouldn't let her.
“You didn't answer my question.” He was pushing at her, pressing her, daring her to answer, and then finally she snapped, mostly out of guilt, but also out of anger.
“What difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference to me.” She almost wondered if he'd followed them, but she didn't think he'd do that.
“All right, I kissed him. So what? That's all that happened.”
“That guy is a real sonofabitch,” he blazed, as he stormed around her office. “He's going to jail, and he wants to get you wound up again. What does he want? For you to wait for him for twenty years? How nice for you. What a great guy he is, or don't you see that? He's completely selfish.”
“Okay, you win, he's selfish. But he's also human, and scared, and in his own way, he loves me.”
“And do you love him?”
“I was married to him for eighteen years, that's worth something. Friendship, if nothing else. I think all he wants is to make peace before he goes, to heal old wounds, and settle his affairs. He knows he's going. He's not trying to take me with him. He filed for divorce, didn't he?”
“And if he doesn't go?” He turned suddenly on her, and she was startled.
“He's not going to get off, Brock. He doesn't have a chance of that. You know that.”
“And if he did, would you stay married to him? Would you go back?” It was a difficult question, and she didn't want to answer it. For herself as much as him. There was no chance of his not going to prison. She knew that and so did Sam. Phillip Smith had left him no illusions. But the issue was not whether or not Sam was going to prison. The issue was not that simple.
“It doesn't have anything to do with that. If I really loved him, I'd be with him, whether or not he went to prison. I'm with you, Brock. That must mean something.”
“It does, but when he's gone, he'll be writing to you, wanting you to visit. You're still in love with him, Alex. Why don't you just face it?” He was hard on her, and she was angry at him for it. He wanted everything all at once, and life didn't work that way. She knew that better than he did.
“It takes old wounds time to heal, Brock. It doesn't happen in an instant. Be patient.”
“Why don't you admit what you're feeling? I think you're going to go back to him.”