Page 47 of Two Couples

“Yeah.” I put my hand on the table, my palm up, fingers cupped slightly, waiting for her to rest her hand inside mine. “Soon, when we’re together, instead of hiding at the back of the bar, we’ll get past all this. I’ll hold you until I fall asleep. The nightmares will be gone.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know.” She finally put her hand in mine, and I squeezed it gently. We needed that house so we could be together. I was sick of waiting, so tired of never getting what I deserved.

She felt the same. We had that in common—two lives, brought together by pure chance. Some would tell us we were fixated on our problems instead of the future. They might even call our relationship unhealthy, spending too much time talking about the wounds we carried. But we had a connection that went far beyond childhood pain.

Kids arrive in the world dumb as bricks. When the people who are meant to demonstrate that their lives are worth living stick them in the corner and spew all their affection and praise and attention on the other kid, it stabs you in the gut. That knifepoint never goes away. You can call it victimhood or jealousy or sibling rivalry or whatever psychobabble word you want, but it makes you into someone you don’t want to be.

No one understands that unless they’ve lived it.

I had lived it, while she lived the opposite—wanted and loved so desperately by her mother she could hardly breathe. We connected immediately. The conversation between us just flowed. After we were solidly together, we no longer talked about our painful childhoods. We talked about everything else under the sun, but the pain inflicted by mothers who wanted to consume or discard us connected us in a deeper way.

“How much longer do you think? Until the house is ours?” I asked.

She smiled. “That’s up to you.”

“I know.” I laughed. “I just wanted to hear you say something that would help me keep believing it’s really going to happen.”

“You’ll figure it out. Just be patient. Be smart. Keep the upper hand.”

If I told anyone about us, about the house, they’d call me delusional. They would tell me I was dreaming of things I could never have, that I needed to face reality. I was sick and tired of hearing that. Why did other people get to dream and it all came true for them? Didn’t I deserve that too? I was not delusional. I wasn’t fantasizing or imagining, and I resented being told that I was.

As I watched her walk toward the door, the basket of fries still half full, I regretted that all we’d done was talk. Even if the house wasn’t mine yet, we could have found a place to go. I squinted slightly, remembering what her body looked like without the jeans and sweater she was wearing. A body that was all mine. And mine was all hers. Watching her made me forget about the incredible lakeside house for a minute. But only a minute.

When she reached the door, I realized we were being watched.

THIRTY-FIVE

SAMANTHA

Three Months Ago

Patrick didn’t know about Todd. Our friendship had grown quickly, and without me really noticing, into something deep and almost intimate. We weren’t lovers. I wasn’t cheating on Patrick. I would never. Despite how I sometimes felt unseen by my husband, I loved him with all my heart. I would never betray him like that. I’d never even had the desire. He was the only man I was attracted to, and it had been that way since we met. But Todd had crept into my life and my affection because we were connected in a way I never would be with Patrick.

I knew that someday, hopefully soon, I’d move past my need for Todd. But for now, he kept me sane. He helped me know I wasn’t alone. I needed our shared experiences, and I needed him listening to me with what seemed like infinite understanding and patience. He allowed me to talk, sometimes too much, about things that Patrick never would.

Even though Todd had unrealistic views of his life, he wasn’t mentally unbalanced. He just… it was hard to explain. He had fantasies. He believed he could accomplish things that were clearly impossible. But mostly, he was a good listener.

There wasn’t a single soul who knew about my friendship with Todd. I’d met him in a coffee shop at Lake Tahoe when Emily first suggested we look at vacation property. I’d told her that if she and Keith would consider Lake Tahoe, I was all in. I would find a way to get Patrick enthused about the idea.

I often made solo trips to Tahoe. It was only a two-hour drive from Sacramento and the only place I could go to really clear my head, to live with my memories.

When I saw Todd enter the coffee shop, I’d smiled at him—not something I ever did with strange men, but there was something about him that made me feel safe. After ordering his coffee, Todd had approached the stool beside me at the counter in front of the windows looking out on the street. He asked if the seat was taken and I said no, returning to my tablet to scroll through the houses I wanted to check out that afternoon. The crusts of my sandwich sat on my plate, bits of corned beef and sauerkraut announcing what I’d eaten.

“How was the Reuben?” Todd asked.

“It was excellent.”

“I might have one.” He glanced at my tablet. “Looking for a vacation home?”

Normally, I wouldn’t share that kind of personal information with a stranger, but Todd was about my age and so easy to talk to, he felt like an immediate friend. He had dark hair, combed back, wavy at the ends, and a clean-shaven jaw. He had beautiful hands with long, almost delicate fingers. His nails were neatly trimmed. I don’t know why I noticed that. Maybe simply because he was holding his oversized coffee cup and saucer with both hands.

He seemed vulnerable, as if he needed someone to talk to as desperately as I did. So I told him I was looking for a house. I told him we were buying a vacation home with friends of ours. He seemed fascinated by the idea that two couples would risk buying a house together.

“Who makes the decisions?” He took a sip of coffee and looked directly at me.

“Emily’s my best friend from high school. And the four of us have been hanging out forever. We’re all easygoing, so we’re optimistic we can resolve any problems that come up. No one is overly invested in the color of the sofa or the posters and photos we might want to hang.”