A/N: This turned into a rather monster of a conversation. Then again, it was long overdue. Sorry to disappoint anyone who wanted a knock-down, drag-out fight. Please review and tell me what you think, I appreciate your feedback!
The living room was almost empty, except for the heavy entertainment center. Alice leaned awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen, a hand clutching her arm.
He noticed she still wore her wedding ring. That's her choice.
"Um, can I get you something? Some water?" He was a little surprised at her politeness.
"No, thank you. Do you mind if we sit somewhere? If we can?"
"In here," she pointed in the kitchen. The table was gone, but there were a couple of spare chairs left. They sat down. The room was very quiet except for the sound of a mosquito buzzing somewhere near the ceiling.
"The place looks different without furniture. Bigger," he said, mostly just to break the silence.
"Yes," she agreed. She looked down at her lap. "What is it you wanted to talk about?" Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "I'm not sure there's anything left to say."
He pressed his fingers together, trying to think of how to begin. Best be direct. You don't want to dance around it.
"I think you know what I want to say," he said slowly. "The fact that you're moving out means your attorney has told you of the change in circumstances-"
"Yes, I know," she said, agitated, getting up and leaning against the kitchen counter. She fanned herself with her hands. "It's warm in here. The movers are taking a break, I think they forgot to latch the back door." She glared at his raised eyebrow. "What do you want me to say, Charlie? I was young. And stupid! I don't think you have any idea how scared I was then-"
"An apology would be nice, to start with," he said, keeping calm. His rage from the other day had lessened, but he was not about to reignite it. "For lying to me. For not telling me the truth, even years later. If you were scared, why didn't you tell me? I would have listened to you," he said sincerely.
He thought of the boy who loved her, and the man that boy became. That young man would have listened. It would have been difficult, but I would have listened.
Even a decade later, I would have been willing to save our marriage.
She brushed tears out of her eyes, sniffed and peered at the opposite wall. "I was scared of losing you," she said hoarsely. "To Chicago, to dreams beyond my reach. To other women." She shook her head and laughed, bitterness evident in her voice. "And then I lost you anyway. Ironic."
I wasn't hers to lose. I've never been hers. Not the man she thought she had, anyway.
She's telling the truth for once. I'd feel sorry for her if she could have been honest before, been more willing to admit her own mistakes.
"You didn't trust me to do what you wanted, so you forced my hand," he said, his anger mounting. "You used me, and I was fool enough to go along with it." He dropped his hands to his knees with a slap. "More than half my life was spent with you, and I can't think why." Regret made the bile rise in his throat.
"If I used you, then you used me as well," she spat at him, her temper flaring. "I did get pregnant once after we were married, I'm sure you remember. You made a fool out of yourself. Going on about someone you never met!" Tears shone in her eyes. "Truthfully, I was glad when I lost the baby. Even then, I could tell you loved it more than me."
"That's not true, and you know it!" he cried. "It's always been about you, hasn't it?" He shook his head and stood up. "I never used you, Alice. You were my wife. I loved you more than you deserved. I tried to make you happy, but that was an impossible task."
"It wouldn't have been impossible if you hadn't been so stubborn," she seethed. "All I asked of you was that you give up the cabin-"
"All you asked?" he laughed bitterly. "All? Even before we married, I bent over backwards to please you. The cabin was the only place I could be me, the real person," he brushed his fingers along the counter. She wouldn't look at him. "Not the henpecked husband. I would have lost my sanity years ago if I hadn't had it. But you were scared?" He raised his eyebrows at her expression.
"Yes, I was scared," she said, her voice hard. "Obviously, you've never been frightened, or afraid of what people think. Come to think of it, that's probably why you had an affair, you didn't care how brazen your behavior was. Well, some of us care about what others think," Her eyes dared him to respond. He refused to let her bait him.
"Fear doesn't justify lying to your husband for three decades," he replied, working to keep his voice even. "Or youth, or stupidity. I was young then as well. And probably had more than a few foolish ideas in my head. But I never lied to you. Not until the affair," he ran a hand through his hair. "Do you have any idea what it felt like when I read your letter to Beryl?"
He could tell by the look on her face that he'd struck a nerve. Her eyes darted around the room, from the wall to the floor. It reminded him of a trapped animal. He swallowed, remembering the horrible moment.
"To say that I felt as though I had been stabbed would not do it justice," he said quietly. "It wasn't just about lying to me that you were pregnant when you weren't. It was about our marriage. Our whole life together. It was all a lie. A lie," he repeated. "How did you live with yourself all those years? I was ignorant, but you-" he blew out a breath, "-you knew exactly what you were doing."
"Did you really expect me, the way I was back then," she asked, avoiding his question, "to tell you the truth? It was humiliating going to university only to find out how little they wanted me. It would have been beyond the pale telling you I was jealous of other women!"
He snorted. "Yes, I did expect you to tell me the truth. We were best friends, remember? Telling the truth would have made you more sympathetic," he said, looking her in the eye. "More human. You always portrayed yourself as perfect. The girl who everyone wanted to be, or to be with." A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "I always knew you weren't perfect. But a little humility from you would have gone a long way."
