Secrets of Our House, page 23
Desi envied her brother at that moment, but she also knew they were wasting valuable time. She began walking again, and Peter stalked after her. Her mind spun. Where did she even start?
“What do you want to know?” she finally asked.
Peter stomped through the snow behind her. His silence consumed her, infuriated her. This was just like him to ask and then punish her with silence.
“How long after I deployed did you fuck him?”
She gasped and rotated, almost ramming straight into his chest. “Are you serious right now? That’s what you want to know?”
He laughed. Bitterness contorted his face. Slowly, the real truth slid into focus. Peter didn’t love her; he hadn’t loved her for so very long. Because if he’d known about her and Carter for two decades and had chosen to stay with her anyway, she understood that wasn’t love or looking the other way—that was his way of punishing her. In Peter’s mind, letting her go for an indiscretion would have meant she could have lived her life, maybe even worked it out with Carter. Staying meant she had to endure his silent fury, his frigidity, his withholding, which meant experiencing a thousand little deaths every single day. She’d driven herself crazy over the years trying to make it better, wondering if what she’d done had caused such a split between them, wondering if she should tell him the truth, when he’d known anyway. What a waste of their lives.
He moved closer to her, so close, she could see tiny crystals of ice clinging to his eyelashes.
“How long?”
She calculated in her head. After she’d seen Carter that first night, they’d met every week. They seemed to understand each other in a way she and Peter never had. It made her sad for not making sure she and Peter were truly compatible before they got married.
“A month.” She whispered the words behind her ski mask and stared at her boots, which were dusted with a fresh layer of oversized snowflakes.
He sneered at her and turned on his heel, but not before whispering, “You disgust me.”
The pain was swift, but she knocked it away. She jogged to catch up and grabbed his elbow. “No, you don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?” He jerked his arm free.
“You don’t get to blame this entirely on me.” Her words gathered steam. “Carter and I dated way before I met you. He introduced us, remember?” The words were coming faster now, and she couldn’t contain them. “Carter was too unpredictable. When I met you, I thought…” She trailed off, ignoring the stung expression on his face. “You promised me before we got married that you would retire. But the moment we got married, you left. You knew I wouldn’t marry you if you were going to be active duty. We both agreed to that, and the moment you got a glimpse of domestic life, you bailed. I felt like you couldn’t stand to be near me, that a civilian life was like death.”
“So the moment I leave, you fuck your ex-boyfriend?” He moved a few steps away from her, then doubled back with such ferocity, she flinched. “You know why I left? Because you scared me. I never felt good enough for you. You seemed so certain of your life. You didn’t even want children. But that didn’t matter to me. You mattered. And then, when we got married, you just seemed … unhappy. I worried that it was me, that I couldn’t make you happy. I panicked. I thought one more tour would give us both time to adjust to married life.” His eyes bore into hers. “Little did I know, you were already playing house with someone else.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t like that.” But wasn’t it? What she’d done was horrible. She should never have strung Peter along all these years, when they were both so clearly unhappy.
“I could tell something was off when I got back, but then you got pregnant and…”
And he fell in love with Jules. He stayed because of Jules, not her.
“Did you talk to Carter?”
He seemed thrown by the change in topic, but he knew exactly what she meant.
“That night you went to pick up Jules. Carter was fine and then he was gone the next morning.”
He looked directly in her eyes and almost smiled. “Yes, I did.”
She didn’t dare ask what he’d said, as he wouldn’t tell her anyway. “So you’ve known all this time…” It wasn’t a question, and the statement hung between them, damp and untouched. “Why did you stay, Peter?”
“We have a family,” he said.
“But our lives could have been so different.” They could have still raised Jules and found other people.
“I hate your life,” he snapped. “I hate how everything has to be a certain way.”
She scoffed. “You’re a Marine! Everything has to be a certain way.”
“That’s not what I mean. You spend more time on furniture or designs than people, as if you can take them with you when you die.” He paced a few steps again, his back turned. “I wasn’t the only one who suffered because of that. Your daughter suffered too. She grew up with a shallow mother. Your whole life has been shallow!” He threw his arms into the air and screamed into the trees.
“Shallow?” She closed the gap. “It’s my work! At least I was making my clients happy, making their worlds better, instead of murdering innocent people for a fucking country you’re so quick to complain about.”
“Watch your mouth, Desi.”
She continued. “I’m part of this relationship too. You’ve been mentally, emotionally, and physically checked out ever since you got back from Iraq. I tried to get you to go to therapy. I tried to help you, but you refused. You denied me a life with a husband. You refused to do the work.”
His red nostrils flared, his hair lifting and flattening with the wind. “Because you were clearly in love with someone else,” he whispered. “I wanted you to pay for that. I wanted to dedicate my life to our daughter—not you.”
Instead of stalking off, Peter let those words land, and her eyes immediately filled with tears. As she stared into his eyes, any traces of love hardened to hate. She’d asked herself so many times over the years how she might have been a different mother if she’d been with someone else. The real secret bubbled in her chest, dying to escape. She’d never said the words out loud—never dared hurt Peter so much—but she knew she now had nothing to lose. “It’s funny,” she said.
