Chapter 16 October 9th, 2025

Whit was shaving every morning, something he’d never done in his life. Wednesday after work he did something he’d been thinking of doing for years. He stopped at the Salvation Army store to shop for women’s clothes. The place was dead but he still was constantly looking over his shoulder. He found a top that was new with tags. “I think I can get away with wearing this,” he said as he took it out of the bag to show Lucy. It was a soft knit long sleeve sweater in deep red with a wider neck then a men’s sweater would have.

Lucy frowned? “Why did you buy that?”

Whit wasn’t phased, “Because I liked it, and I wanted it.”

Lucy shrugged and felt the soft material. After seeing him wearing it she agreed, it wasn’t exactly manly but it didn’t scream girl. Just like the wide leg women’s jeans he had bought from Ross.

Thursday night Whit wore the outfit to his painting class. A few students commented on his appearance, saying he was looking younger. Troy and Angie Phelps both agreed he looked very much like an artist, whatever that meant.

Grace was not there. She had sent a couple texts, “Sarah are you alright?” “Sarah, Hey bitch you going to text me back?”

Thursday Whit replied, “Hey, I’m sorry Grace. It was irresponsible for me to involve you in my personal problems. Thank you for your help. I hope to see you in class Thursday night.”

It was a very adult way to say, buzz off, and Grace responded in kind with her own text, “Thank you Mr. Whitlock, while I enjoyed your class I do not think my schedule will allow me to continue.”

Friday night Whit suggested Lucy and him could drive over to Marion for supper at the Olive Garden. Lucy was hesitant to spend that kind of money, but Whit was insistent. On the drive they went back and forth picking music, during the restaurant they talked as if they were on a first date. They held hands on the way home. At the door of their house Whit did something shocking. He squeezed Lucy tight and kissed her. They shared a moment to look into each other's eyes and minutes later they were in bed making love.

Lucy was confused. Was this a good thing? In some ways it was a dream come true, Whit was present for the first time in a long time, but was he still her husband? Lucy told herself she would let Whit go through this, whatever this was. Get it out of his system. People experimented. People had phases. And the past week had been good. Better than good, actually.

The second week he came home from work Tuesday with a bigger bag of clothes from the thrift store and was downright giddy that he’d got all of this stuff for 14 dollars.

That night he emerged from the bedroom wearing black leggings and an oversized gray sweatshirt that hit him mid-thigh. His legs looked longer somehow, leaner. He was barefoot, moving carefully, like he was still learning how to inhabit himself.

Lucy stared a beat too long.

“They’re comfortable,” he said, casually, as if that settled it.

She nodded. “They look… warm.”

They watched television like that, Whit curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under him. Lucy tried not to notice how natural it already seemed.

On Wednesday, her mother stopped by unannounced.

Lucy heard the knock and felt her stomach drop before she even knew why. She went to the door and opened it to find her mother standing there with a paper sack and a too-bright smile.

“I was in the area,” her mom said. “Wanted to bring you over some Halloween cookies I made.”

Lucy stepped aside. “You could’ve called.”

Her mother waved that off and walked in. “Reception is terrible at home. You know that.”

Whit came out of the kitchen carrying a mug of coffee. He was wearing the leggings again, this time with a long green sweater that draped over his hips. He didn’t seem to register anything unusual about it.

“Hey,” he said, pleasantly. “Hi, Carla.”

Her mother froze just slightly. Not enough to comment. Just enough for Lucy to see it.

“Well,” she said, after a moment, “you look… relaxed.”

Whit smiled. “I am.”

They all sat in the living room and snacked on the cookies. Lucy answered most of the questions, the way she always did. Whit chimed in here and there, animated, leaning forward, gesturing with his hands. At one point he tucked his feet up onto the couch, leggings stretched tight over his calves.

Lucy waited for him to notice. To adjust. To care.

He didn’t.

When her mother finally left, Lucy closed the door and leaned against it for a second longer than necessary.

“That was fine,” Whit said, genuinely. “Your mom seemed in a good mood.”

Lucy nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

On Thursday, Whit brought up the idea of going shopping together that weekend.

“I thought maybe we could make a day of it,” he said. “Evansville, maybe. Grab lunch. Look around.”

Lucy looked at him. “Shopping for what?”

He hesitated, just briefly. “Clothes. Mostly.”

“For you,” she said.

“For us,” he said.

Lucy felt something shift in her chest. Not panic. Something colder. More precise.

That night, as she folded laundry, she found herself holding the towel she’d borrowed from Grace weeks ago. The one she’d stained with mud, thrown in the wash and never returned. It was soft, faded blue, not theirs.

She stood there longer than necessary, towel in her hands, thinking.

Grace had missed class again.
Whit hadn’t mentioned her.
But Lucy had been thinking about her more than she liked.

She folded the towel neatly and set it aside.

I should take that back, she thought.