Page 95 of Thicker Than Water
Images gather, a montage of memories we might have shared: exploring the grounds of the Sacré Cœur, strolling through outdoor markets in Sorrento, standing on the Cliffs of Moher. Europe has never felt so far away, and I haven’t forgotten that Jason gave to Maeve by taking from me.
“Whydidn’tyou ask me?” I say.
Jason bites his lip. “I didn’t know how to explain it, why I knew that Maeve needed to get away from Gavin. I couldn’t tell you it reminded me of Clive in high school without telling you what really happened with Sienna at that party.”
I frown at him, unsatisfied by that answer.
“Either way,” he adds, “it was wrong of me. I just—” He meets my eyes again. “Julia, I need to know we’ll be okay.”
I sit on the side of his bed, giving myself time to think throughmy response. Because even now, my instinct is to agree, to hold myself back from making waves.We’ll be okay, I almost say. As if Jason’s need is more important than mine. But I want to be done with that, shrinking myself for other people’s comfort.
“Jason, it’s not just the money or the trip. Yes, that’s a big deal, but it’s so much more than that. You slept beside me for three nights knowing you’dstabbeda man. Then you knew Maeve killed him. And you never said a word.”
“I was protecting her.”
“I know you think that. But you did so at the cost of our relationship. Our trust.”
He stares at me, unblinking, eyes wet and fearful. Finally, he nods, accepting that truth.
“You’ve done that a lot, actually,” I continue. “Hurt me, hurt our family, while you claim to be helping others. I won’t go through all the examples now—this is a longer talk we’ll need to have—but you have a pattern, Jason.”
Again, I watch him process my words, his expression torn between confusion and consideration.
“And I know I haven’t been perfect,” I add. “I’ve lied to you too, in my own way. It’s not the same, at all, but I never told you how much it hurt me, how betrayed I felt, after you used that money.”
Guilt tightens Jason’s face. “You might not have said it,” he says, “but I felt it. You hardly looked me in the eye for months. And it killed me, knowing I’d hurt you so much. That’s why I couldn’t bear to let you down about that promotion.”
“But I didn’t care about the promotion! I cared about the betrayal. Which is exactly what I’m talking about—it’s my fault you didn’t know that. There were so many times I locked my feelings away. But it only hurt me, hurt us, even more to do that. So I can’t keep quiet anymore. I won’t.”
Jason puts his hand on mine. “And I don’t want you to. I want to know how you’re feeling, even if—especially if—you’re upset with me. But… we’ll be okay, right?” he asks again, still looking for this to be easy, to be over.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “We’ve been married for fifteen years, but I don’t know how well we really know each other.” I let that linger a moment—the truth I’ve only just begun accepting. “Like Sienna, I’m willing to work on it, but we don’t stand a chance if we can’t be honest with each other. Even if that honesty hurts us.”
He raises my hand to his mouth, kisses it with lips so dry they scratch my skin. A tear slips from his lashes, and I catch it by cupping his cheek. He leans into my palm, eyes closed, like my touch is something precious, something he never wants to lose.
“Julia, I promise,” he says, “from now on, I’ll be honest.”
Somewhere inside me, my mother tries to intervene:Never trust a man. She always said it like it was a decision I could make—and only ever a wrong one. But trust isn’t chosen; it’s earned. And as I look at Jason now, vulnerable and earnest, it’s possible to imagine that somehow, with time, he will earn mine.
Then again, maybe he won’t. Maybe, in the end, we’ll let each other go.
I still worry what that means for me and Sienna. The fear of losing her still grabs me by the throat. But I push that panic aside, table it for later. Because Sienna isn’t here right now; sheshouldn’tbe here, in any decision I make about my husband. In this moment, it’s only me and Jason, a man who, for better or worse, is promising honesty.
“I’ll be honest too,” I say back. And even though it’s just words right now—not enough, on its own, to save us—that promise, exchanged in a hospital room, witnessed only, perhaps, by the guard outside, feels more significant than any other vow we’ve made.
Chapter Twenty-SixSIENNA
Wyatt’s doorbell is warm beneath my touch. I drove here first thing, after dropping Julia and Aiden at their house, and as Wyatt opens the door to me, my heart gavels against my ribs.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says, clipped and cautious, and I don’t blame him. Last time I was here, I told him we were over.
I don’t move to the living room, or his bedroom, like I normally would. Instead, I stay in the entryway—this in-between space—crossing my arms, leaning against the wall.
“I saw you with Henry Hendrix at the community center yesterday. Looking like old pals.”
Wyatt blows out a breath, then leans back, too, against the opposite wall. “So that’s what Beck was talking about. How did you see us?”
