The Substitute Wife

by Faulkner, Carolyn

  "No?"

  "No. She goes out quite frequently."

  "Anyone special?" he found himself asking before he could suppress the urge.

  Liz had frowned. "I don't think so. I think she likes playing the field.

  She's never really settled down with anyone that I know of."

  Rory hadn't really considered that, since she was so shy and hesitant around him, and he didn't really want to, either. Nor did he want to think about what popped into his mind next. "Is there abuse in her background?" he found himself asking, almost wishing he hadn't.

  "Not that I know of."

  Rory sighed heavily in relief that surprised him, but he didn't like to think of the idea that someone might have hurt Andi physically.

  "Do you want me to talk to her about it?" Liz offered.

  But Rory had just pulled her into his arms. "Nah, I think that'll make it worse. We'll leave it alone. I just wish she seemed more comfortable around her. You don't have any sisters, but I know you consider her one. I'd like her to know that, especially since she's single, she can count on me to do stuff for her. Guy stuff, you know? Whatever might need toting or lifting. She always looks like a stiff wind would blow her over."

  Liz had teared up at what he'd said, and he had reassured her that he had meant every word.

  And he was quite sure that every word had been dutifully reported to the subject of their discussion, too, not that he really minded. What he minded was that it hadn't changed her attitude towards him at all, nor had she commenced to leaning on him for anything. Hell, he'd practically had to beg her to let him help her move when she'd bought her first small house, even though he knew a raft of men who all had pickups and they got her moved in a morning for free. Well, for the price of pizza and beer on the other end, rather than her having to pay an exorbitant amount to professional movers.

  But she had been a rock for him when Liz had gotten sick. She'd

  stepped right in and taken care of the both of them. She'd tended to Liz as the sister of her heart that she was, not shirking from doing anything that needed doing, and doing her best to gently bully him into taking care of himself. If she couldn't come by and stay, she brought food over for him and came over during her lunch hour just to visit for a few minutes with Liz when she was too sick to get out of bed.

  That didn't even begin to cover how much of a help she had been when the vigil was over, and there were decisions to be made—ones Liz hadn't made herself already—about the wake and the funeral and the flowers and so many things he couldn't even begin to deal with.

  She had quietly stepped in to do all of it. She'd rung everything by him first before making the final decision, but not letting him delay things by his highly unusual, if understandable, inability to make a decision.

  Once all of that falderal was over, though, she hadn't done just what he expected her to do—what the large majority of their friends had done, and stepped away from him. She gave him adequate space and privacy, but not to the extent some of them had, who had pretty much written him off. She checked in on him fairly regularly, hence the text.

  He knew that if he had chosen to stay home tonight, she would have suggested that they do something to take his mind off of what day it was, but he just couldn't bear that idea. She'd be there with him, where she really didn't want to be, doing whatever trumped up thing they had thought of that wasn't going to accomplish shit, and he'd be there, where he didn't really want to be, with her—she who was not his wife.

  But she whom he had always, secretly, coveted.

  Which only made things just that much worse.

  There was no doubt in his mind that he adored Liz. She was outgoing and witty and gregarious and everything he wasn't. And she'd always been fearless of him, taking him at his word, even in their more intimate and unusual aspects of their relationship, that she was completely safe with him at all times, even if it seemed like she might not be.

  He wasn't sure what it was about Andi that piqued his interest.

  Perhaps the prey drive all men had? She was so much smaller than Liz, seemed much more delicate, and always so somehow distrustful of him, from the very beginning.

  He wasn't Fred Astaire although he did have a certain 'big man's grace'. But, he wasn't Frankenstein, either. He had been the biggest kid in the

  class for most of his school career. His father, who was about the same size he'd grown up to be, had always instilled in him the old-fashioned idea that with his size came a certain responsibility to do what he could to help out those who might benefit from his strength and protection, in particular, those of the fairer sex.

  But she had been a particularly persistent and singular flaw in his otherwise perfect relationship with Liz. One, because of their friendship, he was forced to come into regular contact with her, and Andi's constant backing away from him made him constantly want to follow her and hold her still and

  —

  Two more texts came in rapidly, interrupting his unexpected and unwanted train of thought, then three more after that.

  About to sigh heavily as he picked up the phone to read them, he stopped immediately once he saw them, shoving his phone into his pocket, donning all of his winter gear and heading out into what was rapidly becoming a white-out situation.

  Chapter II

  "You can put me down now," Andi said as soon as he brought her into the rustic cabin in the woods. She'd always liked this place, although she hadn't spent much time there. It was very primitive, with exposed beams and raw, reddish wood, but made very homey by Liz's feminine touches.

  Romantically patterned quilts she'd made herself were on the walls and the bed, warm throws had been tossed on the well-used couch, and tons of pictures of family and friends were scattered throughout.

  "I'll put you down when I damned well feel like putting you down,"

  he grumbled. Feeling her instantly stiffen in his arms, he wished he'd just kept his mouth shut.

  "Well, I didn't intend to become a liability. I realize that you probably want to be alone tonight. I'm sorry to put you out like this. I just wanted to see you to make sure that you're all right."

