Chapter 5: Homecoming

5

With complicated feelings, I left the county and went home.

I drove the familiar two hours back to Silver Hollow, the car radio murmuring old rock songs. The house was still empty.

The echo in the hallway when I dropped my keys sounded louder than usual. I stood in the kitchen, hands braced on the counter, replaying every second of that night. Regret tasted bitter, but I couldn’t bring myself to wish it hadn’t happened. I never thought I’d betray my marriage one day.

My wife, Lillian, and I were college classmates—the very model of campus romance; from any angle, we were enviable.

She was an all-around top student; I was a literary type.

She was the student council president; I was the band leader.

She wrote articles and often published them; I wrote songs and often performed.

We got together—it was inevitable.

We married two years after graduation. Her career took off; after marriage, she was transferred overseas and quickly rose three levels, becoming an executive before thirty. She came home only three or four times a year, never for more than three days.

As for me, after several failed jobs, I simply became a househusband: occasionally performing, sometimes selling songs, sometimes teaching guitar.

Lillian and I grew visibly further apart.

This trek was an idea born of my boredom.

I told Lillian I wanted to go hiking to clear my mind, and she immediately transferred me two thousand dollars.

I can’t say if that makes me happy or just pathetic.

The Venmo alert pinged before I’d even finished texting her. Thinking about it, I fell asleep on the sofa and dreamed of that night on the mountaintop—me and Natalie panting, when suddenly searchlights lit up all around, and Lillian appeared before me, looking at me as if I were a pet dog.

I’ve let her down, and also our ten years together.

I muddled through more than half a month, as usual, exchanging only a few words with Lillian each day. She was always in meetings or at work dinners; we were like each other’s alarm clocks, only saying good morning and good night.

The house felt emptier with every passing day. I continued my househusband life. Another half month passed in a flash, and then I received a text from an unfamiliar number:

“I’ve arrived in Silver Hollow. Treat me to a meal.”

My heart kicked like a teenager’s. I grinned at my phone, then wiped it away, ashamed of how much I wanted to see her. I didn’t recognize the number, but I was sure it was her.

Without much hesitation, I replied:

“Where?”

She replied instantly: “Maple & Vine Bar, 6 p.m.”

The moment I received the text, I felt as if electricity was running through my body—numb and tingling.

My palms sweated the whole drive into town. I found myself checking my hair in the mirror at a stoplight, which I hadn’t done in years.

I didn’t know what would happen next, only that I was already in too deep.