Page 25 of The Burning
“He said he wishes I trusted him, and that none of it’s true.”
“But you do trust him?” Just because I didn’t, didn’t mean his wife felt the same.
“I did . . . I do. I trust him, but the way he handled it all bothers me. He said the person spreading this rumor is crazy and that I should ignore it all because it’s nothing. The thing is, he wasn’t surprised by any of it, and I just have this feeling . . .” She gently brushed the stray hair off my forehead as she spoke.
“What kind of feeling?” I asked, knowing Elodie probably couldn’t articulate it. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but if it were me, his response wouldn’t have been enough. A stranger found her parents on Facebook—across the globe—and wrote them detailed messages accusing Phillip of having an affair. That didn’t seem like something she should just sweep under the marriage rug. Watching my parents definitely taught me that in marriage, you have to pick and choose your battles; toothpaste in the sink is a very different battle than an accusation of cheating.
“I can feel it here inside. The feeling that something is wrong . . .”
“Did you tell him that?” I asked. Before giving her my opinion, I wanted to gauge where she was.
“I didn’t . . . I lied and said I believed him. I can’t ignore it now that my parents know. And the baby was in distress today because of it. It’s not that simple to just ignore.” She looked at me.
“I wouldn’t be able to, either. I don’t think anyone would,” I assured her.
Her blue eyes focused on mine. “Would you believe him?”
“Me?” I tried to buy a few seconds. “I don’t know him well enough to know, honestly. But someone contacting your family is a pretty big deal. And pretty ballsy to do if it wasn’t true. Plus, I believe in trusting your gut, always.”
“If it’s true . . . what am I supposed to do? What if heischeating on me? You told me that most military couples cheat.” Her eyes started to water.
Man, did I regret saying that . . .
“Really, Karina, what can I do? Go home to France? Ask my parents to buy me a plane ticket? I don’t have any money. Everything is in his name. And he says there is a law to stop me taking the baby away from him . . .”
I sat up and moved next to Elodie on the couch. “He said that today?”
She nodded. “He was very upset. He was threatening me.”
I reached for her hand. I could feel her misery. It felt so familiar—even though our circumstances were so different, misery was misery.
“Don’t think about anything but what’s best for you and the baby, okay? He can’t stop you from going home if that’s what you want.”
What an awful situation to be in. She could run home, but, realistically, would she? Would it even be for the best? I didn’t know. The more I learned about Phillip, the more I realized I didn’t actually know him at all. Kael was his only backer, which meant there had to be something good in him. Right? Or maybe they were two peas in one manipulative pod and that’s why they were so close?
“I don’t know what I want. He’s so . . . he’s become so angry. It is hard that he is not here. And hard that he is at war. And before the fight today, there have been more problems. I don’t look forward to him calling me now,” she said. “I know that sounds awful, but all we do is fight and I’m tired.”
“It doesn’t sound awful at all. It’s understandable to feel like that. So, his advice as your husband was to ignore the whole thing? He didn’t try to comfort you?”
Another nod.
“Is that what you want in your life, to be ignored when something is wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think I can live that way. And this feeling in my stomach . . .” Her hand rubbed over her belly. “Besides the baby”—she smiled a little—“is so strong that it’s making me sick.”
“I know he told you to ignore it, but like I said before, we can investigate on our own. Can you have your parents send you a screenshot of the message and we can figure it out?”
Elodie leaned forward to grab her phone from the table in front of the couch. She pulled up a pic and handed it to me. “They sent me a screenshot.”
My eyes adjusted to the familiar face.
“It’s . . .” I stopped myself from saying Nielson, the man Austin and I had talked about earlier today.
I zoomed in on his face, his beady little eyes, his tight jaw. It was the same guy from the shop asking for my dad, the same guy whose girlfriend my brother was sleeping with—and here he was, claiming his wife was sleeping with Elodie’s husband. What in the hell was going on?
“Do you know him?” Elodie asked, looking at her screen again.
I grabbed my phone from my pocket and typed his name into the search bar on my Facebook.
