From the Heart

realize that Doug and I were only hurting each other by keeping up the pretense of being married. We had to stop. I decided to ask for a divorce before one of us did something unforgivable. It wasn’t easy. I thought about it for days.
    “I came home early one afternoon because I wanted to have a little time to sort out what I would say. I’d made up my mind to talk to Doug that night. When I got there, Doug’s car was in the drive. I thought he might have been ill and come home. When I went upstairs, I found him in bed with my sister.”
    Very gently, she laid the photo back in her lap. “It was the final blow. My sister, my home, my bed. I left before either of them could say anything. I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t want to say the horrible things that I knew I’d say if I waited. I went to a motel. That’s when I made up my mind that my parents had been right all along. If you live calmly, without disturbing your life with emotional attachments, you can’t be hurt. That’s how I was going to live. From that moment. No one, nothing, was ever going to take me to that point again. I’d had enough pain. I filed for divorce right away. Doug asked Greg to handle it for me. I never even spoke to him again, except through Greg. After a while I began to realize that Doug had just taken the step before I had. He’d used Melinda to end something that was killing both of us. That made it easier to forgive him. And because we’d had, and lost, something extraordinary together.”
    On the last word, she began to weep passionately, uncontrollably. As she turned into Thorpe, his arms cradled her to hold her until the grief passed.

14
    T here was the faintest of breezes over the water. It rippled over the reflections in the Potomac and just stirred Liv’s hair. Now that they were there, stretched out under the sky, Thorpe was glad he had persuaded Liv to come. The sun and the activity would be good for her. Another woman, he thought, would have wanted to sleep off the strain of that much weeping. Not Liv.
    She was still pale. Her eyes showed traces of the tears they had spent. But there was an unmistakable aura of strength about her. Thorpe admired her for it even as he loved her for it. Now, he felt he could understand why she had iced herself over. He had seen the face of the boy in the photograph—a face full of life and undiluted joy. He ached for her, for her loss. It was difficult for him to imagine Liv married, having a son, building a life with another man. A small house in the suburbs, a fenced yard, toys under the sofa—all of that seemed a world apart from the woman who sat across from him now. And yet, that had been her life not so many years before. It could be her life again, this time with him. Thorpe wanted it for her, and for himself.
    More than ever, he knew there would be a need to move slowly with her. She was strong, yes, but she had been terribly hurt.
    Doug, he thought, and experienced one moment of blazing anger. He didn’t forgive as easily as Liv. The man, as he sawit, had done more than lose Liv through his own weaknesses. He had scarred her. Now it was up to Thorpe to show her, convince her that he meant to stand beside her. Always.
    From where Liv sat, she could watch Thorpe row. His muscles rippled. There seemed to be no effort in the skill and strength he used to guide the boat over the river. He wasn’t a man who had to flex his biceps to prove he was strong or masculine. He knew himself, and his confidence came from that knowledge.
    So she had told him. Years had gone by since she had opened herself like that to anyone. There was nothing he didn’t know about her now. Why had she told him? Perhaps, she mused, because she had known—or hoped—he would still be there when she had finished. And he had been: no questions, no advice, only support. He had known what she needed. When had she discovered what an unusual man he was? And why had it taken her so long? She felt relaxed and safe, and more at ease with herself than she could remember. The tears and the telling had purged the pain. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let her body enjoy the cleansing of her mind.
    “I haven’t thanked you,” she said into the quiet.
    “For what?” He brought the oars up and back in a long, steady stroke.
    “For being there, and for not saying all those tidy little words people say when someone falls apart.”
    “You were hurting.” His eyes were on hers again, looking deep.