There was a glimmer in his eye when he spoke of going to Disneyland as a child and when he met Sarah for the first time. I knew he hesitated to mention her, but I think he hoped maybe I could see her in a different light. He was seventeen and she was fifteen. It was a storybook meeting. He was visiting a cousin in Chicago while she laughed with her friends across the street. They each caught each other’s eye. They wrote to each other when Joseph went back to Indiana. He came to Chicago as soon as he graduated so he could court her.
I had to admit I was intrigued, especially since the way he spoke of Sarah reminded me so much of how I felt for Peter. And apparently Mimsy and her husband weren’t sold on him to begin with, yet he persevered. But I wasn’t ready to see Sarah as a human yet and I had other pressing matters, like a bossy New Yorker.
“There is a first time for everything. Now where are my first ten chapters?” Chad’s heavy New York accent filled my office.
“I can send you five. The other half are safely in my head.”
“You better tell your pretty damn little fingers to get to typing.”
“You know when you talk to me like that it only impedes my creativity,” I taunted him. We’ve played this game many times before.
“Please, honey, don’t play delicate female with me today. I’ve watched you tell off our CEO and I know you can write better in your sleep than most of the authors we have signed here, so go sell your sob story somewhere else.”
“If I didn’t know better, I would think you didn’t love me anymore.”
“Love you, yes, like you is another question.”
“I guess you won’t be finding yourself on my acknowledgment page.”
“You forget I’m the editor. I already have your glowing dedication to me written out.”
“This dedication is reserved for Peter.”
“My eyeballs are rolling into the back into my head and I’m retching in my wastebasket. How many have you dedicated to him?”
“All of them.” No one knew it was Peter. I said things like thank you for showing me how to love or let’s play out page 219 again. It was a good one. I got butterflies thinking about it.
“We all agree he’s a beautiful man and obviously inspirational judging by some of the scenes in your books, but listen, I make your work shine. Give a man some credit. And by man, I mean me.”
“I’ll think about giving you a shout-out on the dedication page . . . if you will give me another week.”
“Dang woman, you’re cold. And you drive a tough bargain.”
“Does that mean we have a deal?”
He hummed some ridiculous tune while he thought. “You have yourself a deal. But in one-hundred-sixty-eight hours you better be making me cry tears of joy, baby. Got it?”
“I promise it will be worth the wait.”
“I know it will be. Love you. Now get to work.”
This was good. I needed the motivation. I flexed my fingers before blasting my new favorite artist, Logic. His lyrics evoked the kind of grit I needed for the next few scenes. Mrs. Black wasn’t going to be backing down anytime soon and Laine and Hunter’s complicated relationship was about to undone, hanging only by a few tattered threads. I hated to inflict the pain on them. But I knew they had to go through it; it was the only way. Out of the pain the truth would be revealed, and then they would be free to choose each other. And I was sure they would, because I got to script it out. Real life was never that easy.
I pulled up my manuscript. I had left off with a zinger from Laine.
Mrs. Black’s ice blue eyes narrowed into slits akin to a snake. She was ready to strike back with her weapon of choice, her venomous tongue. Laine, for once, stood her ground where Mrs. Black was concerned. After her last conversation with Hunter, Laine had her epiphany. If she and Hunter were meant to be together, then no one, not even his mother, would be able to come between them. She knew if she didn’t take a stand now she would lose everything, including Hunter and herself. Never again would she lose herself to anyone, not even the man she loved.
“Say what you want about me, but this I know, never will a Black come forth from your womb. We don’t do recycled material. One man’s trash will never be Hunter’s treasure.”
With great effort, Laine made sure not to react to Mrs. Black’s implied meaning behind recycled. The truth behind the rumor was too precious and worth a million times more than her wounded feelings, so she let it slide. Instead, she gave her a sardonic grin. “Tell me, who is of more worth, the woman sought by many or the woman scorned?”
