She’d never said it. Not out loud. Didn’t actually have proof other than years of observing a man who was constantly repenting something. And suddenly, looking at Walter, she couldn’t do it.
She turned, intending to flee back to the house, but Walter stood, grabbed her hand. She gasped at the touch, the heat of his skin against hers. The size of his hand, the strength. She closed her eyes in surrender to it. In longing for it.
“Sandra—”
“He loved me as a friend,” she said.
“Was it an affair?”
She shook her head. “I…think he was gay.”
Walter dropped her hand, his face red. “Nonsense.”
“He was my husband, Walter. He had secrets.”
He stepped back. And back again. “You’re wrong.”
“I spent years praying that was the case, but…I don’t think I am. I think there was someone before we were married. He hated himself for it. I think…secretly…he hated me for it.”
Walter stared up at her and in an instant, all that anger was gone. And she was left cold and guilty. So cold.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” she murmured and walked away, ashamed that she wanted him to stop her and then more ashamed when he didn’t.
Thursday afternoon Lucy met Ben at the bus stop again. Gray storm clouds clung to the mountains, sending thick feelers over the peaks. The whole world looked dark and fierce.
Exactly like she felt.
“What are you doing?” she asked, once the bus was gone. She crossed her arms over her chest, determined not to be undermined by a kid.
He’s a kid. You’re an adult. Act like it.
“It’s Thursday, I’m coming to your house.”
“Yeah, but why did you tell Jeremiah that everything was going fine. Why did you lie?”
“Why did you?”
“Ohhhh no.” She took a step back. “What are you after?”
He shrugged. “I like it here.”
“Sleeping in the barn?”
“I’m not sleeping.”
She had visions of matches and dry hay, the ranch on fire. “What do you do?” she asked in a hard voice.
“Talk to Walter.”
If he had said talk to the chickens she wouldn’t have been any more surprised. “Walter?”
“The old guy. Yeah.”
“What…” She didn’t even know how to compute this. “What do you talk about?”
Ben shrugged, lifting his backpack over his shoulder. “Stuff.”
“That’s…crazy.”
Ben didn’t like that and he turned, stomping toward the ranch.
“Ben, I’m sorry.”
“Whatever. I thought this would be good for you. You get to be the hero with my uncle and you don’t even have to deal with the screwed-up kid—”
“You’re not screwed up,” she said after him.
“That’s all you’ve been calling me since we met.”
She gasped, stopped in her tracks. Oh no. Was that…was that true? “Ben…I’m sorry.”
“Whatever.” He sneered over his shoulder and just kept on walking in the direction of the barn.
She’d hurt him. When she’d meant to help.
Walter wasn’t at his seat and she watched Ben disappear into the shadows at the back of the barn. Ben wasn’t going to talk to her. It wasn’t a matter of letting him cool down; she’d crossed a line with him. Had apparently crossed it nearly the first time she opened her mouth.
With her heart like lead in her chest, she realized that she had to go ask Walter—of all people—to look after Ben.
She’d blown all her fresh starts.
In the house Walter paced the hallway, the thump and slide of his cane loud in the silence. He knew Sandra could hear him in her room, but she wasn’t coming out.
Outside her door he lifted his hand to knock but found himself unable to do it.
Good Lord he wanted a drink. He wanted a whole damn bottle. He wanted to drown himself in whiskey.
A.J.? Gay?
What a secret. And the real ache, the real pain, was that it didn’t matter if it was true or not—Sandra believed it was, and she lived her life with that doubt.
Beautiful Sandra, pretending for all those years that her marriage was perfect.
And his friend. His best friend, A.J., living a lie.
Gathering his ragged courage he knocked on the door and waited. She didn’t open it, but he could feel her just on the other side.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the wood. “I…didn’t do that right. If… you…ah…Christ, Sandra.” He thunked his head against the door. “If you want to talk…or whatever…I’m here. I’m…yeah. Here. For you. If you want that.”
Why would she? he thought. You desperate old drunk.
He waited one more second, the silence pounding and pulsing in his head.
“Walter?” Lucy’s voice flooded the hallway and he turned as quickly as he could with his gimpy foot and headed for the kitchen. Not wanting to be caught outside Sandra’s door.
They met in the foyer, milky daylight falling in squares from the windows around the front door. There was something in the air for the Alatore women today. Lucy looked as shattered as Sandra.
Did Lucy know about her dad? Did anyone? Had Sandra carried that all alone?