“What’s funny?”
She moved so close to him that his angry, frigid breath blew into her face. She searched his eyes, spotting the golden flecks she used to marvel at when they’d first started dating. “It’s funny that you’ve dedicated your life to a daughter who isn’t even yours.”
She turned, heart pounding, and headed deeper into the forest.
35
Jules
AFTER hours of work, Jules was exhausted.
She snuggled in next to Will, thankful for the fire. She’d erected a flimsy roof above them, making sure the smoke had a safe path to escape. She’d never been more thankful for her father’s lifelong training, which had prepared her for this very situation. It solidified her future. She didn’t want to spend one more second in some small, stuffy classroom, reading textbooks and listening to a professor talk.
She wanted to help people, to use her hands to work each and every day, to do the real work that humans had gotten so far away from. This was her chance to claim her own life, to build something meaningful here, with Will and the baby.
She turned to him and traced her hands over his face. The bandages had long since filled with blood and congealed, but the gashes had finally clotted. She tried not to think about the metal at the back of his skull, how it could be leaking poisons into his system. She tried not to think about his legs, and how his back or neck might be broken and what life would be like if he could never walk or fly again.
She batted away the pessimism and moved in closer. Her rib was unbearable, but she ignored the pain to be as physically close to Will as she could.
“What has life been like for you?” He blinked at the roof. Slivers of light danced over his face like needles.
She propped herself up on her elbow, surprised that he was awake. “You really want to know?”
He rolled his head toward her. Even with his torn and bloodied face, his eyes focused only on her. “I’ve wanted to know everything.”
She shrugged, hiking one shoulder and dropping it. “New York is a beast.” She smiled. “I used to pretend you were there with me. Every amazing thing I saw, I took pictures to share with you. But the longer I was there, the more I knew I just wanted to come home.”
He knew which home she meant.
“So show me now.”
“The pictures?”
“Got nothing but time, right?” He smiled and attempted to adjust, groaned.
She helped him get comfortable, then flipped through photos on her phone. She walked him through those first few days of setting up the dorm, Melanie, and the endless freshman parties held in tight studio apartments or the stuffy dorm activities room. She told him about her attack and even let him feel the bumpy scar at the back of her head.
She’d taken pictures of everything, feeling more comfortable behind the lens than having to truly interact with the people around her. Once she’d acclimated herself to the city, she’d trekked all over Manhattan, snapping hundreds of photos. As she flipped through them now, a small sense of gratitude filled her body. Maybe her mother was right. If she hadn’t gone to New York, she wouldn’t have been able to really figure out—to her core—what she wanted. She knew college wasn’t for her, that New York wasn’t for her, that Chicago wasn’t for her. She knew that her summer romance with Will hadn’t just been a fling—it meant something, and it always would.
Finally, she put her phone away. “What about you?”
He smiled sadly and stared once again at the thatched roof. “I’ve spent every day figuring out a way to show up in New York and get you back. But I didn’t want to screw up your life.”
She was hurt that he thought she’d move on so easily, but maybe that had been easier for him. Losing Lenore, almost losing his sister, losing her … She gripped his hand and threaded her fingers through his. They fit so well together, as if their hands were made for each other. “I could never move on. This is it for me, Will. There will never be anyone else.”
He nodded. These weren’t words from a silly eighteen-year-old girl. She was speaking from the very depths of her soul. She was certain. She’d always been certain, from the first moment she saw him to right now, with his broken body and his will to live. They would get through this.
She sat up, and another pain ripped through her abdomen. She gripped her belly. This one wasn’t sharp like her rib, but a deep cramping. Suddenly, something warm and sticky spread beneath her. She moved away and saw a small circular bloodstain where she’d been sitting.
“Are you okay?” Will strained to see.
She stared at him fearfully as another cramp ravaged her abdomen.
He peered down where she’d moved away and spotted the blood. “Oh God…”
Will struggled to sit up, but failed. Tears filled his eyes and a few slipped down his cheeks. His body would not cooperate as he told it what to do. He tried again, but his limbs remained limp and immobile.
She couldn’t lose the baby. More pain gripped her stomach, and she doubled over. Before she could say anything, she rummaged through the first-aid kit and found some gauze. It wasn’t much but she used it to soak up some of the blood, which was already lessening. Once she was settled, she took some deep breaths.
“I just need to rest.” Even as she spoke, she realized the seriousness of what was happening. She was bleeding. She needed a hospital, or she might lose their baby. She’d researched everything about pregnancy, knowing that the first twelve to sixteen weeks were crucial. She was almost fourteen weeks. With the crash, there was no telling what had gone wrong.
Will reached for her hand. “You have to go, Juliette.” His eyes locked with hers, and she understood how desperate he must feel not to be able to move or help.
“I don’t know how I can get down there,” she said. And if she was bleeding, moving would only make it worse.