  "In the middle of a blizzard."

  "I'm a real Vermonter. I don't let the snow dictate what I can or can't do."

  "Well, that's fine if you have a four-wheel drive vehicle with which to back that up that thought."

  "The van has studs and very good, very expensive, snow tires."

  "And still you managed to go off the road and nearly down into a ravine," he supplied wryly. "How long have you been driving in the snow?"

  Andi glowered at him. "You know I've lived here all my life, just like you."

  "Yeah, well, you couldn't tell by where your car ended up, could you?

  And you were just damned good and lucky that those texts went right through. You know how spotty cell reception is up here. You would have been dead of hypothermia in not too much time if they hadn't."

  He was, she had to admit, but not out loud, depressingly right.

  Instead, she said, "Bite me, Rory."

  His eyebrows went up. It was the first flash of temper he could ever remember seeing from her. "You don't deserve to be bitten. But you do deserve to be thoroughly spanked for doing something so foolish."

  The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them. But, even though he heard her shocked, in-drawn breath and felt

  her stiffen even further, he couldn't say that he regretted them.

  He did finally put her down on the overstuffed couch in the middle of the living room, leaving her there to close the door and tweak the thermostat a bit. There was a woodstove in the cabin, but it hadn't seen much use since Rory had gotten his hands on the cabin. He'd installed all of the modern inconveniences it had been missing all that time while it was in Liz's family including central heat and air, indoor plumbing, water heater, etc.

  Andi looked around the room, spotting the grocery bags he hadn't emptied yet that
seemed to be full of beer and booze and not much else. A half empty rocks glass, with no rocks to speak of, had about three of his fingers of what was probably whiskey in it was sitting on the side table next to his easy chair. Finally, she noted with some discomfort, the bed in the far corner that seemed to get bigger every time she looked at it, alone in the house with him like this as she was.

  Before she headed down a road she really didn't think she wanted to go down at the moment, she did what she could, considering that she'd managed to twist her ankle badly. She'd probably sprained it trying to follow in the enormous footsteps of his that she could make out in the deep snow as she had tried to climb the steep steps to the cabin. Andi had dressed warmly, in layers and had even had the presence of mind to grab her emergency backpack full of emergency supplies, just in case, before she'd left her car, so that was the first thing she slipped off. Her mittens and the heavy winter coat followed. Her warm, if butt ugly, knit hat which had come out somewhat lopsided, but wearable was pulled off. Finally, she unwound the scarf from around her neck which had been her very first attempt at knitting anything.

  By that time, Rory had made his way to her, reaching down to lift her legs onto the couch slowly and gently, tucking a throw pillow under her left ankle to raise it some. "Just a sec and I'll see to that."

  "Isn't that a waste? Do you want to call 911 or should I?" she asked, whipping out her phone.

  "Belay that!" he commanded.

  Despite the pain in her ankle, parts of Andi began to tingle at the way he said that. "Why?"

  "Because this is a non-life threatening injury. You know what this place is like in a blizzard during tourist season with all the idiot flatlander skiers and snowboarders and such going off the road and all the stubborn old people having heart attacks shoveling driveways they have no business

  shoveling. They can't get the rescue truck up the fire road anyway and I'm not going to make any of the guys have to try to get to the cabin for a sprained ankle. Once the storm has passed, I'll bring you to the ER. They're not going to do anything more for you than I am, you know. In case you forgot, I'm a volunteer EMT as well as a firefighter, and I was a medic. I can bandage your ankle and keep you relatively comfortable as long as need be. I'll text Cury that we're here and that we're okay, but we'd love to be plowed out as soon as possible. Since he won't start until this all stops, that's likely to be no earlier than Monday, according to the weather reports."

  She was wearing a fierce frown. "Oh, God, Roar, if I had known it was going to turn out this way, I would never have tried to intrude. I really did just want to make sure that you were okay. I didn't intend to insert myself into your whole weekend, especially not this one."

  She sounded utterly mortified, and, especially since he knew her heart was in the right place, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry at her. He gave her the ghost of a smile, his voice hollow with the truth of his words.

  "It's only right, isn't it? We were together with her at the end. Why shouldn't we be together now?"

  Apparently he remembered a lot of his medical training, both from his time volunteering on the rescue squad/fire department as well as his time spent as an Army captain in the Iraq conflict, because he was quick and efficient, even if he did have ice cold hands. He didn't realize his hands were why she kept flinching from his touch and finally he took a much firmer hold of her calf in order to keep her from jerking her foot away from him as he tried to wrap an ace bandage around her ankle. "You're as skittish as a mare in heat around a stal—" he stopped mid-simile. "Forgive my unfortunate choice of words."

  "Uh-huh," was all she could come up with as she was blushing too brightly to get anything more erudite out. "It's 'cause your hands are like blocks of ice!"

  "Are they? I'm sorry. But try to sit still, hmm? I'm almost done. Then I'll get you some of whatever anti-inflammatory we have around here and rustle us up some dinner."

  He heard her sigh heavily. "Again, I'm so sorry for the intrusion."

