The key turned in the lock a little after eight. There was the familiar pause while Celeste wrestled the suitcase over the threshold, then the wheels rattled across the floor. Biscuit rushed toward her, tail beating against the wall so hard it made a dull thumping sound. She crouched to kiss his head and laughed when he nearly knocked her over. For a moment, watching them, I could picture the homecoming as it would have been a year earlier.
She stood and looked toward the kitchen. Her shoulders were tanned, her nose slightly pink from the sun, and her hair was braided in a style I'd never seen on her before. She had sunglasses pushed into her hair despite the darkness outside. There was a softness to her face I hadn't seen recently, the relaxation of someone who had spent several days having her immediate desires accommodated. She didn't know that the man waiting at the table had already begun ending the life she had left behind.
"Got you something," she said brightly, holding up the painted shot glass. The little cactus wore a sombrero and an expression of exaggerated cheer. I looked at it and remembered the four-thousand-dollar withdrawal, the watch, and the photograph of Briana standing beside the pink cake in Ohio. "Thanks," I said. I couldn't make myself put any warmth into the word.
Celeste set the shot glass near the sink. "So, did you survive without me?" she asked. I pulled out the chair opposite me and asked her to sit down for a minute.
She rolled her eyes and said, "Oh my God, Owen. Are you still mad about the money? I told you we'd put it back." Then she glanced at the envelope and stopped smiling quite so freely.
"I need you to read this," I said. I slid it across the table, keeping my hands flat against the wood afterward. She opened the flap with one fingernail, pulled out the petition, and read the heading. Her eyebrows moved first, then the shape of her mouth changed, then she looked up at me in a way I'd never seen before. "What is this?" she asked, though the answer was printed in front of her.
"It's a divorce petition," I said. "Diane filed it Friday morning. You'll receive formal notice through her office, and she can explain the next steps to your lawyer."
Celeste stared at me and let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "You can't be serious," she said. "You filed for divorce because I took a vacation?" The sentence turned what had happened into something small enough for her to dismiss.
"I filed because we aren't able to make decisions together anymore," I told her. "You took money from a savings account we'd agreed not to touch without talking, and when I asked about it, you told me to divorce you." She lifted a hand as if to interrupt.
I continued calmly. "I asked you the next morning whether you meant it. You said you'd never meant anything more. I believed you."
Her expression sharpened. She said I was insecure, controlling, and incapable of seeing a woman enjoy herself without needing to bring her down. Then she said Briana would tell me that they had spent the entire vacation talking about work and sitting by the pool. She spoke more quickly as she warmed to the explanation, adding details about a dinner and a boat excursion. I watched the account grow around the lie because she still didn't know I'd spoken to anybody else.