Chapter 43 - Ethan Packed a Suitcase and I Did Not Panic
The second time Ethan left for Vermont, I did not cry.
I reorganized the pantry.
Apparently healing had stages.
He watched me move canned tomatoes for the third time.
“You’re handling this extremely normally.”
“Leave before I label the spices.”
“They’re already labeled.”
“Then fear me.”
He kissed me.
“I’ll be back in twelve days.”
“I know.”
“Call anytime.”
“I know.”
“You can visit next weekend.”
“I know.”
He smiled.
“You hate goodbyes.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“What?”
“You said the actual thing.”
I pushed him toward the door.
“Go restore expensive old wood.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When the door closed, the house became quiet.
Not lonely.
Mostly.
I made dinner for one.
Watched a terrible movie.
Went to bed diagonally.
The next morning, I woke rested.
Nothing bad had happened.
Again.
At work, the hospital announced an expansion of my regional responsibilities.
Three additional facilities.
More travel.
More pressure.
More money.
Two years earlier, my first thought would have been how much I could send my family.
Now my first thought was whether I wanted the job.
Progress.
I met Karen.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re already doing half of it without title or compensation.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“Administrative.”
I laughed.
“Can I have time?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Three days.”
Healthy workplaces apparently also had deadlines.
That evening, Dad came for dinner.
He brought groceries.
And the receipt.
I stared.
“What?”
“You said transparency.”
“Dad, I didn’t ask you to document tomatoes.”
“I’m committed.”
He had become unbearable.
We ate.
Then he surprised me.
“I saw your mother.”
I set down my fork.
“Where?”
“Coffee.”
“Why?”
“She asked.”
“You wanted to?”
He thought about it.
“Yes.”
That mattered.
“How was it?”
“Sad.”
“Good sad?”
“Is that real?”
“No.”
He smiled.
Dad said Mom looked different.
Not transformed.
Tired.
More careful.
She had apologized to him.
Specifically.
For making decisions and allowing him to pretend not making them made him innocent.
“What did you say?”
“That I let her.”
Good.
Dad looked at me.
“She asked about you once.”
My shoulders tightened.
“What?”
“If you were well.”
“What did you say?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
I breathed.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“I’m learning.”
After dinner, Dad washed dishes.
I dried.
My phone rang.
Desiree.
Her attorney had received notice that Victor’s defense team intended to accuse her publicly of directing the business-credit fraud.
“They say Nolan took instructions from me.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Then tell the truth.”
“I know.”
Her voice shook.
“Whitney, what if nobody believes me?”
There it was.
Our shared fear.
Different versions.
Same mother.
Same family.
Same need to control every opinion.
“Some people won’t.”
Silence.
“That’s not comforting.”
“I know.”
“What do I do?”
“Tell the truth anyway.”
She laughed weakly.
“You’re terrible at comfort now.”
“Growth.”
She hung up calmer.
Friday evening, I flew to Vermont.
My choice.
Not because Ethan needed proof.
Because I wanted to see him.
The hotel was magnificent.
Three stories of old brick.
Massive windows.
Snow-covered mountains beyond the roofline.
Ethan met me wearing work boots and sawdust.
“You came.”
“You invited me.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to.”
His smile did something embarrassing to my stomach.
He showed me everything.
The staircase.
Ballroom.
A carved fireplace mantel they had discovered behind modern paneling.
He was alive in that building.
Focused.
Excited.
For a moment, I imagined asking him to give this up.
The thought felt impossible.
Not because I loved him less.
Because I loved him enough to want his life to stay large.
That night we ate at a small restaurant.
He asked about my promotion.
“I haven’t decided.”
“What do you want?”
I laughed.
“What?”
“You always ask me that.”
“Important question.”
“I want it.”
“Then take it.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“What if it means more travel?”
“We own calendars.”
“What if we’re never home?”
“We adjust.”
“What if—”
Ethan reached across the table.
“Whitney.”
I stopped.
“We don’t have to prevent every future problem before we choose something good.”
I stared at him.
That sentence felt impossible.
Then freeing.
He squeezed my hand.
“I want a future with you.”
My breath caught.
He continued.
“Not a smaller life with you.”
I looked down before he saw my eyes fill.
Too late.
He smiled.
“You crying?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
May you like
I laughed.
The next morning, I accepted the promotion.
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