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  It’s a valid question I’d also like the answer to. Especially since I’ve wondered about Rod and Elaine for a couple of years now.

  “Hey, Brent, why don’t we go outside?” James, my brother-in-law pops into the conversation and his question is answered with footsteps.

  The room is silent again for a moment. I blink but the lights above me are like tiny needles stabbing into my eyes. It burns.

  “Hi there, I’m Dr. Christianson,” a new voice joins the room.

  “Samuel?” Shawnee gasps and my brain does a slow lap with the name.

  Samuel Christianson.

  Sam.

  Sammy.

  Sammy from university.

  Oh God.

  Shit.

  This can’t be happening.

  God, why?

  “Shawnee, holy shit. How’s it going?” he bursts, and the professional doctor tone is gone. He sounds like he did before, and I am taken back fifteen years to the summer of Samuel Christianson. The summer after second year. Dancing in the clubs. Drinking. Rubbing up against him. Listening to his crazy stories and laughing until my stomach ached. Walks on the beach. Exploring the coastline. Having my heart broken for the first time.

  “Well, obviously it’s been better. How are you?” she replies with all the weight of the moment.

  “Same old, same old.” His response is exactly what I expect from him. Same old Sam. “It’s been what, fifteen years?”

  “Yeah, I think so. So you did end up going to medical school.”

  “I did. I left after that summer with you guys. Went to McMaster and came back here for residency. What about you? Still photography?” he asks.

  “Still photography,” she delivers the answer humbly as if she isn’t one of the most sought-after photographers on the East Coast.

  “And what about Lilly, you guys remained friends?” he asks, seemingly unaware I am listening to the entire conversation.

  “She’s an accountant and lying on the bed in front of you,” Shawnee says with a smile, I hear it in her voice.

  “Oh shit, this is Lilly? Lilly—Lilly?” He sounds genuinely surprised and his tone rises slightly. “I didn’t recognize the last name. Jesus.” He barely gets that out and the hospital room floods with people again.

  “Sammy,” James says excitedly.

  “James, what’s going on? What are you doing here?”

  “Lilly’s my sister-in-law,” James explains.

  “No way, Liz is her sister? How have I never put two and two together on that?” Sam laughs and I’m lost on this weird reunion.

  Maybe this is a dream.

  “How do you two know each other?” Shawnee is also lost.

  “He’s my realtor,” Sam answers. “Are you the husband?”

  “No,” Brent retorts, sounding like he might be crying again. “I’m Lilly’s husband’s best friend. We just found out our spouses are having an affair,” he says randomly. The awkwardness grows as he continues with a series of sentences that Sam can’t possibly comprehend, “Which is how she ended up in the car accident. And when my wife realized Lilly was hurt, she confessed. Elaine’s leaving me for Rod, Lilly’s husband. My best friend.” He breaks.

  “Damn,” Sam whispers.

  No one else speaks.

  Brent sobs.

  Rod is leaving me.

  He’s leaving me?

  The words don’t seem easier to digest, even with the knowledge he’s having an affair. Even with my suspicions.

  There’s no way this is a dream. Although none of this feels real.

  Well, except the pain in my body. That’s definitely real. And worsening.

  “Okay,” Sam offers with a sigh. “Well, if you guys want to go to the waiting room on the right, I’ll see if our patient is coming around. Nice seeing you, man.”

  “You too,” James agrees. “We’re actually leaving to go meet my wife. Can you shoot me a text when Lilly wakes up?”

  “Will do.”

  The door closes and I’m alone with Samuel Christianson.

  The guy I lost my virginity to.

  The guy whose heart I broke along with my own.

  The lone regret I have—obviously, besides letting Rod borrow my car and screw up my Bluetooth.

  I don’t know how much worse this day can get, but his first words don’t improve it.

  “You can stop pretending to sleep, Lil. They’re gone.” He calls me Lil, just as he did fifteen years ago. What is this hell?

