Chương 13
“It’s organized.”
“Exactly.”
She laughed despite herself.
Daniel closed the laptop.
“I owe you.”
“No.”
“I do.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“How does it work?”
Emily thought of the rings.
“Still choosing.”
Daniel looked at her.
Then he smiled.
“Annoying phrase.”
“You picked it.”
“So you claim.”
In December, Daniel accepted a part-time consulting job with a former colleague.
It was less prestigious, lower paying, and flexible enough for his continuing therapy.
He resented it for two weeks.
Then discovered he liked working from home.
He also discovered he hated video meetings.
Emily discovered she hated having him working from home because he left coffee cups everywhere.
Some problems survived trauma beautifully.
At Christmas, Carol gave Daniel the ceramic dog from their bookshelf.
“It was yours to begin with,” Emily said.
Daniel put it in Rachel’s purse when she wasn’t looking.
Rachel found it during dinner.
A family argument followed.
Carol laughed until she cried.
Daniel watched her.
Then something shifted in his face.
He remembered another Christmas.
His father alive.
The same dining room.
Rachel complaining about a gift.
Carol burning rolls.
The memory came so suddenly he had to leave the table.
Emily found him on the back porch.
Cold air moved through the bare branches.
Daniel stood without a coat.
She brought one.
He put it on.
“My dad was here.”
“I know.”
“I remember his voice.”
Emily waited.
“He told Rachel the rolls were supposed to be black.”
Emily smiled.
“He said that every year.”
Daniel looked through the kitchen window at his family.
“I forgot him for a while.”
“Yes.”
“That scares me more than forgetting work.”
Emily leaned beside him.
He slipped his hand into hers.
“I remembered you before I remembered the wedding.”
“You remembered my shoes first.”
“Excellent shoes.”
“They hurt.”
“Worth it.”
She laughed.
He became quiet.
“I’m remembering why I wanted to marry you.”
Emily’s breath caught.
Daniel looked at her.
“I’m not asking.”
“Okay.”
“I’m saying it.”
“Okay.”
He squeezed her hand.
“That’s all.”
She nodded.
“That’s enough.”
In February, they moved the wedding rings from Emily’s jewelry box to a small dish beside the bed.
No ceremony.
No declaration.
Daniel simply asked where they were.
Emily showed him.
He put them in the dish.
For weeks they remained there.
Sometimes Daniel picked his up.
Sometimes Emily did.
Neither wore them.
On the anniversary of the crash, they went to the intersection at Brant Avenue.
Emily did not want to.
Daniel did.
The truck driver had pleaded guilty to a traffic offense months earlier. There had been no dramatic court case, no satisfying confrontation. Insurance companies argued. Lawyers exchanged letters. A civil claim crawled forward through paperwork.
The driver was a forty-seven-year-old man named Trevor Boone who had been working an overnight shift before the crash.
Daniel had once asked if Emily hated him.
She said yes.
Then no.
Then yes again.
At the intersection, cars passed normally.
The city had installed a new signal timing system after several complaints about the light, though nobody could tell Emily whether it had anything to do with Daniel’s crash.
Daniel stood on the sidewalk.
“This is it?”
“Yes.”
He looked around.
“That’s disappointing.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Something that looks like it ruins lives.”
Emily stared at the traffic.
“It usually doesn’t.”
They stood there until the light changed three times.
Then Daniel said, “I’m hungry.”
Emily laughed.
“What?”
“That’s it?”
“What else do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
They went for tacos.
At the restaurant, Daniel spilled salsa on his shirt and swore.
Emily laughed so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes.
He looked offended.
“This shirt is new.”
“You said that at the intersection.”
“What?”
“Something should look like it ruins lives.”
Daniel looked at the red stain.
“Too soon.”
“It has been a year.”
“Still too soon.”
They laughed again.
That night, Daniel stood in the bedroom holding his wedding ring.
Emily was brushing her teeth.
He waited until she finished.
“Can I ask something?”
She looked at the ring.
“Sure.”
“Do you want the chapel?”
Her hand stopped on the towel.
“What?”
“If we get married.”
She stared at him.
Daniel continued, “Do you want to go back there?”
Emily leaned against the bathroom door.
“I don’t know.”
“Think about it.”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“That sounded offended.”
“It was defensive.”
“Therapy language.”
“Shut up.”
He smiled.
Then he looked at the ring.
“I don’t want to pretend the first wedding didn’t happen.”
“It didn’t.”
“It happened enough.”
Emily looked at him.
He was right.
The chapel had become part of their relationship despite producing no marriage certificate.
They could not erase it without erasing something true.
“What do you remember now?” she asked.
“From that day?”
“Yes.”
Daniel sat on the bed.
“The ring falling.”
Emily waited.
“Your hand.”
“What about it?”
“You were squeezing mine too hard.”
She smiled.
“Sorry.”
“I remember Father Michael’s voice.”
“What did he say?”
“I don’t know. Something about taking you.”
She laughed.
Daniel continued, “I remember being frustrated.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Why?”
“I couldn’t move.”
He looked at his hand.
“I could hear things before I could respond.”
Emily’s chest tightened.
“How much?”
“Pieces.”
“You never told me.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“What pieces?”
Daniel’s voice dropped.
“You saying you weren’t marrying me because I might wake up.”
Emily sat beside him.
He kept looking at his hand.
“I remember wanting to say something.”
“The joke?”
“No.”
She stared.
Daniel rubbed the ring between his fingers.
“I wanted to tell you not to do it.”
Emily went still.
“What?”
“I didn’t want you to marry me like that.”
The room seemed to narrow.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I just remembered enough to understand it.”
“Daniel.”
“I’m telling you now.”
Emily stood.
He looked up.
The old panic moved through her, hot and humiliating.
“You said wife.”
“I know.”
May you like
“You caught the ring.”
“I know.”
