Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 21 - Chapitre 30

I turn off my phone and put it in the drawer by the bed, on top of my notebook. Then I look at the bed. His side still has the dent from his shoulder, and I can't lie next to a dent.I take my pillow down the hall to the guest room. Belle cleans it once a month for visitors who never come. The sheets are cold and smell like lemon soap, the bed is narrow, and the window shows nothing but the dark garden. I lie flat on my back with my hands on my stomach and stare at the ceiling. The pipes tick. The fridge hums downstairs. For the first time since I moved in, the house sounds like it belongs to nobody.My body still keeps his hours. At six, I'll wake up and reach for a coffee machine that doesn't need me. I can tell how his day went from the sound of his keys in the hall dish. A soft clink means a good day. A hard clatter means a bad one, and on bad days I learned to keep the lamp low and my questions to myself. I learned the names of his clients' wives and what their kids were allergic

I never really sleep. I lie in the guest room with my eyes open and watch the window turn from black to gray, and the whole time my mouth keeps remembering what it shouldn't. It remembers the pressure of his lips and the salt on them, and when I press my tongue against my own lower lip, I swear I can still taste him. My body has decided that last night was the best thing that has ever happened to it. It hums under my skin every time I think of the groan he made against my mouth, and my stomach swoops and my face burns, and then, right behind it, I see his eyes slide away from mine when I said Elizabeth's name, and the swoop turns to sour water in my throat.That's the part my body doesn't get to forget, and it should be the only part I remember.I hate that it said yes. God, I think I hate that more than I hate him.When the sky finally goes pale, I give up and dress in a blouse with a high collar to hide the red mark on my collarbone. My fingers shake so badly on the little round but

The drive to Willow Court takes forty minutes, and neither of us says a word. Soren drives himself, which he almost never does, and I sit with my hands knotted in my lap and my face turned to the window while the city goes grayer and lower and more crowded. Twice I feel his eyes on the side of my face, and twice I keep mine on the glass. My lips still tingle when I breathe, and I'm furious that they do.When we park, the driver unloads the boxes onto the curb while Soren reaches into the back seat for one last bag. It's long and black and obviously heavy, with a gold stripe along the top, and he carries it up three flights of stairs himself, one hand wrapped tight around the handle. I frown at his back. This bag wasn't on the pile of gifts, and I don't ask. I'm not speaking to him anyway.On the second landing, the smell reaches me, fried onions and lemon floor wax, and my stomach pulls tight before I even see the door. I've never climbed these stairs without feeling it, like walking

I don't leave. I stand there with my hand on the doorknob until the shaking passes, and then I go back into the kitchen and finish the potatoes, because I've spent my whole life finishing the potatoes. My mother doesn't say a word. She just hums at the stove, pleased with herself, like a woman who has won an argument.By six o'clock, the apartment smells of roast chicken and warm butter, and the table is set with the good plates, the white ones with gold rims that come out twice a year. My father and Soren come back from the driving range flushed from the cold, my father loud and swinging an invisible club, Soren quiet beside him with his coat over his arm. I catch my husband's eye across the room for half a second. He looks away first.Dinner is strange from the very first bite.My mother has never served Soren anything but the biggest piece of everything, but tonight she piles his plate so high that the gravy runs over the rim. She refills his water before it's half empty. She laugh

The song is still climbing toward its last chorus when Soren's phone lights up in the cup holder.The screen glows blue in the dark car, and I can't help seeing it, even though I try to look out the window instead. Sweetie. A little round photo, a kiss blown at the camera. My stomach does what it always does, a slow, cold drop, like missing the bottom stair, and I'm angry at myself for still feeling it.He answers before the second ring."Liz?" His voice goes low and soft in an instant, so quick it's like watching a switch flip. "What is it? Why are you crying?"I keep my eyes on the wipers, sweeping back and forth across the glass.I can't hear her words, only a thin, trembling hum leaking out of the speaker. I don't know why she's calling, and I tell myself I don't care. But I can't stop watching him from the corner of my eye. His brows pull together. The easy softness leaves his mouth and a hard line takes its place. His fingers tighten on the wheel until the knuckles turn white, a