“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I—I couldn’t not.” I shrug, locking Skye’s gaze. “I had to marry you. I loved you too much to run away. That’s the truth.”
Little tears pool in the corners of her eyes, her cheeks flushed pink.
“And I wasn’t thinking clearly, I know that,” I continue. “I just thought … I don’t know. I thought we’d get away to Italy and have this magical time, and I’d have some space, the chance to clear my head, and then I’d deal with it all when we got back. But obviously that’s not what happened.”
“So everything that happened next was Heather, then?” Skye wipes her cheeks, tucks her hair behind her perfect ears. “She set you up? She took the money somewhere, and that’s why you can’t pay any of it back?”
I sigh, wishing more than anything that I could answer that question directly.
“Skye, I can’t—I want to tell you the truth, but like I said in my letter—I have children. And she’s their mother. And it’s just—it’s impossible.”
Skye exhales deeply, resting her hands on the table.
“You look thin.” I regret the words as soon as they escape my mouth.
“I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”
“Yeah. Neither have I. Todd’s not much of a cook.”
“You’ve been living with Todd?”
I nod. “Since October. Ever since I left New York.”
“So you and…” I can see her processing the implications of this, trying and failing to keep the faintest tinge of hope out of her voice.
“Heather and I are over. I filed for divorce.”
She nods briskly, her expression indiscernible. “So what have you been doing at Todd’s?”
“I’ve started going to AA meetings, actually, almost daily. The program sort of makes me feel … hopeful, weirdly enough. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life—you know, after my sentence is over—and I keep coming back to addiction counseling. I think I might be pretty good at that. I mean, that’s way down the road, but thinking about leaving a positive impact on the world, after all the pain I’ve inflicted—it helps. As much as anything can help right now. Sorry, I didn’t mean … I know it’s been worse for you.”
“Maybe not.” Skye smiles tightly. “You’re looking a little worse for wear, Michaels.”
“Really? I spent an embarrassing amount of time shaving today. And choosing these clothes.”
“You look pale.” She blinks. “And tired.”
“You look beautiful, always.”
She says nothing.
“Aside from … all this … how are things? I saw Jan’s new book made the Times bestseller list. That’s huge.”
Skye glances down at her lap. “Jan fired me.”
“Shit. Skye, I didn’t know.” Regret floods through me. I did this. I ruined Skye’s career, the thing she’d worked so hard at for so many years.
“I mean, I was doing a truly terrible job. That’s an understatement.”
“It’s my fault, though. That you were doing a bad job. It’s my fault you got fired.”
“Yeah, it is.” Skye drums her fingertips against the wood surface of the table. “But remember how you used to ask me if editing books was really what I wanted to do?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were living your passion. I wasn’t trying to—”
“You were right to question it, Burke. You were the only one who ever did. And editing wasn’t my passion, that’s what I’ve realized. I think I always knew that, on some level, but I stuck with it because it was what my mom did. But ever since Jan let me go, I haven’t been sad or even upset. I mean, I feel guilty that I let her down, but I also just feel … free.”
“That’s good, then.” I smile, relieved at Skye’s response, at the small wedge of credit I’ve been given in the midst of my overwhelming culpability. “So you’re not taking on any new authors?”
Skye shakes her head. “I’ve been thinking a lot about a career change, maybe social work. Kendall was the one who first suggested it actually, and it just sounded … right. So I’m considering that, which would mean going back to school and getting my degree. But finding a career where I can use my own experience to help people, kind of like what you were saying … I think that’d be pretty powerful. And fulfilling.”
She leans her head to the left, stretching her neck that way she does, and I’m in awe of her, of her grace and brilliance and staggering potential.
“I think you’d be an incredible therapist, Skye.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want to order anoth—”
“I have to go, Burke.”
I don’t want her to leave, I’d do anything to stop her from leaving. But I know that I can’t, and I try to focus my mind on the positive, on my gratitude for this moment with her, on the sound of her voice speaking my name.
“Well, good to see you is an understatement. And thanks for picking this place. You know—making it easy for me.” I gesture toward the train-tracks side of the terminal, though I know she didn’t just have my convenience in mind when choosing the Oyster Bar. Skye loves this place because it’s open to the rest of Grand Central, uncontained by four walls. She can leave without doing her knocks.
She stands and drops a twenty on the table, a class act till the end, and I stand, too, mirroring her movements. She brushes past me and I inhale the scent of her apple shampoo, and I can’t not reach for her hand, gently clasping my own around her fingers. I feel her body tense, then relax, and she lets me pull her in close, lets me wrap my arms around her and rest my palm again the back of her head. Just for a second.
The she breaks loose from my grip and disappears too quickly, camouflaged by the swarming Friday-evening crowds of the terminal that whisk her away.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Heather
Dear Dr. K,
I didn’t suspect anything until the day Burke came home for the weekend last February. The winter had been long and relentless, the Northeast still a gray tundra with no sign of spring in sight. The house was almost always empty; Garrett lived and worked in Boston, Hope was away at school, and even though Maggie still lived at home, she was constantly out with her friends. With no children or husband around, I was starting to go out of my mind with boredom.
I’d started visiting Mrs. Lucas more that year, sometimes three times a week, but that was the entirety of my social life. Some days I’d go into full Suzy Homemaker mode and clean every inch of the house and bake cookies to send to Garrett and Hope. Occasionally, on days I decided to take off from Uber, I’d stay in sweats and binge-watch Netflix in bed with a pint of Halo Top. It wasn’t like I was going to let myself go on Ben & Jerry’s just because my husband was fucking another woman.
More crushing than my boredom was the desperate way I missed Burke. I wanted him back in the house, craved his warm body next to mine under the sheets at night. I couldn’t believe it had only been five months since he moved out and hated that it would be even longer until he could come back home. But every time I was hit with the familiar ache of longing, I made myself think of the Big Plan and the astronomical way it was going to change our lives, and I’d remember that it would all be worth it.