Chapter 4

That Saturday, at seven in the evening, the lock turned.

Rosalie came in behind Jacob, a framed painting in her arms.

"Sorry to barge in."

She smiled easily, like she'd done this many times before.

Jacob bent to change his shoes.

"They're waterproofing her studio, and she's got nowhere to store a few paintings. I told her to leave them here for now."

I glanced at the living room.

"Why not put them in storage?"

"Her paintings can't just be piled up anywhere."

He looked up, that habitual gentleness still in his voice.

"It's only a few days. Don't be so petty."

Jacob took the painting from her hands.

"One of them nearly took on damp last month. Haven't you learned anything yet?"

With that, he turned and leaned the painting against the driest wall in the room.

His phone rang.

He looked at Rosalie.

"Have a seat."

Then he looked at me.

"Effie, keep her company for me."

Once the study door shut, the living room went quiet.

Rosalie settled slowly onto the couch.

Only when there was no sound left from inside did she let out a small laugh.

"You really can't stand me, can you?"

"You don't have to pretend."

She dropped her gaze and touched her wrist.

That natural-diamond bracelet, the one worth over a hundred thousand dollars, caught the light for a second.

"Honestly, I think Jacob goes a little overboard with me too."

She said it, but her fingers turned the bracelet deliberately as she spoke.

"I told him it was too expensive, but he insisted on buying it."

"He said I loved shiny things even as a kid, and I still haven't changed after all these years."

I said nothing.

Rosalie looked over at the painting by the wall.

"Same with this one."

"I wanted to leave it in storage, but he said the humidity there wasn't stable. He insisted your place was the safest."

She smiled.

"That's just how Jacob is. He talks about being rational all the time, but with the people he cares about, he has no principles at all."

I lifted my eyes to her.

She looked like she'd finally been waiting for exactly this reaction.

"Don't get me wrong, Effie. I'm not saying he likes me."

She paused.

"I just think he's genuinely special toward me."

Still I didn't take it up.

But Rosalie only grew more breezy.

"It was the same back in school."

"I wanted those chestnuts from that place on the South Side, and he rode a bike two hours to get them for me."

"The first time I went abroad, he took three days off to see me off."

"You know what's the most interesting part?"

She leaned forward slightly.

"He's never like that with anyone else."

I looked at her.

"Are you finished?"

Rosalie froze.

She hadn't expected me to be this calm.

She didn't answer, and I got up to pour some water in the kitchen.

When I came back, she was already standing next to the painting.

"Effie."

She called out to me suddenly.

"You know, you're kind of pitiful too."

My steps stopped.

She lowered her voice.

"Married to him all these years, and you still have to keep him by being agreeable."

"But have you ever noticed?"

"The more at ease he is with you, the more he cares about me."

I laughed then.

"Rosalie."

"If you're so sure he favors you, why do you need to prove it in front of me?"

Her face changed.

I set the glass down on the coffee table.

"Because you're not sure either. You need to see me hurt before you can prove you've won."

The smugness in her eyes sank in an instant.

The next second, she reached out and picked up my glass.

A tilt of her wrist, and the whole thing splashed across the painting. The colors bled fast.

The glass shattered on the floor.

"Effie!"

Jacob came quickly out of the study.

"What happened?"

Rosalie's eyes reddened at once.

Jacob glanced at the glass on the floor, then at me.

"Did you do this?"

For the first time it struck me as so absurd I almost laughed.

"She did it herself."

Rosalie shook her head immediately.

He crouched to check the painting.

Rosalie grabbed his wrist.

"Really, let it go. Maybe Effie's just in a bad mood."

Jacob looked up at me.

"Effie, whatever you're unhappy about, you can take it out on me."

I looked at him.

"I told you, it wasn't me."

"That's your glass."

"So?"

"Would Rosalie ruin a painting she's about to exhibit just to put on an act?"

He said it without hesitation, without even asking a second time.

I asked, "So you've decided it was me?"

He was silent a moment.

"Given the situation, that's the only conclusion I can draw."

Suddenly I had no desire left to explain anything.

"Fine."

"Effie, you won't even offer one apology now?"

I walked into the bedroom, and Jacob followed me in.

"What are you doing?"

I pulled out the suitcase.

His face darkened.

"Again?"

That word, again, made me pause.

So in his eyes, every reaction I'd ever had at the edge of despair belonged to the same one thing—making a scene.

He reached out and pressed a hand on the suitcase.

"You're making all this fuss over one painting?"

I looked up at him.

"You really think it's because of a painting?"

"Then tell me what else it's about."

"I've explained."

"When did you ever listen?"

"You didn't doubt her for a single second just now."

"Why would I doubt her?"

After he said it, the room went abruptly quiet.

He realized himself that it had come out wrong.

"That's not what I meant."

I looked at this man I'd lived with for seven years.

And found that I no longer felt wronged.

I simply took off the ring and set it down by his hand.

He closed his fist around it.

"Effie, that's enough."

"What do you want me to do? I've explained to you over and over, there's nothing between me and Rosalie."

I turned and looked at him one last time.

"Jacob."

"Before, I was always afraid you didn't want me."

"So I endured, I waited, I made excuses for you again and again."

"Not anymore."

"Because starting today……"

I gripped the suitcase handle tight.

"I'm the one who doesn't want you."

"Let's get divorced!"