  "And again, don’t worry about it." He did chuckle this time. "I think Liz would probably have liked us getting together like this, frankly."

  Andi was about to let it slip that Liz had asked her to keep an eye on

  him once she was gone. She'd been quite worried that he was going to slump off into the forest—to this very house—and either become a dedicated hermit or do something much worse, which was why Andi had been so all fired hot to confirm that he was okay.

  When he'd gathered up all of his medical equipment and put it away, he came to reclaim his drink, then turned to address the gas stove. Andi threw off the blanket he'd put over her and tried to get up. "Let me help you with whatever it is that you're going to make," she offered, but then found herself confronted by all seven foot two of him, or whatever it was, standing there inches away from her with his hands on his hips, giving her the same raised eyebrow, chin tucked down look she'd seem him give Liz occasionally when she was inches from getting herself into trouble with him.

  "You sit right back down, missy. You're to stay off that ankle as much as possible. You don't need to exacerbate whatever damage you've already done."

  "But—"

  "Sit. Down. Right. Now," he warned in a deathly quiet tone, "or the next time you sit down it's going to be on a behind that's going to make you wish you'd obeyed me the first time."

  "Hey!" She scowled fiercely up at him, while obeying him at the same time. "You can't talk to me like that!"

  "My house, my rules, Miss Andi," he informed her unapologetically as he returned to the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, he appeared with mugs of steaming hot chili, tiny loaves of sweet cornbread, and various paper bowls of fixins and add-ins that included cheese, sour cream, and jalapeños. He had a glass for her with a couple of ice cubes in it, and that same familiar brown liquid she'd seen in his glass.

  Andi had to smile, knowing exactly what he'd handed her. "This is—"

  "Canadian LTD." He almost smiled. "Also known as rotgut." He raised his glass as she did hers. "To—" he paused, choked up, then continued huskily, "my Elizabeth."

  "To Liz," Andi echoed, taking a healthy swallow, then wishing she hadn't. "Dear God. I had forgotten how horrible this stuff was."

  He sank into his chair with an exhausted groan, and Andi felt another twinge of guilt. She was the cause of his physical exhaustion, no doubt, even though he'd carried her all the way to the cabin, through all that snow,

  without so much as breaking a sweat—as if she weighed nothing at all to him.

  "It was all we could afford when we were first married, and by the time we got to the point that we could have afforded better, it had become a kind of a perverse tradition."

  "I remember," Andi said, nodding her head, then realized how that might have sounded. "Well, I don't really remember, but —"

  "I know," he interrupted softly.

  It must've been the whiskey that prompted her to ask something she never would have. "Did it bother you? I mean the fact that she told me pretty much everything about your lives?"

  He took a moment to respond. "At first, yeah, it did a bit. I'm a pretty private guy." He took another healthy gulp, enjoying the way the liquid burned its way down his throat distracting him from the enormous black hole that was his heart now that she was gone. "But I came to realize that she needed you just like she needed me, and Lord knows I'd have done anything to make her happy. Sacrificing a bit of my privacy to you didn't seem so bad, especially since you didn't call the cops on me or accuse me of being abusive towards her, so I made peace with it."

  There was no way she could ever see him acting that way towards any woman, much less one he loved so obviously as he did Liz.

  Not really wanting to continue the conversation any further and not realizing how hungry she was—she'd skipped lunch because they were so busy at the store—Andi dove into the chili, recognizing that it wasn't the canned kind immediately. "Is this from Liz?"

  He was sitting in
the easy chair that was positioned near enough to her head that she could have reached over and touched him if she'd had a mind to.

  When he spoke, she wished she'd not said anything. She could hear the way his voice was clogged in his throat. His tone was even deeper than usual. "Yeah, uh, she did all that cooking when she got sick to have stuff prepped so neither of us would need to cook. We barely put a dent in it because she went downhill so fast and I kept buying her pizza and Chinese from the Mandarin; General Tso's, extra extra extra spicy hot, with fried rice and an egg roll."

  Andi nodded, the chili forgotten. "That was always her favorite."

  "Yeah," he agreed unsteadily, and Andi suddenly became acutely

  aware that he wasn't eating and that he wasn't doing anything but sitting there. Even though he wasn't making a sound, she somehow knew that he was weeping softly.

  She leaned over to put her own food on the coffee table and when she leaned back up, she reached out and took a hold of the big paw that was balanced on his knee. She squeezed it gently, knowing she probably wasn't making any kind of an impression on him at all in doing so, but just wanting him to know that she sympathized and that she was there, feeling at least some of the same things he did.

  When she would have pulled away, his fingers closed around hers, not lacing with them but enveloping them fully. "I never got the chance to say—"

  "Don't say it now, either."

  He looked startled and she snuck a peek at him. There were unmistakable traces of tears on his cheeks, darker streaks in his beard and mustache because of it. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean don't go getting all maudlin on me."

  "Isn't that what this is all about?"

  Andi thought for a long moment, then sighed, letting go of his hand.

  He held onto her fingers for a few long seconds, squeezed them gently, and then let go. "Yes, I suppose it is." She looked at his untouched food then said,