ROSALIE
It feels like the police are with us forever.
Nick carried me downstairs, so I wouldn’t have to deal with being near that woman. Her name, apparently, is Claudia Delaney. She’s the sister of the other woman who was staying here—the one who kissed Nick. I still don’t entirely understand why Claudia Delaney stabbed her sister, but apparently, they found her unconscious and bleeding profusely in the trunk of Claudia’s car. They rushed her to the hospital, but they’re not sure if she’ll survive. I can’t even imagine.
The police spend forever talking to Nick. I can tell he’s trying hard to keep his cool, going over the same story again and again. And he’s really upset about Greta. He went into her room to tell her to call the police, and he found her lying on the ground, a stab wound in her chest. We had both grown very fond of her. Amazingly, she was still breathing when the paramedics arrived. But she was quite old—her chances aren’t great.
Finally the police leave, and thank God, they haven’t hauled my husband away in handcuffs. He sinks into one of the chairs at our dining room table, his face pale. I wheel over to him, afraid to ask him what he’s thinking. After all, we broke up. A few hours ago, we decided our marriage was done. As far as I know, he’s already checked out.
“Nick,” I say.
He lifts his eyes, which are red-rimmed. “Hey.” “Are you… okay?”
“Yeah, I…” He heaves a sigh. “She almost killed you. I can’t believe it.”
I try to smile. “Nah. I was fine. I took her down, no problem.”
“You did, didn’t you?” He tries to return the smile. “Listen, Rosie…”
I brace myself. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want him to tell me he’s leaving me tonight. I don’t think I could bear it after the night I’ve had.
No, he might not leave tonight. But he’s going to want to make plans for separating. I don’t know if I can talk him out of it anymore. This decision has been a long time coming.
But I’ll try.
“I want to stay together,” he blurts out. I stare at him. “You do?”
“Yeah.” He rubs his eyes with the balls of his hands, then looks back up at me. “I was miserable after our conversation earlier. I don’t want to live without you. Ever. I’m sad about… the way things are. With us. But I’m not giving up. I love you too much.”
“Oh,” I say.
“And,” he adds, “I think you still love me too.”
My cheeks grow warm. “You’re right. I do. I really, really do.”
He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “I knew it.”
“Also,” I say, “I think this dining room would make a really great bedroom.”
For the first time, maybe in years, I see his eyes light up. “I think so too.”
And so we sit there for the next hour, holding hands, and making plans for the future.
