I pulled out my phone and checked the time.
Then I called Marjorie.
One ring. No answer.
Three rings. No answer.
Seven rings. Still nothing.
On the eleventh ring, she finally picked up.
"Hey, babe?"
Her voice was tight, her breathing unsteady, like she was adjusting something.
I asked her what she was up to.
"Just out shopping. With a girlfriend."
Her tone had already leveled out, carrying that lazy, casual ease she always had when we chatted at home.
"Been at it all day. I'm exhausted."
I didn't call her out. "Where are you shopping?"
"Oh, you know... over by the Galleria."
She laughed. It sounded natural.
The old me would never have caught a single crack.
"My trip got canceled. The client rescheduled last minute." I forced my voice to stay even. "I'm at the train station now. Can you come pick me up?"
Silence on the other end.
About three seconds.
Those three seconds stretched forever.
Long enough for me to hear the gears turning in her head.
Then she spoke, a note of reluctance threading through her voice.
"Oh, I really can't get away right now. My friend and I just sat down to eat."
"Maybe you could grab an Uber..."
That was when a man's voice came through in the background.
"Marjorie, the bath's ready. Come join me."
The line went dead silent.
Four, maybe five seconds passed before she spoke again.
Her voice had dropped low, laced with panic.
"Just take a car home. I'll be back later."
Then she hung up. Fast.
I lowered my phone and sank into the sofa in the hotel lobby, staring at the elevator display frozen on the number eight.
The last flicker of light inside me dimmed.
Faded.
Went out completely.
The lobby was quiet. A piano piece drifted from the speakers, something I didn't recognize. The melody was flat and unhurried, like it was being played by someone who felt nothing at all.
I thought of our wedding day, suddenly and without warning.
The officiant had asked: Marjorie Swanson, do you take Edmund Dickerson to be your lawfully wedded husband?
She'd said, I do.
She'd been looking at me then, and her eyes had light in them.
I believed she meant it in that moment.
I also believed she meant it now, with Rufus.
But a heart is only so big. Fill it with one person, and there's no room left for another.
I sat there for I don't know how long.
Then I took out my phone and sent a message.
Marjorie Swanson.
I want a divorce.