Red engulfed Mrs. Black’s botoxed and collagen-filled face like a prairie wildfire. “Exactly what are you accusing my late husband of?”
“I didn’t mention him. Funny, though, how you were quick to assume I was speaking of you.”
“Don’t pretend you know anything about my marriage.”
“I don’t have to pretend. I know.”
I sat back in my chair, pleased. Another chapter down, and what an emotional ride it was. I turned down my music and did some meditation breathing while plotting out the next scene in my head. I knew where I wanted it to go but needed to fine-tune it. Hunter and Laine swirled in my brain. Hunter argued that he was ready to know Laine’s secret. Laine countered the argument, and I agreed. I let them go back and forth until we all came to an agreement.
Chapter seven began with Hunter and Laine at their usual place, the Burger Shack, for their standing dinner night that they’d kept for years, no matter who they were dating or where they were in their lives. Even when the tension between them was strung like a tight wire, they each clung to the hope that they could keep their friendship, though they both longed for so much more. Dinners together every night in their own home was their ultimate desire.
The words flowed on the page until I heard the garage door below me open late that evening. I’d lost track of time. My grumbling stomach and full bladder weren’t all that pleased with me. I saved my work and headed for Peter. My body could wait a little longer.
Peter came in bearing some of my favorite smells—him and Thai food. Fridays, when it wasn’t high school football season, were our takeout movie nights. Tonight was my night to pick the food and his turn to pick the movie, which meant a biography or comedy. I usually chose a documentary or foreign film. No romances here. Why watch it when I could live it?
As soon as Peter set the food on the island, I threw my arms around him and my lips told his how much they had missed them. “Thanks for picking up dinner. How was your day?” I asked when we took a breath.
He tilted his head and studied me for a moment. “Interesting?”
“How so?”
He took my hand and led me upstairs. “I’ll tell you while I clean up.”
I sat on the bathroom counter anxious to hear what Peter had to say. He was acting so mysterious, like he wasn’t sure how to tell me. He didn’t say much of anything until he was in the shower.
“Are you going to keep me in suspense?” I had to raise my voice to be heard above the running water.
He peeked his gorgeous head out. His hair was already wet and slicked back. He rubbed his lips together. “My mom . . .”
I may have groaned at the mention of you-know-who. But knowing his mother was involved, it explained why he was hesitant to talk about his day.
He gave me a sympathetic grin. “I know, I know, but believe me, this was unexpected.” His head popped back into the shower.
“What? Did she decide I was the best thing that ever happened to you?” I laughed to myself at the preposterous statement.
He didn’t answer right away, making my laughter die off quickly. His head poked back out and with it came a shrug. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but—”
“But what?”
He shook his head.
It was then I noticed the deer-in-the-headlight look he had.
“She brought James and me lunch and said she’d been thinking.”
I rested my hands on my leg
s and leaned forward, waiting for the punchline.
“More like my dad got her to thinking. He warned her they were on the brink of losing their children if they didn’t change how they approached us.”
“You mean her approach?”
“I’m sure that’s what he meant, but he’s a smart man.”
I nodded. I believed that about his father. “So, what does this all mean?”
Peter rinsed off and grabbed his towel to dry off. He exited with the towel wrapped around his lower half. His farmer’s tan had become more pronounced each day this past summer. His muscles too. He met me at the counter with a tentative smile.
I mussed his wet hair.
He took my left hand and kissed the palm of it before lingering on my bare ring finger. “I should buy you a wedding ring.”
“We’ve already had that discussion. I don’t need a ring and you’re avoiding the question.”
“No. I’m admiring my wife and thinking I’d like to revisit the ring discussion.”
“All right.” My fingertips brushed his stubbled, sun-kissed cheek. “But after you answer my question.”
“Honestly, baby, I’m not sure what it means. All I know is she was crying and saying all she’s ever wanted was the best for her children.”
“So not me.”
