CHAPTER 129— Uneasy Home

CHAPTER 129— Uneasy Home

Lisa’s POV

I have a vague recollection of the trip home.
One moment I’m backing out of the parking lot of the coffee shop and the next I’m parked in our driveway and I’m off the engine and I’m sitting there staring at the garage door. My fist are still wrapped tightly around the steering wheel and my knuckles are white from the stress I didn’t know I was holding my breath.

Andre’s words reverberate in my mind on a continuous loop.

I need your help.
My marriage to Claire is breaking down.
I’ve seen the photos. You and Leo Hart. You’re all over online.
If you make contact with him…

I squeeze my eyes shut as I lay my forehead on the steering wheel.

What was I thinking, when I said I would meet him? What did I think was going to happen? He’d say he was sorry and give me closure and we’d both go away feeling better?

Instead, it was me he turned to for help. Asked me to use Leo — to use my connection to the man I love — to try and save his crumbling business.

The one he made with my stepsister. The woman he left me for.

A bitter laugh escapes from my lips, but it's not funny. I force myself to exit the vehicle, clutching my purse and entering the building. The house is quiet, vacant — Leo won’t be home for a couple more hours. I should be grateful now have some time to myself, time to think about everything that just transpired.

But the silence is crushing, rather than comforting.Tiny tokens of our life shared and the joy we've amassed.

And I just lied to him.

Told him I was home when I was with my ex-husband, the man whose very existence I've hardly mentioned once in all the time we've been together.

My stomach twists with guilt.

I should have told him. Should have been upfront from the start — about the phone call, about Andre, about whatever.

But how do you say to the man you love that your past has just collided violently with your present? How do you say that you’re even thinking about seeing an ex-husband again?

I collapse on the couch, pulling the throw blanket around me though I’m not chilled. The phone in my pocket is heavy, Leo’s name still featured prominently among the most recent calls, a token to the lie I told him less than an hour ago.

Are you home? 
Yeah, I am at home. 

The words tasted like sour in my mouth after my memory.  

I pull out my phone, staring at his contact, my finger poised over the call button. I can phone him now. Tell him everything. Tell him to come home early and we'll talk.

But I just can't bring myself to do it.  

Because what would I say, if I said anything? 

Hey, have you noticed I’ve been acting a little … strange the last couple of days? Out of the blue my ex-husband calls me and wants to meet, I go and he asks me to help him save his failing business with you. Oh, and he married my stepsister after he left me. Did I mention that part?

The afternoon drags on. I busy myself trying to occupy my mind—force myself to read a book, but the words don’t make sense, turn on the TV, but nothing captures my attention, even think about making dinner before realizing my stomach is too tied up with anxiety for me to eat.

Instead, I’m just sitting on the couch, snuggled under the blanket, zoned out thinking about nothing and everything.

About Andre’s face when he told me his marriage was breaking down. There'd been real pain too, real desperation. There was part of me—the part of me that had once loved him—that wanted to feel sorry.

But I don't.
I can't.

Three years ago, he made his choice. He chose Claire over me. Elected to destroy our marriage, to debase me in front of all our friends, to suddenly abandon everything.

And now you need me?
That's just plain nerve.

My phone buzzes with a text and I grab it to quickly, my heart jumps up.

But it's not Andre. It's Leo. 

The meeting’s running a little late. Should be home by 6:30 instead. Sorry, baby. Love you.

I read the message and feel guilty in waves. He's apologising for being half an hour late, and I'm here hiding things, lying about where I've been, seeing my ex-husband behind his back.

I type a reply: No worries. Drive safe. Love you too.”

Those words sound empty.

But I can't seem to move.

I hear a car at 6:15 in the driveway. My stomach drops.
Leo's home early.

I rapidly attempt to get myself under control, running my hands through my hair, smoothing down my clothes. I have to look normal, play normal, be normal.

I hear his key in the lock, the door opening.
"Lisa? I’m home!"

His voice echoes through the house, warm and comforting and brimming with love, and I feel it in my chest. "In here," I shout again, my voice surprisingly steady.