  “I wasn’t pretending. My head is killing me and the lights are brutal,” I whisper, not recognizing my own voice.

  “Better?” He switches off the lights, leaving the room dimly lit. It’s the best feeling I’m sure I’ve ever felt. “I’m going to adjust the bed if that’s all right.”

  “Okay.” I manage to get my eyes to stay open and it takes a second for them to clear. His face coming into focus is almost exactly the same as it was, except now he’s filled out and somehow handsomer than I recall. Maybe it’s the doctor outfit.

  “Ohhh.” He cringes when he brings his hand to my face. “That is the most epic steering wheel mark I’ve seen.”

  “It feels awful,” I say, trying not to move anything too much. Not that I can—my neck is in a brace and my arm is tied to my body in a splint.

  “It’ll feel much worse tomorrow and even worse the next day.” He sits on the edge of the bed. “Though probably not as bad as your heart’s feeling right now.” He rests a hand on mine. It’s warm and soothing. “Some day, huh?” He tries to joke but the concern in his stare is too intense for humor.

  “Some day,” my voice cracks. Before I can stop them, tears slip from my eyes. “I’m sorry.” I lift my hand but he beats me to it, gently wiping.

  “Please don’t apologize. How are you feeling, pain-wise?”

  “It’s bad. It’s slowly increasing.”

  “Okay. Your meds should be here momentarily.” His eyes dart to the door.

  “Is this serious? My injuries?” I ask, wanting desperately to keep to the topic of my accident and nothing else. I can’t bear the thought of talking about us or my marriage.

  “Yes and no. Your concussion is grade three. It’s serious, but since it’s your first, you stand a great chance of a full recovery. The shoulder has some minor pulling of ligaments but won’t need surgery. Everything went back into place as it should. We’ll keep you fairly immobile for a couple of days, splint and the neck brace. Two days of that and then you start on recovery.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” I mutter, tired again. There’s a strange comfort and safety in his presence, despite the awkwardness of what happened all those years ago. His voice on my old answering machine still haunts me some days.

  A nurse enters, offering us a smile. “Hi, Dr. Christianson, I have her pain meds.”

  “Yes, excellent. I think our patient is needing them.” He’s kinder to me than I deserve.

  The nurse walks briskly to my IV line. She changes the bag and injects something, checking my temperature and hurrying out without speaking again.

  “Well, I’ll leave so you can sleep.” Sam stands. “We’re keeping you overnight for observation. Other than that, there isn’t much to say beyond you should be fine. I promise you, the human body, particularly the heart, is resilient. More so than you can possibly imagine.”

  It’s impossible not to take comment personally but I try to force a smile anyway. It doesn’t go well since the drugs are hitting. Silent tears stream my cheeks as he gives me one more quick glance, though he fuzzes in and out of focus.

  “I hope I see you again, under different circumstances, obviously.” He winks and leaves.

  The door hasn’t closed and Brent is through it. He hurries to my bedside, taking my hand roughly. “You’re awake! That’s good. I can’t stay, I’m helping your sister with moving. But I wanted to say I am so sorry this happened to us. We didn’t deserve this. They’re such assholes. I have my lawyers already taking care of y
ou.”

  That brings an ironic smile to my lips as I fade into the drugs. It’s exactly the sort of response Rod would have had to something like this. No wonder they’re friends.

  Brent sits and cries, holding my hand, sucking comfort from me, which is oddly comforting in itself.

  I don’t know what that says about me.

  Chapter 3

  December 24

  “Lil?” Shawnee calls to me, her voice clearer now.

  I coast in the car until I’m barely moving toward the green light.

  The bells of the church are gone.

  I shudder as my brain makes a thousand excuses for why and how and why Rod would be talking to Elaine. But there is one explanation. And this is not the first time I’ve suspected him and Elaine.

  My car rolls to a stop.

  Rod is legitimately having an affair.

  Rod is having—that bastard!

  Helen’s engine roars and I swear she’s telling me to go after him.

