Page 30 of The Logic of Loyalty

I lean over and snatch the box from in front of him. “Obviously, I’m trying to have a delicious and nutritious breakfast with my little boy.”

I don’t know how a nine-year-old can look heartbroken about such an inane topic, but he gives a good attempt at it. It’s not until he snatches the box back out of my hands that I realize what may have happened. “Oh, man. I’m sorry, Jacob. You were in the middle of solving something, weren’t you?”

He avoids my gaze. “Yes.”

The door to our bedroom opens, and a groomed and well-dressed Trevor steps out. My stomach drops at what this means. He’s devastating in his suit, but the fact that he’s wearing it this early and on a Saturday makes me want to be sick all over again.

“Good morning, son.” He ruffles Jacob’s hair. “Good morning, my world.” He moves to wrap his arms around me, and I just happen to remember that I need to put the milk away. I slide out of his arms and take the milk to the fridge.

“Good morning.”

Jacob scrunches his face at the kiss Trevor places on his cheek. His easy affection with our child is a mystery to me. I shudder at the thought of growing up in the cold house he did. I doubt he ever called it home. My childhood was hard in a lot of ways, but I prefer my parents’ abandonment to my husband’s parents’ version of love.

Trevor corners me by the cabinets and leans in close enough for me to smell his intoxicating aftershave. It overwhelms my senses and lulls me briefly into allowing his proximity. It’s comfortable, normal, easy. His words against my ear shove me right back to reality.

“How are you feeling, baby?” His hand slides to my stomach, and I jerk my head back to meet his eyes. The joy and uncertainty reflected there wreck me. I subtly pull away from him, trying to be discreet in my need to get out of his hold.

We have always been physically affectionate around our boy. While I’m not sure about anything right now, I do know that I don’t need our problems telegraphed so clearly to my far-too-bright child.

I’m not sure if Jacob has noticed anything, but the wounded look on his father’s face tells me he sure as hell did.

Trevor heaves a sigh and runs his hand through his hair, undoing the carefully combed look that was in place. Unfortunately, it makes him appear far more enticing. My heart thuds at this disheveled side of my husband that I’ve always loved to have to myself behind the four walls of our home. Now? Now I’m not so sure if this endearing side of him is mine alone anymore. Because of Krista.

Her name leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I shove her out of my head before I throw the bowl of cereal at my idiot husband.

“I have to go to the office before our dinner tonight.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know, the monthly dinner at my parents’ house?”

Mother-loving-sunuvabitchinator. “Of course.”

“We need to talk later, okay? We have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He leans in and leaves a lingering kiss on my forehead.

“I love you, and I’m sorry.” He brushes his hand across my belly and stops by Jacob on his way out. I don’t hear his whisper, but our son smiles and nods.

On weekends in July, I drop Jacob off at his summer camp for the morning. It’s a camp for the gifted and talented students to go to. I’ve been looking forward to time alone with Trevor throughout the month of May, but things are different now. Instead, I dropped Jacob off, drove to my favorite coffee shop, stopped and got myself a yummy coffee—only a single shot of espresso is fine, according to the ob—and now I’m just out driving.

I’ve always been one who can do my best thinking in the shower or in a quiet car with no place in particular to go. It was one of the things that Trevor and I did throughout the years. If we were ever having problems, concerns, or fears, we would get into our Suburban and go.

I picture it now. My feet on the dash, my hand on the small bump of our baby, while my other was engulfed in the dry heat of Trevor’s hand. We would drive until it got dark, talking about the future, listening to music on the old FM radio he never replaced, or simply sitting in comfortable silence.

Sometimes, I wonder what happened to that version of my husband. Although I realize it’s silly to expect a grown man to act like he did when he was eighteen, I just … I miss those carefree moments with him.

His work schedule has always been challenging, but for some reason, in the last few months, it’s become unmanageable. The vice president of the bank is supposedly stepping down at the end of the fiscal year, and Richard Whitaker, aka Dickwhit, seems extra concerned that Trevor is not prepared for this step. In a supposed effort to help, Dickwhit has been giving Trevor ridiculous responsibilities and expectations that seem impossible to maintain. Combined with my unexpected hours with Cassian, and we’re both barely hanging on at night, and then we’re parenting on the weekends.

I drive to the ridges, hanging my arm out the window and enjoying the cooler morning temperatures. As the day goes on, the moisture will make the heat nearly unbearable. For now, it’s comforting.

Trevor wouldn’t cheat on me. I’m sure he wouldn’t. Would he? “Dammit, this is what I meant when I told him I didn’t want him to make choices that make me doubt him.” I lift my coffee cup and frown when I realize that it’s already nearly gone. I would love more of the comfort of a coffee, so maybe I can get a decaf. Becky would die. I turn around before the dirt road and head back to town.

Letting a sigh loose, I start bobbing my head to the music playing quietly on the radio. It’s a quiet day, and I’m married to an idiot.

The houses on the outskirts of town flash by as I continue driving, tapping my hand on the driver’s door. We need to have a serious conversation about every stupid choice he’s made this week, so Bethany is going to be taking Jacob after our dinner tonight. He’ll have a nephew and an auntie night.

“I told him how uncomfortable I was feeling,” I shout into the car. I told him, but apparently, my words didn’t penetrate his handsome, hard head. The sad fact of the matter is that my husband has been actively crossing boundaries, and I have been a blind, trusting fool. It’s gotten to the point that he is comfortable leaving our home with her, without me, and without telling me where he is going. On a random night, that is not okay, but on a holiday while we are hosting a party? “Unbelievable!” I smack the dash and shake my head. Stupid.