Chương 10
Then another.
His breathing changed.
“They promoted him.”
Emily looked at the screen.
The email was two days old.
Mark Feldman had been named acting vice president for Daniel’s group while Daniel remained on medical leave.
“It says acting.”
Daniel laughed without humor.
“That means they’re seeing if clients notice.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know this business.”
“You’ve been out for three weeks.”
“Exactly.”
Emily closed the laptop.
Daniel stared at her.
“Open it.”
“No.”
“That’s my computer.”
“And you’re shaking.”
“I’m angry.”
“You’re tired.”
“Open it.”
She stood.
“Do it yourself.”
He reached for the laptop.
His left hand missed the edge slightly.
The humiliation on his face came faster than anger.
Emily regretted closing it.
Daniel pulled the computer toward himself.
“Get out.”
She did not move.
“Daniel.”
“Please.”
That changed it.
She left.
In the hallway, she leaned against the wall and stared at a framed photograph of sailboats until Rachel arrived carrying takeout.
“What happened?”
“Work.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“Oh no.”
“He saw the promotion.”
“Mark?”
“You know Mark?”
“Daniel complains about him at Thanksgiving.”
“Apparently he remembers Mark better than me.”
The words came out before Emily could stop them.
Rachel’s face changed.
Emily looked away.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
“That was disgusting.”
“It was honest.”
“I don’t want to be that person.”
Rachel handed her the takeout bag.
“You’re hungry.”
“I’m jealous of a man named Mark.”
“You can be both.”
Emily laughed weakly.
Rachel sat beside her.
They ate cold noodles from cardboard containers.
Through the window in Daniel’s room, they could see him sitting on the edge of the bed with his laptop open.
He looked alone.
Emily wanted to go in.
She did not.
Twenty minutes later, Daniel opened the door himself with his walker.
He looked exhausted.
“I was a jerk.”
Emily stood.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want okay.”
“That’s what you get right now.”
He nodded.
Rachel kept eating.
Daniel looked at her.
“You’re not leaving?”
“No.”
“This is private.”
Rachel lifted the noodles.
“I’m family.”
Daniel looked at Emily.
“She always this annoying?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then he looked at Emily again.
“I remembered something.”
Her heart jumped.
He saw it happen and immediately looked guilty.
“Not the wedding.”
The hope fell.
She hated that he saw that too.
“What?”
“The Chicago thing.”
Emily became still.
“Some of it.”
“What part?”
“You packing a suitcase.”
She looked at him.
“Blue one?”
“Yeah.”
“That was the night I left.”
Daniel nodded.
“You were crying.”
“I was furious.”
“You can do both.”
She almost smiled.
He gripped the walker.
“I remember thinking you were overreacting.”
Emily’s face hardened.
“I probably wasn’t.”
“No.”
He took a breath.
“I remember that now.”
Rachel stood.
“I’m suddenly interested in literally anywhere else.”
She carried the noodles down the hall.
Daniel waited until she was gone.
“I was going to let you leave.”
Emily looked at him.
He continued, “I remember standing in the kitchen. You had the suitcase. I wanted to stop you, but I was angry that you wanted me to stop you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought if I apologized first, I’d lose.”
Emily swallowed.
“You said that in counseling.”
“I did?”
“Almost exactly.”
Daniel looked shaken.
“I remember the feeling.”
“That might be more important than the details.”
He looked at her.
“You stayed away three months?”
“Yes.”
“How did I get you back?”
“You didn’t.”
His brow furrowed.
“We came back together.”
“After you stopped trying to get me back and started fixing the thing that made me leave.”
Daniel stood silently.
Then he said, “That sounds inconvenient.”
“It was.”
“I’m beginning to understand why you liked me.”
Emily smiled.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
He laughed.
The laugh became a wince.
She moved toward him, then stopped before touching him.
“Need help?”
Daniel considered.
“Yes.”
She took his elbow.
That word—yes—felt more intimate than almost anything they had done before the accident.
By the fifth week, Daniel came home.
Home was their apartment on the third floor of an old brick building with an elevator that broke often enough to become a medical concern.
Emily had rearranged the bedroom before he arrived.
She removed loose rugs.
Put a chair in the shower.
Moved frequently used kitchen items to lower shelves.
Daniel walked through the apartment slowly with a cane.
He stopped near the bookshelf.
“There’s too much stuff.”
“You said that before.”
“Why didn’t we get rid of it?”
“You own half.”
He picked up a small ceramic dog.
“This?”
“Yours.”
“No.”
“Your mother gave it to you.”
He put it down carefully.
“Then yours.”
For the first week, every object became a negotiation.
Daniel remembered the coffee maker but not buying it.
Remembered his winter coat but not where they kept shoes.
Remembered the neighbor across the hall but called him by the wrong name.
At night, he slept in the bedroom.
Emily slept on the couch.
He noticed on the second night.
“You know we’ve apparently had sex.”
Emily nearly dropped her water.
Daniel looked pleased with himself.
“That’s a terrible way to phrase that.”
“I’m recovering.”
“You’re recovering into an asshole.”
“Evidence suggests continuity.”
She laughed.
Then he became serious.
“You don’t have to sleep out here.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know me the way you did.”
“I know you.”
“Some.”
“We’re engaged.”
“That doesn’t make your body remember being comfortable with mine.”
Daniel looked away.
Emily softened.
“I’m not punishing you.”
“I know.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
She sat on the opposite end of the couch.
Daniel rubbed the edge of his cane handle.
“I don’t know what I’m allowed to want.”
“There’s that word.”
He looked at her.
She smiled faintly.
“You can want anything.”
“And do?”
“That’s where we talk.”
Daniel nodded.
“So I can want you in the bedroom.”
“Yes.”
“But you can say no.”
“Yes.”
He looked at his hands.
“Okay.”
Emily waited.
“Do you want me there?”
He looked up.
May you like
“Yes.”
The answer hurt and healed in equal measure.
