Page 27 of Chasing the Other Woman

There’s more. Equipment diagrams, more checklists, and then a list titled in her careful black letters. Ways to Talk About This Without Fighting.

I’m pretty sure I forget how to breathe.

I stop after the first list item.

Start with: I know you’re scared, too.

How long has she been building this? I’ve been so concerned with Tony and how often she was talking to him that I didn’t even realize that she was sitting here trying to build a road map back to me.

A Post-it note slips out of the back of the folder.

Maybe if he understands I can be safe, he’ll want me beside him again.

A noise comes out of me that I don’t recognize as my own voice.

A dozen memories crowd together in my mind. Her watching me leave from the command desk. Her standing in the mudroom with a suitcase, saying, “I can’t keep waiting for you to decide that I’m worth fighting for.”

Then I see her back at the Funnel Cloud, younger, telling me I was no Bill Paxton from Twister, but she might forgive me for that if I bought her a beer.

I look down at all the lists, all the arguments she's written out.

All the ways she's been trying to get back to me.

She’s been reaching for me this whole time.

Seven

SAM

There’s a new post from Tony waiting for me when I wake up.

Once again, I know I shouldn’t click the damn thing, but click it I do.

And instantly wish I hadn’t.

Brooks is sitting on the edge of a workbench in the warehouse, one sleeve pushed up. His forearm is wrapped in gauze. Luci stands between his knees, looking for all the world like she belongs right there. Her head is bent as she tapes the bandage down.

The worst part is that he’s smiling.

The caption reads, Boss man patched up and back at it already. Luci’s bedside manner gets five stars.

There might as well be a banner above the photo that says, “He isn’t missing you at all, Sam.”

I throw my phone facedown on Petra’s kitchen table.

Petra looks up from the coffeepot. “I don’t disagree with you chucking the thing into Nebraska, but do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Because if I talk about it, I’m going to see that damned picture again. Her between his knees. Touching him.

I turn my hand, staring at the wedding ring that’s still on my finger. It’s been days and I still haven’t decided if it belongs there.

As if conjuring him by my thought alone, my phone lights up on the table. I don’t pick up, but that doesn’t stop me from reading the notification.

Brooks:

Sam, please. I need to hear your voice.