This Story Might Save Your Life(59)

“Do you know how stupid I felt when our lawyers called me just now? And you’ve been sitting on this information for weeks?”

“It’s not my fault,” I said. Although it was beginning to feel like it was.

He let out an unnerving laugh. “It’s never your fault.”



* * *



WE ISSUED A statement, a carefully worded apology, saying we were devastated that our partnership with Shake Awake might have put anyone in danger. The energy products contained ingredients that were “generally recognized as safe” by the FDA, but their protein powder was being used in a different capacity than originally intended. More than one person threatened to sue us and everyone else associated with the Shake Awake brand.

“But we read the ads for free. They can’t sue us for reading a free ad,” Benny said.

Per our lawyers, they could. Whether or not it would hold up in court was another matter, but these people had every right to be angry. We’d given an unsafe product a very big platform; it was entirely possible the men and women suffering from toxin poisoning wouldn’t have heard about Shake Awake if it weren’t for our podcast. The fact that we were unaware the product was harmful was a nonstarter. Listeners trusted us. Our brand was survival, for crying out loud.

Benny and Xander fought every time the topic came up. Benny blamed Xander for putting us in this position—Xander was the one who did the research, the one who vouched for Shake Awake. “We trusted you,” Benny kept saying. “You told us to trust you.”

Xander wouldn’t stand down. Benny had been there with me when the anonymous email came in. Like me, he had assumed it was a scam and let it slide.

There were no winners here, only losers. And if anyone hit us with a lawsuit, it would delay negotiations even further. The longer the whole debacle dragged on, the more furious Xander became.

Benny eyed me curiously as all of us tiptoed around one another one afternoon. “Bad period?”

It was scorching outside, and yet I’d put on a sweatshirt. “Yep.” I said it too quietly, so I nodded for emphasis.



* * *



BY MID-AUGUST, I’D finally hit my limit.

“What are you reading?” Mallory said when she arrived early to record one morning.

“Oh.” I stopped short as I came out of my bedroom. Xander had a meeting; I’d thought I’d had the house to myself. My heart thudded irrhythmically as I returned to my laptop, where an article titled “Starting the Divorce Process” was up on my screen. “I read once that divorced people are more likely to die from preventable accidents than married people, so I just thought … it might be an interesting topic. For an episode.”

“Huh.” She tilted her head but said no more.

After that, I researched only in incognito mode when I was certain I was alone. I said nothing to Benny because I needed our recording days to go smoothly. Or as smoothly as possible in what had become an incredibly tense environment. No matter what I did, it was going to be messy, and that alone was enough to give me pause, even on the worst days. The tricky part was the impending contract. It promised life-changing money. Money I would need to start over. And while I would’ve rather left Xander immediately, it didn’t seem wise to do so before the deal went through. Our negotiations were too fragile. Xander was too intertwined. I had to tread carefully. Wait until the deal was inked. And then serve him with papers.

It was an exhausting time, all of the acting I had to do. I required a lot of naps.

One late afternoon, waking up, I smelled something delicious wafting down from the kitchen. It had been ages since Xander had cooked one of his special meals. Ages since we’d shared a table. I treaded warily upstairs, unsure what to expect, and found him in an apron at the stove.

“Scallops and delicata squash,” he said with a timid smile.

I stared at him.

“I know what you’re thinking. I know things have been bad.” He averted his eyes. “And I know I’ve been…” Running a hand down his mouth, his gaze shifted back toward me. “Are you hungry? Dinner’s about ready.”

I was not. I nodded anyway and took a seat at the table.

I watched Xander finish cooking. Watched him plate our dishes. Light candles. Pour wine. I watched with the guardedness of someone who’s upwind from a wild animal.

To my surprise, I came to only one conclusion: he seemed different. I couldn’t pin it down, but it was as though he’d peeled off an ugly mask. He seemed like—I was almost afraid to hope—his old self.

“Did something happen?” I asked, forking a sliver of silky scallop.

“In a manner of speaking,” he said slowly.

I waited.

“I’ve been”—he cleared his throat—“I’ve been seeing someone.”

My fork clattered to the plate.

“No no no, not like that.” He waved a hand and let out an uneasy laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I mean a therapist. I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

My heart pounded. I took a second to let his words in. “A therapist?”

“It’s still early days, obviously, but … I want to be better for you. I’ve been difficult to live with, I know, and I don’t want to be that person anymore.” He pushed his seat back and knelt at my feet, gently cupping my knees. “I will do everything I can to make it up to you. I don’t know if you have it in your heart to forgive me, but if you do…” He lowered his head. “I’m so sorry, Joy. I’m so, so sorry.”