Scoffing, she threw her hands in the air. "You're not listening. I was not raised to display humility, I was raised to have a life that I wanted. A life I deserved!" She pointed, gesturing to her chest. "A life where my world was settled, and made sense!"
"Pride, entitlement, arrogance," he ticked them off on his fingers. The more upset she became, the more composed he felt. "A life you deserved? Life is a gift. It's not static. The nature of life is not permanence, but flux." He shook his head. "As it is, your 'world', as you put it, is rather contradictory. You were perfectly fine lying to me, and then when you were unhappy, you went away to break out of your shell for a while. Until you were ready to come back home." He pulled at the cuff of his sleeve. "You never thought of me, or anyone, except yourself."
It was strange. He was still angry, and yet it was overshadowed by the feeling of finally understanding her.
She never knew the real me, even though I tried to show her. I think I always knew who she was, but I didn't want to believe it.
"I pity you," he said, meaning it. "You've spent your whole life too frightened to pursue your dreams, and it's made you miserable. But that is your own fault. You still have time, if you will just find the courage to step out of the box you've created around yourself." He put his hands in his pockets. "You know, I don't think you needed me as much as you thought you did."
For the first time, he thought their divorce might liberate her as much as it did him.
Her face crumbled. It was as though her mask had shattered, revealing the insecure, fragile woman underneath. He had never seen her look so defeated. She wept, her hands covering her face. "You always knew me too well. If you could have said that to me years ago, maybe-"
"I tried," he said. "You didn't listen. I take the blame for a small part of it. Me, your friends, and your parents. We may have enabled you to stay in your safe cocoon, but ultimately, you made the choices you did. It's long past time to grow up, Alice."
Bent over, she cried, covering her face. She only stopped to grab a paper towel to wipe her eyes and nose. He checked his watch. He'd give her five minutes more to evade an apology, or any reasonable explanation, and then he'd leave. Forever.
She slowly calmed down. "I'm sorry," she whispered, staring at the floor. His eyes widened in surprise. I wasn't expecting that.
"I'm sorry for lying to you," she repeated thickly, staring off into the distance, "It was wrong. A terrible thing to do. I don't-I don't have anything to justify why I lied to you for so long. Yes, I was afraid of losing you, but that's wasn't a reason to not trust you with the truth." She ran fingers through her tangled ponytail before undoing it and pulling her hair into a tighter one. Stray wisps of hair poked out, trailing down the side of her face. She twisted a finger around the strands.
The weight in his chest seemed to ebb somewhat. He surprised himself with the words that came out of his mouth. "I'm sorry too," he said quietly. "For the affair. I want to be honest with you – I don't regret my actions-" she sucked air through her teeth "-but I do regret hurting you." Even after finding out your secret. He knew she didn't deserve his regret, but he said it out of consideration of what had been.
He didn't regret his actions, and couldn't. The affair had brought him to the woman he loved.
"Thank you," she muttered, clearing her throat. "Can I ask you something? I'm just curious."
"Sure," he rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves. The room was warm.
"How long have you loved Elsie?"
It was as much the tone of the question as the words she said that nearly bowled him over. There was no malice, no sarcasm. Just a quiet voice with a hint of sadness. He decided to risk the truth.
"Well," he scratched the back of his neck, "as a friend, for several years. As…something more, about a year, maybe a bit longer."
"She was your friend first," she scuffed her shoe on the floor. "Beryl told me that she's helped out at Downton when the staff was ill, when you were short-handed. Without you asking her."
"Yes," he said, wondering where she was going with this. She looked him in the face.
"I never did that. She helped you at the cabin too…she's always accepted the real you. I tried for years to make you into someone I wanted you to be," she tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, crossing her arms.
Finally, the truth. He felt a rush of emotion, thinking of Elsie.
"If I hadn't lied to you…do you think we would have been happy? I think it would have changed me. Our relationship may have been different," she tilted her head.
What might have been? Thinking hard, he tried to be honest. "I don't think so. We're different people, you and I. Truthfully, I think we were together because it was convenient. For both of us."
Whereas from the moment I met Elsie, we had a connection. I think we would have ended up together no matter what.
He glanced at his watch. "I have to go." She nodded, her eyes red.
"I'll walk you out." They walked back onto the porch, into the steamy summer air.
"Where are you moving?" he asked. "Someplace in town?"
"No. Hazard," she said. "An apartment. It's not big, but it's enough."
He doubted he would ever see her again. Standing next to his car, he felt all the awkwardness of the moment.
How do I say goodbye to my one-time friend and almost ex-wife of thirty years? A handshake?
His anger had dissipated. He didn't hate her. He pitied her a bit, that was true. Mostly he didn't care what happened to her in the future.
Once again, she surprised him. She raised herself on her toes and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Goodbye, Charlie," she said.
"Goodbye, Ally," he replied. Old habits die hard.
By the time he was at the end of the driveway and turning onto the street, she had vanished into the house.
He never saw her again.