  My foot stomps on the gas, speeding through the now yellow light as it turns red to the chorus of honking behind me.

  I race, trying to catch up to Rod.

  “Lil?” Shawnee says my name again. “What the hell is going on?”

  “He’s cheating,” the words are icy whispers but she hears them.

  “Right, I gathered that much. What are you doing?”

  “Catching up!”

  I press harder on the gas, my car skidding on the slick roads, but I manage to keep Helen going straight.

  “The roads are shit. I’ll call you back.” I hang up the phone so I can focus on driving and plotting how to murder my husband.

  I can’t believe this is happening. On Christmas Eve. That son of a bitch!

  He makes it through a light I get stuck at, fuming and going crazy with what I will say to him. Surely, Elaine’s telling him they’re caught. I half expect my cell phone to ring, but he doesn’t call with his usual barrage of excuses and explanations.

  My stomach is aching with acidity and stress.

  Memories of the occurrences I’ve questioned over the years trickle in as my mind begins a slow and dark journey into our past. The first memory I have of them together was catching them fighting in a hallway on our wedding day. Rod said Elaine was angry that Brent got so wasted. But now that I think on it, there was something in her eyes. A mien. Emotion. Intensity. Something.

  Nausea creeps around inside me as I recall the most recent one, on a trip to Mexico two years ago when I swore I saw them kissing. Rod told me I was drunk and making things up. He said it was Brent kissing his wife, and not him at all. He’d been in the room not feeling well the entire time and guilted me over the drunken mess I’d been. Then he asked me if I had something to confess as it was usually the adulterer trying to misdirect by accusing their spouse of infidelity. He’d acted like there was a chance I’d cheated and we barely spoke for a month. Eventually, I was the one to come around and apologize. He forgave me but said our trust was damaged; his trust in me would have to be earned back.

  That memory sparks fury.

  Which is not extinguished when I finally get home half an hour later. Traffic and craziness abound as the city is busy as hell, even though it’s Christmas Eve and a lot of people should be with their loved ones. Apparently, most of Halifax has bosses who expect them to work like Bob Cratchit, burning the last of the candle, as ours did.

  Parking the car with a jerk, I slam the door and stomp up to the house, flinging open the front entrance. “You son of a bitch!” I scream into the foyer, my voice wavering with vibrating rage as I plead with myself not to angry cry. The half an hour of driving and contemplating has done nothing to soothe my fury and now I’m hovering on the brink of a full meltdown.

  “Lil?” Rod comes around the corner, carrying the gifts for tonight’s family Christmas at my sister’s. “What are you doing? We have to go.” He has a vacant deer-in-the-headlights expression.

  “Are you completely insane? You’re cheating on me with Elaine, and you think I’ll just skip over that because it’s Christmas?” I gasp, not bothering to take off my boots as I climb the few stairs to the living room from the foyer. “I heard you.” I point my trembling finger at him. “I heard everything! How could you! How could you do that to me? And to sleep with your best friend’s wife? You’re scum, Rod. Complete and utter scum.” I throw my arms into the air. “You know, everyone told me not to marry you. I should have listened. I’m such an idiot.” My voice cracks and my heart cracks with it.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks and puts the gifts down.

  “Elaine, Rod! I know about Elaine.” Is he really going to play dumb? That’s his move?

  “Lil, what did she say? She’s crazy! Always trying to relive the glory days.”

  “Glory days? What glory days?” The question nearly distracts me, but I push on, “Don’t lie to me! I heard your phone call!”

  “What?” He shakes his head and I wonder if I’m going insane. “What are you talking about? You’re scaring me. This is nuts.” His eyes are wide and flooded with worry.

  “She was on the phone! Elaine! On the Bluetooth. It came into my car when I was behind you.” My volume and ferocity are fading because he seems so lost.

  “Oh shit.” He closes his eyes for a second. “You heard Elaine being crazy at the turn for the Bedford Highway.” He says it like this is a normal sentence.

