Page 10 of What He Always Knew

Somewhere along the way, I stopped doing that.

I started watching TV downstairs instead, or I’d sit in my office and work until the very minute she was ready to walk out the door. I couldn’t name the year when I’d decided I didn’t want to spend time with her while she got ready anymore. I couldn’t remember what changed.

But tonight, I took my old seat on the edge of the bed, right behind her, and I watched with adoration as she carefully swiped her dark eyeliner over her lids, bringing it to a gentle point at the crease of her eyes.

And I also thought of my father.

Maybe it was because right now, staring at my beautiful wife, I couldn’t imagine the kind of man who could beat someone he made vows to. I couldn’t imagine hurting Charlie, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her cringe as my hand connected with her cheek, or hearing her scream as my hands wrapped around her tiny arms.

I couldn’t fathom hurting her, and yet I had.

That simple fact might as well have been my father’s fist, for how hard it sucker punched me in the gut, for the sting it left in its wake — a constant reminder, a chronic pain.

I may not have struck her to the ground, or raised my voice, or done anything to purposefully make her feel like she was anything but my entire world. But I had let her grieve the loss our sons alone. I had let her think I’d abandoned her, I’d failed to use my words to comfort her when she needed me most, and I’d let another man come between us and sweep her off her feet right in front of me.

If she wouldn’t have agreed to give me two months to change her mind, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.

Two months.

Those words circled my every thought as Charlie tucked her eyeliner away, pulling out my favorite red lipstick, next. Her eyes caught mine in the mirror as she rolled the bottom of the tube, the red stick emerging, and I smirked.

“My favorite.”

Charlie blushed, leaning forward a little to smooth the stick over her top lip.

“I remember.”

I couldn’t help but watch her as she applied the last of it, rolling her lips together once both of them were coated. Then, I stood, towering behind her before I bent to whisper into the hollow point of her ear.

“Can’t wait to help you take that off later.”

Goose bumps sparked from where my lips touched her skin and spread like wildfire down her bare neck. I smiled, finding some sort of hope in the fact that I still knew that spot was one of her weak points, that it was where I’d whisper my darkest desires to her before I made them all come true later in our bed.

Charlie’s eyes found mine in the mirror again, heated at first, but then slowly subdued, slowly saddened.

I realized then that I wasn’t the only one she was putting the lipstick on for.

Maybe I wasn’t even on her mind at all, anymore.

But I didn’t question her, didn’t let it show. I just kissed her neck, holding her gaze in the mirror as long as I could.

“I’ll go get the car warmed up,” I told her. “Meet you in the foyer?”

She nodded, her smile soft and meek. It was a mix of love and pity. I wasn’t sure which one weighed more.

As I descended our stairs, I checked the time on my watch, and the irony wasn’t lost on me.

Time.

It was something I’d never paid attention to before. It felt like an unlimited resource, something I had plenty of. I had time to work through our sons’ death on my own, time to give Charlie her space, time to bring her back to me when she was ready, time to build a life with her — and to try to build a family again, too.

I thought I had forever.

Now, I only had weeks.

Once the car was started, I waited in the foyer, and Charlie came down the stairs in only the way she could — like an angel. She floated from step to step, her long black dress trailing the wood, her neck decorated with a simple strand of pearls that I’d bought her for Mother’s Day when she was pregnant. I waited until she stood in front of me at the bottom step, then I took her hand in mine.

“You’re beautiful,” I told her.