Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“How’s work?” Penelope asked.
So far, our conversation had revolved entirely around Bethany. It was a neutral, common ground that didn’t create any roadblocks or conflicts. And it didn’t give anything of me away either, not that I’d been consciously holding myself back. I was trying. I’d promised Autumn I would spend time with Penelope and get to know her again, and I was fulfilling my promise. Which was why we were at dinner. And why I felt so uncomfortable, I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
“Same old, same old,” I replied. She didn’t need to know that I was planning to resign. “What about you? Are you still writing?”
She shrugged. “I mean, in theory. I just don’t enjoy it like I used to.” Penelope had been a staff writer at a magazine when we split. She’d said she’d been doing freelance ever since.
“You’ve got something else in mind?” I asked.
“Not really,” she said, moving the food around her plate. “I guess it depends on the next . . . however long.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. I obviously want to be around for Bethany. And you . . .” She said it as if it was a sentence she was expecting me to finish off.
“What does that mean?” I took a sip of my wine.
“Just that things are going well. We’ve been out to dinner a few times and Bethany and I are bonding. If things keep going along this route then hopefully . . . you know, it will get even better.”
I finished off my lamb and sat back, watching her. Things were friendly between us but if I were watching our interaction, I wouldn’t guess that we were married. Or dating. It wasn’t flirtatious on either side. Penelope seemed on edge, as if she were going for a job interview, and I felt as if I were going through the motions at a business dinner.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” I asked. I couldn’t stop the images flooding my brain as soon as I’d asked the question. I was with Bethany. And Autumn. And we were sitting out in the garden on chairs that I’d made us.
She shrugged. “I guess, hopefully back with you and Bethany. As a family.”
I didn’t react, not because I didn’t see that picture at all, but because we’d been talking about her career. “What do you see yourself doing professionally?”
“I really want to make it up to you and Bethany. I hope you let me do that.”
“But that’s not a job, Penelope.”
“But being a full-time mother is,” she replied. “And a wife. That’s what I want to focus on. If you’ll let me.”
When I was a kid, there was a river we all played in during the summer months. It looked like a mud pit, so murky and brown that you couldn’t see the bottom. One winter, long after I’d outgrown summer afternoons swimming in the water, I passed by when I was training for my Duke of Edinburgh Gold. At first, I hadn’t recognized the place. The surface of the water was like a mirror, reflecting the trees and hedges on the bank. I stopped and looked more closely to find that the water was crystal clear—I could see right to the bottom. The bed was covered in smooth stone pebbles punctured by bits of weed and bigger rocks. It was an entirely different world that I’d never noticed beneath my feet. It wasn’t that I hadn’t been looking before—it was just a different time of year, which showed me something new.
I took a deep breath as I stared into Penelope’s eyes. The water was crystal clear.
It was as if I’d never seen my wife until now. I’d never understood her drive or ambitions or what she wanted in life. When we were married, she just seemed to be excited by what I wanted—a life with her. A family with her. And despite her explanations, I hadn’t really understood why she’d left. But now I saw clearly.
Penelope was desperately searching for something.
She hadn’t found it in writing. And she hadn’t found it in me. Or Bethany, or our life together. And that wasn’t going to change the second time around. She needed to figure out her place in the world.
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” I replied.
Terror slid across her face, but I continued as she started to protest.
“I’m not saying you can’t be Bethany’s mother, but I don’t think that’s going to be enough for you, Penelope. And you haven’t been my wife for a very long time, despite what the law says. There’s a lot of water under the bridge.”
“But I’m still the same woman you married and you’re still the man I married. We can try. I’m sorry I left and I’ll work to regain your trust—”