Page 2 of Held-
“You know you can stay as long as you need,” he says, rinsing a plate. “But what's your plan, Cecelia?”
The million-dollar question. The one I've been avoiding since I signed the divorce papers and realized I had nowhere to go but backwards.
“I don't know yet,” I admit. “I've got some interviews lined up at the elementary school. They need a substitute teacher.” I’ve never taught a day in my life, but a job is a job. Back in Boulder, I had my floral shop and high-end boutique, but I lost half of it in the divorce. Thankfully, Ethan had agreed to sell his share along with mine. I just need to find a buyer first. Until I do, I am stuck.
Dad's eyes narrow slightly, the way they always do when he thinks I'm not being completely honest. “Substitute teaching? With your business degree?”
“It's a job, Dad. And last time I checked beggars who've been financially gutted by their ex-husbands can't be choosers.” I wince at my own tone. “Sorry. It's been a long day.”
“I understand.” But his tight smile says he doesn't, not really.
I dry the last plate and hang the dish towel on the oven handle. “I just need some time to figure things out. The shop back in Boulder is being sold, and once that's done, I'll have a little cushion to rebuild with.”
“The Lord provides,” Dad says automatically, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. The Lord didn't provide, my lawyer did, after fighting tooth and nail to keep Ethan from taking everything. And all that providing just bought him a nice new vacation house after his fees.
The truth is, I don't have a plan beyond surviving each day without crumbling. Without calling Ethan and begging him to take me back, dignity be damned. That's why I drove twelve hours to get here—to put enough distance between us that I couldn't make that mistake. That and the thought of spending Christmas alone hurt more than it should have. Ethan and Ialways took a trip after the holidays. Just the two of us. When we first got married, we’d put places we’d like to visit in a fishbowl and pick until the very last piece. Last year, we spent New Year’s Eve in Rome. The year before that Bora Bora, on the prettiest white sand beach I’d ever seen.
“Your mother would be proud of you, you know.” Dad dries his hands on a dish towel, his gaze not quite meeting mine.
The mention of Mom hits me like a sucker punch. She's been gone for fifteen years, and her absence still feels fresh sometimes. “Would she? Or would she be disappointed that I couldn't keep my marriage together?”
“Cecelia.” His voice takes on that pulpit tone.
I stack the plates into the plastic drainer. “I ignored the red flags. I believed him every time he said, 'it won't happen again.'“
Dad sets down the dish towel and turns to face me. “Red flags don't make the person who ignores them responsible for someone else's choices, Cece. Ethan chose to betray his vows. That's on him.”
I want to believe that. God, I want to believe it so badly it makes my chest ache. But the voice in my head—the one that sounds suspiciously like Ethan's mother—keeps whispering that maybe if I'd been more attentive, more interesting, more something, he wouldn't have needed to look elsewhere.
“I should probably get some sleep,” I say instead, because this conversation is heading somewhere I'm not ready to go.
Dad's shoulders slump slightly. “I have to go into the church early tomorrow. The annual toy drive starts in the morning, and Jillian can’t make it. She took it over last year, but her husband has been in the hospital. If you’re interested in it, I sure could use the help.”
“I’ll think about it.” I kiss his cheek—stubble rough against my lips—and head upstairs. The floorboards creak their familiar song as I make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Inthe mirror, I look exactly like what I am. A woman who's been through hell and is still picking gravel out of her knees.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand as I'm pulling on an old college t-shirt. For one terrifying moment, my heart jumps, thinking it might be Ethan. But it's just a text from my best friend Maya back in Boulder.
How's the homecoming going? Scale of 1 to ‘I'm running away to join the circus’?
Somewhere between 'drinking wine in the bathtub' and 'googling witness protection programs.'
That bad already?
Mrs. Henderson was watching from behind her curtains. Dad made pot roast. My bedroom still has the N’SYNC poster I swore I took down before college.
So basically time travel to your most awkward years. Perfect healing environment.
I smile despite myself. Maya always could make me laugh, even during the worst of it—like when I found the earring in our bed that definitely wasn't mine, or when Ethan's credit card statement showed dinner for two at restaurants I'd never been to.
At least you have good timing. You're missing the first snow of the season.
Boulder's probably a winter wonderland by now.
It is. Ethan's car got stuck in it this morning. He posted on social media offering to pay someone $1,000 to pull him out if they could be there in fifteen minutes or less.
My stomach clenches at his name.
Please don't tell me things about him.