The Romance Revival(81)

“Well, that’s awesome.” Crash walks as he types out a text. “How was the second honeymoon? I brought your truck over, by the way. It’s in the garage and keys are on the hook.” Tucking his phone in his pocket, he stops in front of the desk. Every file is open, every random piece of paper or notebook spread out on top of it. He looks up at me from the chaos. I can only imagine what I look like: eyes tight, expression bordering on frantic. “Everything okay, man?”

“I don’t know.” I’ve tried to call Emery a half dozen times, but every time it goes straight to voicemail. I left two messages telling her to call me back.

Not that I have any idea what to say.

Does she know? Had I talked to her about it? Maybe we worked things out… but is it possible she’s keeping me in the dark about this, too? That doesn’t feel true, but it’s possible.

Perhaps sensing the mood and the quiet in the house, Crash glances around. “Where’s Em?”

“She had to go into work.” Honey is curled up, sleeping in front of the door to the garage, waiting for Emery to come home, too. “I have to ask you a question.”

He pulls out a chair at the kitchen table and spins it around, sitting in it backward like a dumbass. “Shoot.”

“Was I going to leave her?” I suspect that if I was, Crash definitely knew, was maybe even hinting at it when I asked him if Emery and I were happy. When he doesn’t immediately respond, I know I’m right.

“Luca,” he says, and like a reel on fast-forward, I’m inundated with another flash of memories.

Crash and I getting in a fistfight together.

Getting thrown out of a bar together.

Clinking glasses and celebrating our first job as business partners.

“Fuck,” I say, gripping the edge of the counter, feeling lightheaded.

“How did you find out? Did you remember?” he asks.

“I found a letter of engagement from an attorney. It looks like I was just starting the process.”

His gaze moves back to the mess of papers on top of the desk. “I see.”

I think back to Emery in the sun, my beautiful, genius wife trying to differentiate between a carrot and a weed. The way she stared at the coffee machine as if praying at an altar. Her sweaty, smiling face on a hike in Yosemite. The curve of her spine when she came around my fingers last night. Her I love you. I shake my head, trying to clear it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Should I have?”

Honestly, I don’t even know.

“You guys went on a real family vacation,” he says. “I assumed that meant you were working things out.”

I nod.

“Did things not go well on the trip?”

“They did.” I think about the drive, the pool, the sex, the waterfall, our dance. “It was perfect.”

“Then why should some random papers change anything?”

“I don’t know. I keep thinking the same thing.” Pulling my lips between my teeth, I try to think this through. Do I trust the person I’ve been all my life or the new, attentive version of the woman I’ve only been in love with for a handful of days?

God, I hate not being able to trust my instincts.

So I ask Crash the one thing I’m not sure I want him to answer: “Did she know?”

“I don’t know,” he says with a helpless shrug, his hands going to his hair. “All I know is that you were an open book. I guess the question is, how much did the old Emery let herself see?”



* * *



Crash leaves for a job, but before he does, we agree that I’ll be back to work next week. I’m not actually sure I’ll be ready, but my world suddenly feels like a snow globe tipped on its end, and I needed at least one thing I could set in stone.

It’s only when he’s gone that I realize I forgot to tell him about the memories that have come back. I head for my phone in the kitchen, hoping to catch him before he’s out of the neighborhood, but it’s already ringing. I can’t find it at first, buried under everything I’ve pulled from the drawer, but I reach it before it’s stopped ringing.

“Hello?”

“Is this Luca Martín?”

It’s a man, but I don’t recognize the voice, and pull the phone away to look at the screen. Unknown Caller.

“It is,” I say, instantly wary for a reason I can’t explain. “Who is this?”

“Listen to me carefully, Mr. Martín. Your wife has gotten herself into some trouble.” The man pauses before adding, “I think you know what I’m referring to.”

“Who is this?” I ask again.

“That’s unimportant. What is important is that I know about her little experiment, and if you don’t want me to talk, you’ll do what I tell you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do,” he says with a laugh. “I think you do, and your wife does, and even your dog does.”

My eyes fly instantly to where Honey is still asleep by the garage door.

“I’m going to send you an address and I want you to be there in twenty minutes. Alone.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes.”