Page 58 of Unforgivable
“Why?”
Okay, not the response I was aiming for, but I ignore it. “We’ve got a free babysitter at home. Why not make the most of it? It’s been so long since we did something nice, you and me.” He has his back to me. He waits a beat.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know, what about we get a hotel room? Bottle of champagne, bubble bath, I could wear something sexy…”
He turns to me. “A hotel room? I thought we couldn’t spend money!”
“I was only kidding,” I say, even though I wasn’t. I wish he’d been more enthusiastic to the possibility of a date with me, and who knows maybe even sex! God. Wouldn’t that be a thing? But then I decide that’s okay, Rome wasn’t built in a day and my relationship isn’t going to get fixed in a day either.
“I’ll book us a nice restaurant, maybe Friday. Or Thursday. Okay? And we can talk about the wedding! God! The wedding! Remember the wedding?” I laugh. I sound like I’m snorting crack. I’m also thinking,and we can talk about Beth!Because I know deep in my heart that I need to tell Jack that Beth, it was me. And I can tell him thatBronwyn didn’t mind, and in fact according to Bronwyn your breakup had zero to do with Beth.I won’t mention Jenny the babysitter, obviously, or maybe I will. Maybe I’ll say, by the way, I know about Jenny and I’m fine with it. Which I would be, obviously.So yes, Beth, it was just a joke. It meant nothing. Bronwyn doesn’t care, so why should you, right? In fact, Bronwyn and I are friends now, in spite of Beth. I’m in the love circle, can you believe it?
He takes a moment to reply. “Whatever, Laura. Do whatever you like.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
We lurch through the week, and Jack comments on how civil—his word—I’ve been to Bronwyn. The most interesting part of that comment, I think, is that he hasn’t noticed how much nicer Bronwyn has been toward me. But I let it go.
And now it’s Thursday and I left work early so I could buy a new dress I can’t afford. I found one, red, swirling with big black flowers, cinched at the waist with a wide black belt. I’ve lost a couple of pounds lately, and it fits nicely. I charged it to my Visa card, and I didn’t even wince at the cost because this has been a great, great day. When I got to work this morning, Summer greeted me with her trademark sunny smile and theSeattle Times, held across her chest. “Are you ready?
“What?” I said, closing the door behind me.
She rolled her eyes. “What do you think?”
“Oh my God. The review?” I snatched the newspaper from her and dropped myself in my chair. I checked my watch. We still had an hour before we opened to the public.
“Have you read it?” I asked.
She was holding her hands behind her back. “I might have.”
I licked my finger and scanned open the page. “Can I get a coffee?”
“You bet, boss.”
And there it was. Kurilak’s review of the Museum of Lost and Found. I read it with my heart in my throat.
Your Uncle Fred,One Roller Skate and Two Missing Engagement Rings.
One of the best exhibitions you’ll see this year, and probably the next.
Summer was reading over my shoulder and she laughed. I laugh too. We both read parts out loud, pointing fingers at particular words of praise.Visionary…brio…wonderful…quirky…He described the exhibition as holding a mirror to ourselves in delightful and unexpectedly touching ways. He talks aboutUncle Jeff, whose real name we’ll never know, a man who had once been cherished and was rescued from the trash by a woman looking for a relative to love. How lucky can you be? How insistent a ghost must you be to spurn your own demise? Because that’s what being human is about. We all want to be found. None of us want to be lost. We all want to be forgiven, not matter how unforgivable our sins.
Summer and I glanced at each other and squealed, our eyes scrunched with excitement. I rested my cheek in my palm and kept reading. He described the violin that secured a young man the audition of his life and who became a famous musician because of it. He talked of grief and hope and bereavement and solace and of the people who have put something precious in our hands and trusted us to treat it with care.
And then, the last line.
One weak spot in an otherwise flawless experience: A Friday afternoon. An interesting photograph that plays well with lights and shadows, but jars with the everyday objects that surround it. The lowest point of the exhibition.
“Oh!” I turned to Summer. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “That’s okay. It’s an honor to be a part of the journey.” She pressed her lips together into a tight smile.
So yes, I feel great when I get home. And since Jack and I are going out, I’ll make a broccoli, spinach, cheese and egg bake for dinner. Charlie loves it, and it’s a sneaky way to get her greens into her, plus protein. Win-win.
Bronwyn is upstairs with Charlie and Jack is out somewhere. I’m beating the eggs when he walks in, sweaty from his run.
“Guess what?” I say.