Heart of the Matter - Emily Giffin [77]
I stare at the words, trying to determine who they could be from, who doesn’t hate Nick, reassuring myself that there is a logical, benign explanation behind them, even for the “thinking of you, too” portion of the message. And yet, my head spins and heart pounds with worrisome possibilities, worst-case scenarios. I read the text twice more, hearing a woman’s voice, seeing the vague outline of her face, a young version of Diane. I close my eyes, swallow back the panic rising in my throat, and tell myself to stop the madness. Then I mark the message as unread, slip his phone back on the dresser, and return to the table, candlesticks and matches in hand.
“Here we are!” I say, smiling brightly as I flank the autumnal centerpiece with the candles, lighting them one at a time, doing my best to steady my hands. Then I sit and eat in virtual silence, other than to remind the kids of their manners and occasionally fuel Diane and Connie’s babble.
All the while, I replay the text in my head, stealing glances at Nick, and wondering if I could ever hate him.
24
Valerie
She and Charlie spend Thanksgiving at Jason’s, along with his boyfriend, Hank, and Rosemary. Although the day is quiet and low-key, it still feels like something of a test and a benchmark, as Hank marks the first official contact Charlie has had with anyone other than family or hospital personnel. Hank handles the interaction perfectly, earning Valerie’s affection every time he looks Charlie directly in the eye, and without treating him with kid gloves, asks him questions about his mask, his surgeries and physical therapy, and how he feels about his upcoming return to school.
Meanwhile, Valerie neatly avoids being alone with her brother, ignoring his long stares and pointed remarks, until late in the day when he finally manages to corner her in the kitchen while the others are eating their second helping of pumpkin pie.
“Start talking,” he says, casting furtive glances at the door, safeguarding her privacy, even from their mother. Especially from their mother.
“It’s not what you think,” she says, still buzzing from the text message she read in the powder room right before dinner. It was from Nick—his third of the day—asking if Jason hates him, telling her he is thinking of her. She wrote him back, saying she was thinking of him, too—although obsessing was more the word for it. She dreamed about him all last night, and he has not left her mind once all day.
“So you’re not getting busy with the doc?” he probes, under his breath.
“No,” she says, as a vision of him weakens her knees.
“So he always makes house calls? Late at night? Unannounced? Wearing cologne?” Jason rattles off the questions.
“He wasn’t wearing cologne,” she replies a little too quickly, then attempts to cover up her intimate knowledge with a sidebar about how she has never trusted guys who wear cologne. “Lion wore cologne,” she finishes.
“Aha!” he says, as if this is all the evidence he needs. Why else would she compare a man to Lion—the love of her life so far? Which isn’t saying much. But still.
“Don’t aha me,” she says as Rosemary walks into the kitchen.
“What are you two all whispery about now?” she asks, opening the refrigerator.
“Nothing,” they say in unison, clearly hiding something.
Rosemary shakes her head, as if she doesn’t believe them but doesn’t much care, returning to the family room with a container of Cool Whip and a large serving spoon.
“Carry on,” she says over her shoulder.
Which Jason does, switching tactics, slipping into his straight-shooting mode. “Val. Just tell me. Is something going on?” She hesitates, making a split-second decision that she does not want to layer a lie on top of everything else.
“Yes,” she finally says. “But it’s not. . . physical.”
She thinks of their embrace last night, as intimate as any moment in her life, but decides that she is still telling the truth.