Chapter 10
“For you.”
He stood.
“Please.”
Kayla stared at him.
That was the moment she realized something I had already learned.
Jason did not know what he wanted when reality changed.
He only knew what he wanted when choices were easy.
I looked at him.
“You said you wanted to be happy.”
His face tightened.
“I did.”
“Then go be happy.”
I turned.
He grabbed my wrist lightly.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to stop me.
I looked down at his hand.
He let go immediately.
“Did you know about the money too?”
There it was.
Now we were getting closer to the fear beneath everything.
“Yes.”
His face went still.
“What money?” Kayla asked.
Jason ignored her.
“How much do you know?”
“All of it.”
That was not completely true.
I knew enough.
But Jason believed me.
That mattered.
“The savings?”
“Yes.”
“The apartment?”
“Yes.”
Kayla stood.
“Jason?”
He closed his eyes.
“What apartment money?”
I looked at her.
Apparently there were lies inside their affair too.
That should not have surprised me.
Jason opened his eyes.
“Michelle.”
I shook my head.
“I’m done.”
Then I left.
Outside, Tampa was warm and humid.
Cars moved along Westshore Boulevard.
I got into my car.
Then sat behind the wheel.
For months afterward, people would assume that was the moment I felt powerful.
It wasn’t.
I cried.
Hard.
Not because I wanted Jason back.
Because fifteen years deserved a better ending than a restaurant envelope.
Because I had once known exactly how Jason took his coffee.
Because I knew the scar on his left knee came from falling off a bicycle at thirteen.
Because he had held my hand through my mother’s funeral.
Because he had slept beside me through hurricanes.
Because betrayal does not erase history.
It contaminates it.
That is different.
My phone started ringing.
Jason.
I declined it.
Again.
Declined.
Then Kayla.
That surprised me.
I declined hers too.
A message came from Jason.
PLEASE TALK TO ME.
Then:
I DIDN’T KNOW.
Then:
MICHELLE, PLEASE.
Then the one that almost made me throw the phone out the window.
I MADE A MISTAKE.
A mistake.
As if he had ordered the wrong entrée.
I drove home.
The house was quiet.
Emma was away at Florida State University.
She was nineteen.
Old enough to understand.
Young enough that I hated having to tell her.
Jason had wanted us to tell her together.