Rings
He was laid back against the pillows, ankles crossed and still dressed down in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a worn t-shirt that sported the logo of the Marine Corps.
Thursday mornings in the McCord house tended to be a bit strange— He had three kids looking forward to Friday, pressing snooze on their alarm clocks because "it's almost the weekend, Dad. Cut us some slack." All while Elizabeth, typically, rushed out the door, travel mug in hand, determined to stay ahead of the meetings on her calendar, and keep up with the stack of paperwork on her desk that managed to pile up throughout the week… It wasn't a pretty sight when she trudged home Friday evening with an armful of binders. Last February he had to tell Blake to cut the weekend reading in half.
And though his wife and kids were ultimately out the door no later than 7:40, the only task on his list each Thursday was the process of grading his students' weekly assignments, allowing him to lounge in bed, lazily reading a chapter or two of a new novel before getting dressed only to stay home.
He wets the pad of his thumb and just before he flips the page Elizabeth whizzes by, letting out a groan as she lugged a wicker basket onto their bed.
He arches a brow, eyes following her as she returned to the closet.
Her rings had been missing for about a week now, and three days ago Elizabeth had finally begun to fuss about it.
She was running late this morning because he'd turned off her alarm clock, and he'd taken the criticism from the kids because she hadn't slept the past two nights. She'd spent the better half of the past three days tearing apart their bedroom, jumping out of bed when she thought of another place to look.
She couldn't remember when she'd taken them off, and though he didn't blame her, she was one of the busiest women in the world, she didn't use to take them off at all. Not when out riding Buttercup, not when doing yardwork out on the farm, and she even wore them while doing dishes, a bad habit he knew, but she believes… believed that taking them off would bring bad luck.
She'd pulled apart their bedroom yesterday, searching inch by inch beginning with her nightstand. This morning she'd moved onto the closet.
She'd already checked each of the pockets of the blazers that were hung on hangers. And now, still half-dressed wearing a charcoal pencil skirt and a lace bra, she dumped a basket of sweaters out onto their bed.
"Did you look through the girls' closets?" They both, Stevie especially now that she'd started that internship with Russell, borrowed some of Elizabeth's things.
"Yeah," she breathes as she refolds a grey cardigan.
He eyes her, noticing the worry lines between her eyebrows. They were more prominent when she skipped out on sleep.
"You know she had a point."
Elizabeth's eyes pop up as she places the sweater on top of the new stack she was making on top of the bench.
She'd gotten angry over what their daughter had mumbled earlier in the kitchen, but it wasn't unreasonable, and Stevie had no intention of being unkind, so, prepared for the nasty stare he may receive in return, he asks again. "When you have sex with him do you take them off?"
Her body visibly tenses and her hands still over the tan V-neck sweater that's spread across the bed.
He closes the book he still has in his hands and tosses it to the side. "You can tell me."
He sees her swallow and then, as she picks up a baby blue pullover, she whispers, "sometimes."
"Have you looked at his place?"
"Henry." She shakes her head.
He holds up his hands. "I'm just trying to help." It wasn't his fault that her bad decisions added another place that needed to be searched.
"You're going to be late," he tells her. And as she moves the stack of sweaters from the bench back into the basket, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. "You should finish getting dressed and head out." Her still being here didn't only impact her, but he's sure it was making more work for her staff, Nadine especially.
"I don't care." She carries the basket back to the closet and shoves it up onto the shelf. "I need to find them, Henry."
"Well…" He takes a few steps towards her, hand landing on the top of the dresser. "I'm free today, so I can keep looking."
She shakes her head as she drags the chair from the corner into the closet. "I think I'll take the day." She steps up and begins to move around the shoeboxes that sit on the top shelf.
He leans into the doorframe, watching. "Do they really mean that much to you?"
The stare she threw over her shoulder left him surprised— utterly taken aback by the stunned look on her face.
"Of course, they do."
"Even after everything that's happened?"
Her mouth opens and closes.
Really, how much could these rings mean to her? What did they mean for him? Now, they only seemed to represent a marriage, a relationship, that's faltered.
"Mom! Blake's here," Stevie shouts up.
He chooses to ignore the fact that their daughter had, for the second week in a row, decided against attending her morning lecture.
"Speak of the devil," he mumbles as he moves back towards their bed.
Elizabeth jumps down from the chair just as Blake steps into their bedroom… He doesn't even flinch seeing Elizabeth shirtless. It was normal now. He'd seen her in much less, sees her in much less, sees her more than her own husband does.
Blake smiles, raises his arm, and unclenches his palm, revealing her wedding bands.
She's across the room in an instant.
"Where were they?" She plucks them from his palm and slips them onto her finger.
"In the pocket of one of my suits." One of her hands finds his arm. "The one I wore last week to the state dinner. It's been at the cleaners."
He sees the moment it clicks in her head.
And while she looks relieved, he's left wondering whether they'd fucked in an abandoned office in the West Wing, in the back of one of the three SUVs, or maybe even her office…