I hear him rattling around the house — the briefcase being put down, the keys thrown into the bowl, the jacket going on a hanger. Then his footsteps reaching the living room. He stands in the doorway, and something about seeing him makes my chest clench and release at once. He’s loosened his tie, undone the top button of his shirt, and his hair is a little tousled from running his fingers through it — something he does when he’s stressed.

But when he eyes me, a smile tugs at his lips.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, making his way over to the couch.

‘Hey,’ I said. I get a little smile in return. You’re home early.” “Are you kidding me, you must be exhausted.”“Going back was the best decision I ever made."

The meeting was finished quicker then he had anticipated.” He bends to kiss me and I have t resist the need to hold him, to bury my face in his neck and tell him everything.

But then I briefly kiss him back, before I pull away.
He notices immediately. Well, obviously.

“Are you okay?” he inquires, as he perches on the sofa next to me, automatically lacing his fingers with mine.

“Fine,” I lie. “Just tired.” I just need some rest.”

He’s surveying my face and I can tell he’s contemplating whether to go. “Long day?”

“Something like that.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

"Not really." The words are harsher than I intended, and I see him wince.

“Okay,” he says cautiously. “That’s fine.”

An awkward, heavy silence descends between us. This is not us. It’s not in our nature to be uncomfortable. We chat, we laugh, we’re comfortable with one another.

But right now, I seem to be lacking in ease.
Leo's thumb begins to trace patterns across the back of my hand—a comforting gesture, one he does when I'm the one having a hard time or he's on the brink of tears. 

"Lisa," he says after a moment, with a soft voice. 
"What is it? don’t you dare say 'nothing' because I know something is wrong. For two whole days, you’ve been uptight, and I’m worried sick."

"I said I'm okay."

"You're not okay." He touches my palm. "Talk to me. Please. It’s nothing we can’t handle together, whatever it is."

I want to. God, I want to tell him everything—about Andre, about the meeting, about the impossible request. I want to tell him everything, and then have him help me with the burden of it all.

But I can't seem to get the words out properly. Or they just refusing to come out.

I say instead, "I just need some time." 

"Through some things. What things?"

"Personal stuff."

"Personal business that you can't divulge to me?" Now there’s pain in his voice beneath the carefully veiled absence of it.

"The one you said was a wrong number. Is that what this is about?"

"No," I lie automatically. "That was nothing." 

"Lisa." Now he fully faces me, his eyes locked on mine. I know you. I can tell when you’re worried. And I know when you lie to me.”

"I'm not—"

"You are," he says. His voice remains soft, yet his tone is firmer now. That's fine. You don't have to tell me everything Right. you don't have to tell me everything right this second. But I need you to know that the distance, the not talking to me – that hurts. We’re meant to be partners.”

I feel guilty in spades. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Just talk to me. You can handle anything," he says.

But can he? The man whom I have hardly uttered the name of in our entire relationship, my ex-husband, is coming back into my life? Did he, perhaps, get used to me telling the truth about where I was today?

"I'm just tired," I say again as I gently pull my hand out of his and rise."I think I need to go lie down for a bit."

He watched me, concern and hurt etched in his expression. "Ok. Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I just--I need to be by myself.”

The words hit like a punch, and I see him flinch again.

"Alright," he says quietly. "If you need me I'll be down here."

I nod and walk toward the stairs, feeling his eyes on me all the way. 

In our bedroom I shut the door and lean on it, my tears at last spilling over.

What Am I Doing?
I'm pushing away the greatest gift I've ever been given, simply because I have no idea how to handle my past.

I go over to the bed and lie down, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling.My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, expecting another text from Leo.

But the guy on the phone didn’t identify himself as Leo.
Unknown number.
My heart stops.

Thank you for meeting with me today. I know it wasn’t easy." Please consider what I said. -Andre I really do need your help. I really do need your help -Andre

I look at the message, anger and frustration and something else boiling over inside me.
He gave me his number now. No more hiding behind “unknown caller.”

I should block it. Should just delete the message, and act like it never arrived.

But instead I just put the phone down and close my eyes. Downstairs, I hear Leo stirring—cook-ing the dinner, most likely, cooking me the space I asked for though killing him not to be able to help. 

What I am really doing is lying to him, keeping secrets, letting my ex-husband back into my life – and I’m up here in hell because of it. I’m ruining everything. I just don’t know how to quit.