I handled all of it.
That was the odd mercy of work. It gave my mind tasks small enough to finish.
At home, betrayal felt shapeless. On an airplane, everything had a place. Cups went into drawers. Latches clicked shut.
Trash moved into designated carts. Questions had answers. Procedures had order.
Ryan had none of those things to offer me.
Halfway through the flight, he got out of his seat and came toward the forward galley.
I was preparing coffee when he stopped just outside the curtain.
"We need to talk now."
I did not look up immediately.
"Please return to your seat, Ryan."
"Valerie."
That was different from the way he usually said my name at home. At home, lately, it had become a tool for irritation.
Valerie, where are my cuff links?
Valerie, why didn't you call the landscaper?
Valerie, I told you I needed that blue shirt cleaned.
Now there was fear in it.
I placed the coffee pot back on its warming plate.
"I am working."
"I can explain."
"Not here."
"Ashley thinks we're separated."
I looked at him then.
"Are we?"
His mouth opened.
No sound came out.
"That's what I thought," I said.
He glanced behind him toward the cabin.
"It got complicated."
"No, Ryan. Complicated is weather over the Gulf. Complicated is a medical diversion with a full aircraft. You told your wife you were going to Austin and then boarded a flight to Cancun holding another woman's hand. That is actually very simple."
His face hardened slightly. It was the expression he used whenever embarrassment began turning into anger.
"Don't make this into some public spectacle."
For a second, I honestly thought I had misheard him.
"I have said almost nothing to you."
"The way you're acting is making it obvious."
I stared at him.
There it was. The reflex I had seen throughout our marriage whenever his choices created discomfort: relocate responsibility. If he forgot a dinner, I had not reminded him. If he snapped at me in front of friends, I had embarrassed him by becoming quiet. If he spent too much, I was controlling for asking whether the charge was personal or business.
Now he had boarded an international flight with another woman and somehow my professional composure was making a scene.
"Return to your seat," I said.
"Val."
"That is not a request."
He looked at me for another second, perhaps deciding whether his husband status outranked my authority on the aircraft.