“You have to try,” he said. “You have to.”
She gripped his hand as tears flowed freely down both their cheeks. “I don’t want to leave you here.”
“I know, but I’ll be fine. I promise.” He turned more toward her, wincing as a thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead. “I’ll never forgive myself if you lose our baby.”
Our baby.
The cramps intensified, and Jules wasn’t sure she could even make it ten feet, let alone thousands. But she had to try. Not only was Will’s life in danger, but now hers was too. She hadn’t even thought about it as their baby; she’d mostly ignored what was happening to her body until she could tell Will. Now she knew this was meant to be. They were going to be a family.
And if she was going to be a mother, she had to think like one. She had to try and save herself, even if it meant leaving Will behind.
She packed her bag, moving the extra bottle of water near Will, as well as the first-aid kit. Her pants were damp from the blood, but she felt like it was slowing enough for her to walk. Her breath seized in her chest as she looked at him.
She kneeled in front of him and took his face in her hands. She kissed him deeply, lips trembling, and studied his face, memorizing every inch.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I love you, Juliette.”
“I love you too, Will,” she whispered. She crawled back toward the opening, tightened her pack, and headed out into the snow.
36
Desi
DESI couldn’t believe she’d finally told him.
She quickly caught up with Tommy, who was oblivious to what she’d just revealed. He glanced at her, saw the seriousness of her expression, and knew not to ask. She didn’t even care where Peter was. She wanted the shock to tear him apart, just as it had tormented her all those years.
After she and Carter first slept together, she’d felt terrible and wonderful, all wrapped into one. She knew she’d crossed the ultimate line, and she had to tell Peter. She had to ask for a divorce. As she’d literally been wrapped up in Carter’s sheets, tracing the line of his shoulder, he’d leaned in, kissed her softly, and said, “I want to work this out.”
She’d rolled to her back, nodded, and stared at his popcorn ceiling. A brown water stain patch spread in the top right corner. “Me too. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
He sighed, folding his hands behind his head. “Me neither. But I love you, Desiree. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I did then and I do now.”
Hadn’t Peter just said the same thing not too long ago? How had this even happened? The difference was she felt something when Carter said it—not a sense of obligation because they were married—but because it was wild, unbridled, and deep. They were willingly choosing each other despite all the obstacles in the way. It was the tougher choice, but the right one.
She looked at him, her stomach turning flips. Thoughts of Carter consumed her: at work, at home, in the bedroom, and everywhere between. Theirs was the kind of love that kept her up at night.
After that day, she’d considered hiring a lawyer to assess her options, but she didn’t have the money and knew she had to tread lightly. When Peter returned, he could be dealing with PTSD, and she didn’t want to push him over the edge.
Almost two years after he’d left, Peter came home unexpectedly, when their tour had been cut short. She wasn’t ready. She was focused on Carter, on the life they were building, and when Peter arrived, she realized she needed to give him time to adjust before she pulled the rug out from under him.
It wasn’t until she’d taken a pregnancy test that she knew she had to rip off the Band-Aid. Peter had been home for two months, and she still hadn’t gotten the nerve to ask for a divorce. And now she was pregnant.
She’d decided to do it over dinner, but then, Peter had walked into the living room. The pregnancy test she’d buried in the trash was clutched in his hands. He’d fallen to his knees, wrapped his arms around her waist, and wept. It was the first and last time he’d shown such emotion, but Desi was caught completely off guard. He’d devoured her in kisses, told her that this baby was the only thing he’d ever wanted, and that he would be the best father any child could hope for. He was going to retire and they could finally build the life of their dreams.
Desi had been paralyzed. Peter had never cried in front of her, and she didn’t know what would happen if she suddenly broke up with him. That would mean not only admitting that she was in love with someone else—it would also mean admitting that the baby wasn’t his. She and Peter had slept together regularly since he’d returned home, but she knew the baby was Carter’s.
She felt caught between two relationships, but in that moment, with his arms around her waist, all her feelings for Peter reemerged, and she was more confused than ever.
“Des, what happened back there?” Tommy edged into her thoughts, and she returned to the present, the vault of memory once again closing up.
“I told him the truth,” she said, teeth chattering.
“Like the truth truth?” he whispered. “That you slept together?”
Should she tell him the rest? She could already imagine Peter’s next form of action. He’d request a DNA test, something she’d already done to be sure.
She’d always known that nothing would ever gut Peter more. Jules was his pride and joy, his reason for living, and she wasn’t even biologically his. She didn’t think through what that rage could do to Peter, how he might destroy anyone and everyone around him as a result. She glanced behind her. What would the consequences of this be?
She saw the flicker of concern in Tommy’s eyes, but he stayed silent.
She swallowed and kept charging forward. Not only had she lied, but she’d denied Jules a relationship with her real father. Though Peter was an incredible father, was Jules better off for never knowing Carter?
Once she’d made that painstaking decision to work it out with Peter, she and Carter had severed all communication. Nothing had ever been more agonizing than telling him it was over again.
