Chapter 18
Lucille clamped her hands over her cars. That sentence had been a curse haunting her for five years. Now, every time she heard it, her head throbbed,
She stared at Cedrick, who was lying on the bed. With her hands covering her ears, she screamed, “I don’t want you to owe me! Cedrick! Do you hear me? I don’t want you to owe me! I just want you to let me go!”
Just then, Cedrick’s phone vibrated.
Lucille glanced over and saw the caller ID: Marce Bear.
Funny, Marce Bear…
In Cedrick’s phone, her own contact was just “Lucille.”
When they’d first married, she’d daydreamed about Cedrick calling her “Luci” or “Lulu“, or some nickname that was hers alone, even just “Honey.” She’d secretly wondered if she should ask him to change her note, on WhatsApp or in his contacts, to something more intimate.
But no…
Whether in daily talks or on his phone, she was always just “Lucille“.
To soothe herself, she’d told herself he was just that kind of man, unaffectionate, straightforward, rigid.
But she’d been wrong.
“Marce Bear” glowed on the screen, searing her eyes. Her heart wavered, torn between answering and ignoring. Finally, she made up her mind. She picked up the phone and swiped
to answer.
She said nothing, but Maricela’s voice came through at once.
“Ced…”
At that soft, sweet voice, Lucille’s hand trembled. The phone nearly slipped from her grasp.
“Ced, are you home yet? Is everything all right?” Maricela sounded drunk too, her tone
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cloying. She didn’t wait for a response, just rambled on, “I know how hard this is for you… I also… I know Lucille’s done so much for you… You don’t have to feel guilty about me… I… This is fine, how we are now… I don’t care… if I can be your wife… I just… As long as you remember me… this is enough… Ced… She lives in your house, and I live in your heart. I’m so satisfied…”
The phone slipped from her hand in the end.
Lucille murmured, “She lives in your house, and I live in your heart.
“How perfect that sounds…
“Cedrick, is this exactly what you want?”
She stumbled out of the bedroom and into the guest room.
She lay down, fell asleep, blocking out all the sound in her head. She never wanted to think about that again…
When she woke up, it was Cedrick’s voice that roused her.
He was talking to Mylee.
“Where did the flowers come from?”
“Mrs. Maynard brought them back last night.”
“She went out last night?”
“Yes, Mr. Maynard.”
“Alone? Where did she go?” Cedrick’s voice rose sharply.
“She said she went to watch a performance with her teacher.”
“Teacher? Who gave her the flowers?” He sounded skeptical.
“Sorry, I don’t know, Mr. Maynard.”
“What performance? Where was it? What time did it end?”
Mylee hesitated. “Mr. Maynard, I really don’t know.‘
The guest room door was pushed open.
Southa
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Lucille was already awake, but she pretended to be asleep.
“Lucille,” he said. “I know you’re awake. Your hand just moved.”
Lucille opened her eyes.
She knew she didn’t need to pretend anymore.
“Who did you go to the performance with yesterday?”
Lucille was confused why he was so fixated on this.
“Prof. Gomez,” she replied flatly.
“Lucille…” He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s good you’ve reconnected with your teacher, but don’t talk too much about personal stuff with her. You know, her husband and I…”
She knew it. He just didn’t want Meredith to let slip the truth that Maricela wasn’t Mrs. Maynard.
No wonder he’d pestered Mylee and her about who she’d gone with. So that’s what this was about…
She turned over, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
“Lucille…” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Could you just listen to me?” He reached out, trying to turn her back to face him.
Suddenly, she remembered how he’d pinned her to the bed last night, slurring Maricela’s name and telling her to stop resisting. Disgust surged up. She swatted his hand away hard, yanking the quilt over her head.
“Lucille, give me more time. I’ll tell them myself, okay?” He leaned down, pulling the quilt back just enough to expose her face.
He waited, but she still didn’t answer.
He gave up, suddenly switching topics. “Lucille, what was the passion and love you mentioned last night?”
“Certainly not you!”
His face froze, then softened into a look of understanding. “All right, no need to be angry. I
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know you’re still upset and jealous. Didn’t I come back as soon as I saw your post yesterday?”
Lucille thought, “Did he really think that passion and love were about him? And I said not him, but in his eyes, it was just out of a tantrum?”
She poked her head out from under the quilt. “I told you…”
When he saw her emerge, his expression softened. He even reached out to brush her hair. “That’s all right. I’ll be back tonight, but don’t wait up on purpose. Go to sleep if you’re tired.”
He turned and left without waiting for her to finish, just like that.
In truth, this scene was identical to how things used to be. He always did that.