“She didn’t say that. She said . . . that maybe she hadn’t given you a fair chance.” Peter could hardly believe it himself by how hesitant he was to say it.
I jostled my head, stunned. “Are you sure it was your mother?”
“Positive.”
“Was she coming from the hospital where she had been treated for an aneurysm? Perhaps a stroke or amnesia?”
He laughed. “She seemed of sound mind.”
“I don’t think we should rule out alien abduction.”
He kissed me once. “It was her, I promise. Though I admit I was as surprised as you.”
“I’m more suspicious than anything.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “I can understand that, but she seemed sincere. And when I told her you didn’t feel comfortable coming to Sunday dinner anymore, she said she hoped you would reconsider.”
I felt Peter’s forehead. It felt a tad warm. “Maybe you have sun sickness and you hallucinated all of this.”
“I swear on our love, I’ve been lucid all day. James can back me up.”
I pursed my lips together. “Hmm.”
“I know it seems like an unlikely one-eighty, but I think Dad really put his foot down this time.”
“I got that feeling too when we talked today, but when has your mom ever listened to your dad, or anyone for that matter?”
“He still has his ice boat.” Peter grinned. “And there were times growing up when Dad took a stand. I remember once when James wanted a dog and Ma absolutely refused because she would be the one who ended up taking care of it. James begged and begged, even saved his own money mowing lawns. Ma still said no. Dad bought him a golden retriever puppy for Christmas that year.”
“What?” I leaned away, shocked and impressed at Joseph’s bold move.
“We had Cooper for five years until he got sick. I think Ma cried the most when we had to put him down, though she did it in private to save face.”
That sounded more like her. “I’m pretty sure if you had to ‘put me down’ she would throw a party and stomp on my grave. She’d probably even bring a swarm of nice single women from church to my funeral to comfort you.”
Peter stood between my legs and cupped my face in his hands. “She could bring ten thousand women and I wouldn’t notice one of them.”
“That’s good, because I would haunt you if you hooked up with someone at my funeral.”
“You already haunt my soul.” He kissed my forehead. His lips lingered.
I closed my eyes, wondering how I ever deserved someone like him.
“Do you think you have it in you to give Ma one more chance?” he whispered. “If you say no, I would completely understand.”
I breathed him in while I thought. How many times did you give someone a chance? Before Peter, my answer would have been zero. Cat and Ron taught me that attachments made you weak and self was most important. Look how easily they had forgotten their own daughter. They didn’t even call me daughter. I was a unit to them. Single and complete unless they were speaking to their esteemed colleagues, then I was a component of their lives. An achievement of theirs. Something to throw in the face of traditional and antiquated parenting.
Little did they know how incomplete I’d felt most of my life. How difficult it was to make and keep connections. How unprepared I was for love and loss. The struggle it had been to let Peter love me so fully and not fear it, but return it.
“My dad really enjoyed your time together today, by the way,” Peter interrupted my thoughts with more to think about. “He said you have a good eye. And that I have one too.”
“Are you trying to coax your wife?”
“No. I’m not even sure I want you to give her another chance.”
I leaned back. “You’re not?”
He brushed my hair back. “I don’t like the way she’s treated you. I know she’s better than that. She was the best mom growing up. I wish you could know the woman I know. And I wish she could see you the way I see you.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m probably going to regret this, but,” I held up one finger, “I will give Sunday dinner one more chance. But if one insult, even an underhanded one, rolls off her tongue, I’m leaving.”
“If that happens, I’ll be right behind you.”
I leaned my forehead against his. “I must love you.”
“I thank God for that every day.”
If there really was a God, I would thank him for Peter too.
Chapter Eleven
Peter held my hand as we drove to his parents’ home. I held tighter than I normally would. It was never fun to face someone who thought you could be selling drugs or your body. Okay, so I may have given her some fuel for the latter. Again, not my proudest moment, even if I got some pleasure out of it. Tonight was a test. Did Joseph have real influence over Sarah? And did having a relationship with her children mean more to her than being right? I was leaning toward no to both questions, but I hoped for Peter’s sake I was wrong.
