I looked at her. “You walked out months ago.”
“That’s not true.” She reached toward my arm.
I moved back before she touched me. “Maybe not physically.”
Claire started sobbing again. “We can fix this.”
I looked at her. “Why do you want to fix it now?”
“Because I love you.” I shook my head slowly.
“You loved me yesterday too.” She stopped.
“Apparently that wasn’t enough to make you tell me where you were.” Claire had no answer.
I picked up the suitcase. “I am not deciding our marriage tonight.”
Hope flashed in her face. I stopped it immediately.
“I am deciding I will not stay here tonight and let you explain this until I start doubting what I saw.” Her shoulders fell.
“I need distance from your version of events.” I moved toward the door.
Claire stepped aside. “Please call me tomorrow.”
“I don’t know.” She covered her mouth.
I opened the front door. Cold air filled the hallway again. Behind me, Claire’s crying followed until the door shut.
I walked toward my truck. Then I noticed something beneath the trees farther down the road.
Headlights were off, but the shape was obvious. Gavin’s Mercedes was parked about a hundred yards from the house. He had not gone home.
I stood beside my truck for several seconds staring at it. Then I put the suitcase in the bed and started walking.
Gavin saw me coming. His head lifted sharply behind the windshield. He looked toward the road as though considering driving away before I reached him.
He stayed. Maybe pride made him. Maybe curiosity.
I knocked on the driver’s window. Gavin lowered it halfway.
“Daniel.” He sounded nervous. “Listen.”
“You parked down here.” I looked through the glass.
“I wanted to make sure Claire was okay.” I nodded.
“Of course.” Gavin swallowed.
“This looks terrible, but nothing happened.” I almost smiled.
“You and Claire really rehearsed the same defense.” His jaw tightened.
“We did not rehearse anything.” I leaned slightly closer.
“Then why does nobody begin with ‘I’m sorry I crossed a boundary’?” Gavin looked away.
“She needed somebody to talk to.” I nodded.
“She has friends.” Gavin said nothing.
“She has sisters.” Nothing.
“She had a husband.” His face changed.
“You weren’t listening to her.” The words escaped before he could stop them.
There it was. The story he had told himself to become the decent man.
I smiled without humor. “You know what married men say right before doing something stupid?”
Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“They tell themselves they understand another man’s wife better than he does.” I rested one hand on the roof.
“You didn’t rescue Claire from some terrible husband.” Gavin said nothing.
“You enjoyed being important to a married woman.” His mouth tightened.
“You don’t know me.” I nodded. “Probably true.”
“But I know you’re sitting outside another man’s house at two-thirty in the morning hoping his wife comes back outside.” Gavin’s face lost color.
I stepped away. “Whatever happens to my marriage, you are not the good guy in it.”
He looked toward the house. “We never had sex.”
I laughed once. “There’s that line again.”
“It matters.” He sounded almost angry now.
“Maybe to lawyers.” I opened my hands. “It doesn’t make you honorable.”
Gavin stared straight ahead. I turned to leave.
“Daniel.” I looked back.
He hesitated. “Claire told me you two had been unhappy for a long time.”
That one hurt. I let it.
Then I answered. “If my marriage was broken, that was an invitation for my wife and me to repair it or end it.”
I looked directly at him. “It was not an invitation for you.”
Gavin said nothing. I walked back to my truck.
By the time I reached Interstate 65, my phone was vibrating almost continuously. Claire called six times. She sent paragraphs I could not bring myself to read.
I placed the phone inside the center console. The highway stretched almost empty ahead of me beneath cold black sky.
Around mile marker thirty-two, dawn started turning the horizon gray. I rolled down the window and let freezing air hit my face.
It hurt. It also made me feel awake.
Matt lived forty minutes north in a ranch house outside Gallatin. His driveway held an old Tacoma, a boat he had not used in three summers, and two garbage cans one of his dogs had apparently knocked over during the night. I arrived at 4:18.
He opened the door wearing basketball shorts and a hoodie. “You look awful.”
I stared at him. Matt’s expression changed.
“Claire?” I nodded.
He stepped aside without asking anything else. His two Labradors rushed me like my life had not just broken, which was strangely comforting.
Matt made coffee. He handed me the mug and pointed toward the couch.
“You sleep there.” I sat down.
“Not sleeping.” He nodded. “Then you don’t sleep there.”