Chapter 7
960 Words
(Rebecca's POV)
My suitcase is by the front door. My carry-on is next to it. Two bags. Six years of marriage, and it all fits in two bags.
Nancy comes out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. She sees the suitcases and her face changes.
"Mrs. Clark? Are you going on another trip?"
"No." I reach into my purse and take out the envelope. Connie printed the papers this morning. Clean, official, final. Rebecca Clark, petitioner. Sean Clark, respondent. "Nancy, can you give this to Sean when he gets back?"
She takes it carefully, like it might bite her. "Of course. When should I tell him you'll be back?"
I look at the hallway. The coat hooks by the door — Sean's coat, Jack's little jacket, and the empty hook where mine used to hang. The shoe rack — Sean's dress shoes, Jack's light-up sneakers, and the spot where my flats made a dent in the carpet that's still there.
"I'm not coming back, Nancy."
Her eyes go wide. "Ma'am—"
"Just give him the envelope. Please."
She takes the envelope with both hands, as though it might burn her. "Yes, ma'am. I'll put it on his desk."
"Thank you." I almost touch her arm, but I stop myself. If I start being soft right now, I'll unravel. "Thank you for everything, Nancy. You were always kind to me."
She nods. Her chin is shaking a little. Nancy has been with us since Jack was born. She's seen everything. The late nights. The cold mornings. The way Sean would walk past me in the kitchen like I was part of the counter.
I think she understands.
I go to the bedroom one last time. Open the nightstand drawer. My wedding ring is on my finger — a thin platinum band with a single diamond. Sean's grandmother Lisa picked it out. It's beautiful. It's the most beautiful thing I own, and I have hated wearing it for three years.
I slide it off.
It comes off easy. I thought it would resist, thought my skin might've grown around it after six years, but it slides right off, like it was never really mine.
I set it in the drawer. Right next to Sean's cufflinks, right where he'll find it.
Or won't.
I close the drawer.
I pick up my bags, walk out the front door, and I don't look back. If I look back, I'll see the lavender and the jasmine candle and the humidifiers and the ironed shirts and I'll think about all the ways I tried to make this place feel like love.
And if I think about that, I might not leave.
So I don't look back. I already looked back once, at that birthday party, and it nearly killed me. I'm done looking back.
The door clicks shut behind me.
(Sean's POV)
The beach is Jack's idea.
Or maybe Hannah's. At this point, I can't remember whose suggestion it was—only that the morning was clear and Jack was bouncing off the walls with leftover birthday energy and someone said beach, and so here we are.
Jack runs along the shoreline, zigzagging between waves, shrieking every time the cold water catches his ankles. I walk beside Hannah. Her sandals hang from one hand. Her hair is loose in the salt wind. She looks relaxed. Unburdened. Same as I remember.
My phone rings.
I glance at the screen. Nancy. I consider ignoring it. I'm off the clock. It's a Saturday, and the whole point of the beach was to not think. But Nancy rarely calls unless something is wrong with the house.
"What is it?"
"Mr. Clark, Mrs. Clark came home just now."
"She came back?" I watch Jack leap over a wave. "Where is she now?"
"She left again, sir. With her suitcase."
I frown. "Her suitcase?"
"Yes, sir. She packed her things and left. She also asked me to give you an envelope."
Probably the report from her California trip. "Fine. Put it in my office."
"Mr. Clark, she also said—" A pause. "She said she's not coming back."
"She's probably at Connie's," I say. "It's fine."
"Sir, are you sure? She seemed—"
"It's fine, Nancy. Anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Alright." I hang up.
Hannah tilts her head. "Everything okay?"
"Rebecca came home and left again."
"That's odd." Hannah shields her eyes from the sun. "Should you call her?"
I shrug.
Hannah's eyebrows go up. "Will she be upset? That I'm here?"
"Don't worry about it."
"I just don't want to cause any trouble."
"You're fine."
She smiles. I feel something in my chest go loose.
Jack runs back, panting, sand on his knees. "Was that Mom on the phone?"
"Nancy. Your mom stopped by the house."
His face goes tight. He tugs my sleeve and pulls me down close. "She didn't come to the beach, did she?" he whispers. "Don't tell her Aunt Hannah's here. She'll get sad and make me go home. I want to stay at the beach."
She'll get sad.
But Jack is five. It makes sense he wouldn't want to go home and cut his fun short.
I stand up straight. "She's not coming to the beach. She's probably at the airport."
Jack nods and runs back to the water.
Hannah holds a shell up to the light. Jack crowds in to look. The waves roll in slow. The sand is warm under my feet.
The envelope can wait. Rebecca will be back in a few days with that same quiet look on her face. She'll press my shirts. Fill the humidifiers. Make my tea the way she always has.
I turn back to the ocean and don't think about it again.
- Writer
