The fact that it hadn’t been that way for her had made her all the more determined to make it happen for her daughter.
David put his knife down. “A milestone like this really makes you take a good look at your life. I’ve been thinking about us, Grace.”
She nodded, pleased. “I’ve been thinking about us, too. We should celebrate our fresh start. And our summer won’t be empty, because I have the perfect way to fill it. Happy anniversary, David.”
She handed over the parcel she’d kept hidden under her chair. The paper was covered in tiny pictures of Paris landmarks. The Eiffel Tower. The Arc de Triomphe. The Louvre. It had taken two hours of searching to find it on the internet.
“What’s this?”
“It’s my anniversary surprise. We always take a trip and make a new memory. This is a special one. And maybe you’ll feel inspired to work on your novel.” He’d been working on a book for as long as she’d known him, but had never finished it.
“A trip?” He removed the paper slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was underneath.
The couple at the next table glanced at them, intrigued. She knew them vaguely—in the way everyone knew everyone in a small town like this one. Faces were always familiar. Someone’s cousin. Someone’s aunt. Someone’s husband.
David pulled out the street map of Paris she’d also ordered on the internet. “We’re going to Paris?”
“Yes!” She was ridiculously pleased with herself. “It’s all booked. We’re going for a month, right through July. You’re going to love it, David.”
“A month?”
“If you’re worried about taking the time off work, don’t be. I already spoke to Stephen, and he thinks it’s a great idea. You’ve been working hard, and July is a quiet month, and—”
“Wait. You spoke to my boss?” He rubbed his jaw, as if he’d suffered a physical blow. Streaks of color appeared on his cheekbones, and she couldn’t work out if it was anger or embarrassment.
“I needed to know you could take the time off.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have done that—although Stephen had been charming about it.
“Grace, you don’t have to handle every detail of my life.”
“I thought you’d be thrilled.” Wasn’t he going to look at the other items in the box? There was a ticket for the Métro, the Paris subway, a postcard of the Eiffel Tower and a glossy brochure for the hotel she’d booked. “This trip is for us. We’ll have a month together in the summer, exploring the city. We can eat dinner outside in pavement cafés, watch the world go by and decide what we want our future to look like. Just the two of us.”
She was determined to view this new phase of life as an adventure and a celebration, not as a time for regrets and nostalgia.
Would it feel weird being in Paris with David? No, of course it wouldn’t. Her last visit had been decades ago. It was part of a past she didn’t let herself think about.
“You should have talked to me about this, Grace.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
He looked sick. She started to feel sick, too. The evening wasn’t going the way she’d imagined it.
He closed the box. “You’ve booked everything already? Yes, of course you have. You’re you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Was she supposed to apologize for something that was one of her best qualities? Being organized was a good thing. She’d grown up with the opposite and she knew how bad that was.
“You do everything—even though I’m capable of doing things for myself. You don’t have to buy my boss’s gift, Grace. I can handle it.”
“I know you can handle it, but I’m happy to do it so that you don’t have to.”
“You organize every single small detail of our lives.”
“So nothing gets forgotten.”
“I understand why that is important to you. Really, I do.”
There was gentleness in his tone and the sympathy in his eyes made her squirm a little. It was like walking into a crowded room and discovering you’d forgotten to button your shirt.
“We don’t need to talk about bad stuff on a night like tonight.”
“Maybe we do. Maybe we should have talked about it a lot more than we have.”
“It’s our anniversary. This is a celebration. You’re worried I’m doing too much? It’s fine, David. I like to do it. It’s not a problem.”
She reached across the table but he moved his hand away.
“It’s a problem for me, Grace.”
“Why? You’re busy, and I love spoiling you.”
“You make me feel…” He rubbed his jaw. “Incapable. Sometimes I wonder if you even need me.”
Her insides swooped. She felt as if she’d stepped off a cliff. “How can you say that? You know it’s not true.”
“Do I? You plan every detail of our lives. You are the most independent woman I know. What exactly do I contribute to this marriage?”
At any other time she would have said great sex, and they both would have collapsed with laughter, but tonight David wasn’t laughing, and she didn’t feel like laughing, either.
The people at the table closest to them were staring.
Grace didn’t care.
“You contribute plenty! David—”
“We have to talk, Grace.” He pushed his plate to one side, his meal only half-eaten. “I wasn’t going to say this tonight, but—”
“But what? What do you want to talk about?” Unease mushroomed inside her. He didn’t sound like himself. David was always sure, confident and dependable. She almost al ways knew what he was thinking. “Why do you keep rubbing your jaw?”
“Because it aches.”
“You should see the dentist. Maybe you have an abscess or something. I’ll make you an appointment in the morning—” She stopped in midsentence. “Or you can make it yourself if you prefer.”
“I want a divorce, Grace.”
There was a strange ringing in her ears. The background music and the clatter from the kitchen had distorted his words. He couldn’t possibly have just said what she’d thought he’d said.
“Excuse me?”
“A divorce.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt as if it was strangling him. “Saying those words makes me feel sick. I never wanted to hurt you, Gracie.”
She hadn’t misheard him.
“Is this because I bought Stephen a gift?”
“No.” He muttered something and tugged at his collar again. “I shouldn’t be doing this now. I didn’t plan to. I should have—”
“Is it because of Sophie leaving? I know it’s unsettling…”
Panic gripped her heart. Squeezed. Squeezed some more. Her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. She was going to pass out in her duck confit. She imagined the story appearing in the following day’s edition of the Woodbrook Post.
A local woman was asphyxiated when she fell face-first into her meal.