  “I know what I heard.” My tone is a warning.

  “No, you don’t. That piece of shit car. I did notice my Bluetooth wasn’t picking up and then it cut out a couple of times. I think my phone attaching to your piece of crap is becoming an issue.” He stares at me, mesmerizingly with a wide and captivating expression.

  “There is no excuse, Rod. You’re caught. I knew it! You made me think I was way off in Mexico, but I knew it!” Redemption at last.

  “Oh Jesus, not this again. Lil. You didn’t hear me talking on the Bluetooth, did you? You didn’t hear my side of the conversation where I told her no for the hundredth time. She does this every single Christmas. Says she and Brent are miserable and she misses me.”

  “You mean misses your cock!” I spit the words.

  “Oh God, she didn’t?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “They fight over money because she has spent far too much. He cuts off the credit cards and she does this to torture him. We had a thing before Brent and Elaine even met. It was short-lived and she chose Brent. Then I met you. End of story. Nothing has happened since. I swear to you.” The story doesn’t make sense, but he’s saying it in that confident way that normally convinces me. But this time is different. There was something in her tone. A realness.

  “She wanted to meet at the mall, Rod. This week!” He’s not getting away with this. I knew I saw them kiss in Mexico and the phone call tonight only confirms that.

  “She gets this way every year, tries to tempt me into an affair to piss him off. That’s all you heard.” He grimaces and I swear to the gods of all that is holy he means it. He believes the story he is telling me. “I would never do that to you. Or to Brent. Ever. I love you.” He pulls me in but he might as well be hugging a statue.

  “I know what I heard. She wasn’t drunk. She was driving. I heard a horn in the background like someone honked at her.” I’m basically talking to myself. I can feel him not listening.

  “You clearly misheard. She was loaded. I’m not having this fight with you. Elaine is an unstable mess. You yourself have said it a hundred times that you think she’s emotionally unbalanced.”

  He has me there. I try to come up with a retort but I’m not like him. I don’t have fancy answers and stories on the tip of my tongue.

  “Are you going to believe an alcoholic who you don’t even like over me?”

  There is no answer for that. My heart says yes, but my analytical brain says, Where’s the proof? He has a point. Several in fact.

  I didn’t hear his side of the conversation.

 
I don’t like Elaine.

  She does drink too much.

  And on more than one occasion I have called her emotionally unbalanced and manipulative.

  There’s no way for me to prove my accusations are anything more than my own thoughts and feelings.

  Oh my God. He’s weaseling out of any blame.

  “Did your family really tell you not to marry me?” he murmurs, pulling me back with a wounded stare.

  “No,” I say, trying to catch my breath. What do I do now? Do I ask for a divorce on the grounds that I suspect something is up? Do I phone Shawnee and drag her into this?

  “Then why would you say that?” he asks coldly.

  I have no answer. My mind is whirling in circles.

  “Were you trying to hurt my feelings? Mission accomplished. Firstly, I have to deal with Elaine and all her nonsense and now this. Accusations and cruelty, as if it wasn’t already a bullshit day. Merry Christmas to me.” He lets me go and steps back, visibly wounded. “This is exactly what I was talking about when I said you needed to talk to your doctor about antidepressants. Look at you, trying to ruin Christmas. For what?”

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” I say but my voice is small. I’m deflated and shrinking further.

  “It doesn’t matter. We have to go. We’ll have to talk about this when we get home because now I get to spend Christmas Eve with a group of people who apparently don’t like me very much.” He picks up the presents again and walks out with them. And I’m the bad guy. The bad guy who needs antidepressants.

  Shit!

  Do I tell him I’m putting my foot down, ruining Christmas for everyone else? Or do I go to my sister’s, muddle my way through the holidays while trying to find more proof and leave him after the holidays are over?

  It’s not even a question.

  The ride to my sister’s is tense. We don’t speak. He is hurt and I am an asshole who has accused my husband of the worst crimes, and to top it off, suggested my family hates him.