To fill the nervous silence in the truck, Peter decided to share his day with me. He was always a bit hesitant to talk about church. “Today’s homily about grace was excellent. Father McKinley’s insights always inspire me to want to be a better person. He can take any scripture and relate it to the here and now. Maybe I should ask him to lunch. I’d love to talk to him about some of my own studies.”
I swallowed down my fears. “Do you miss it?”
Peter turned my way with a furrowed brow. “Miss what?”
“Your former occupation.”
He raised our clasped hands and kissed mine. “There are some aspects of it I will always miss, but the perks of my new gig make up for it.”
“Is that what I am?”
“Yes, and I’ve booked you for life.”
I squeezed his hand a little harder, hoping he always felt the tradeoff was worth it, trying not to worry that he missed his former calling. He tended to be more reflective on Sunday mornings before he left for Mass. His bible was his constant companion and he wrote page after page in a journal he kept while studying. I never read what he wrote, but I had a feeling he had several entries that would have made for beautiful homilies. I had seen him in action, having sneaked into Mass a few times while he was still a priest. I had no idea what he was talking about half the time, but he spoke with such eloquence and passion that it made me want to believe what he said was true.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I tried to be supportive.
“You know you’re always welcome to come with me.” He gave me a hopeful grin. He hadn’t asked me in a while. I was grateful for that. I hated disappointing him when I said no.
“Chad is having heartb
urn and breathing down my neck right now, but when I’m done with this first draft . . . I will.” I had worked all day, staring a lot at my screen. I knew what I wanted to happen, but some days I couldn’t get it out of my brain. I barely got a page in.
Peter’s eyes grew wide. “You will?”
I had promised Father Alan I would give Mass another shot, but this time I would go into it with a better attitude. In a rare moment of being open, I happened to privately mention to him that attending Mass exacerbated my fears and guilt about Peter’s choice. He counseled that I look at it as an opportunity to grow with my husband, not as something that would tear us apart. There was some wisdom there, but religion was so foreign to me. And the concept of an all-powerful being was honestly frightening. But how would I ever really know unless I gave it my all?
I nodded reluctantly.
Peter’s smile filled his truck. “I would love that.”
I gave him an uneasy smile in return.
Before I knew it, we had arrived at what I liked to refer to as the yellow house of perpetual torment. Normally I was expected to bring a dish to share, but Peter always ended up eating most of it so I didn’t feel bad, which made me feel worse because I knew how awful it was. Avery and Sam always had some too because they were good people, but that made me feel horrible. So, this week I decided to stop the cycle of torture and show up empty-handed. I wondered what Sarah would have to say about that.
Sam, Reed, and Cody pulled up the same time we did. They looked about as tentative as us. But Reed was going the brown-nosing route with an extra-large bouquet of pale pink roses he held in one hand. He held Sam tight with the other. Cody was a smart kid and yelled, “Good luck,” while laughing before he ran in ahead of all of us. His cousins waited inside. Avery and James were always the first to arrive. Maybe that’s why Sarah loved Avery. Avery was eager to please and help in any way she could. I wasn’t unwilling to help in the kitchen; my help would be a hindrance. And I avoided Sarah like pop music.
Reed and Sam gave us commiserating smiles once we all landed on the sidewalk.
For a moment, I saw Hunter and Laine in Reed and Sam. After all, I did base Hunter’s physical characteristics on Reed, and Sam had the tenacity of Laine. I imagined a tense scene where Hunter and Laine visited Mrs. Black after finally figuring out how to be together. I could see Hunter bringing flowers to his mother and Laine wearing a grin of dread with a hint of I-don’t-care-what-anyone-thinks-I’m-happy-dammit. Sam did look thoroughly happy in Reed’s grasp.
The Secretive Wife (More Than a Wife Series Book 2) Page 9
