His heart lifted at the thought of coaching the kids. If he moved Tommy to second base and Jackson to the outfield, the team would have a better chance at this weekend’s game. They had a lot of work to do, but this group of boys was particularly ambitious. He liked working with kids who took the sport seriously.
With office hours officially over, he closed the door and sat down. Loosened his tie. He looked forward to the day when he could shuck the tie in favor of a polo shirt like the rest of the faculty. For almost six years he’d been doing whatever it took to give himself an edge, which, unluckily for him, included a dress shirt and tie—and entirely too many hours on boring committees.
A smile of satisfaction spread across his face as he recalled Crank’s confidence in him. Of course, there was a lot to be done, but this was the break he’d been waiting for. He wanted to share his news with someone. Kaitlyn’s face, full of disappointment and confusion, flashed before him. For the last few months, he’d shared so much with her despite knowing he was wading in where he had no right to go. A knot formed in his throat. Maybe he should call Marissa. She’d be happy for him, if a little detached.
He wiggled the mouse on his desk and brought his ancient computer to life. The inbox was already filled with new messages, but only one stood out.
PinkBunny91. Kaitlyn.
For the second time today, she marked her message urgent. The arrow hovered over the email. Open or delete? It wasn’t too late to tell her he didn’t mean what he said earlier. That he was spooked when she showed up at the office. She’d forgive him, and he could slink off after baseball practice tonight and patch things up between them.
He rubbed his head to dull the pain.
Letting her go was hard. Doing the right thing from here on out would be even harder. And the truth was, there would never be an easier time to break it off than now.
Colin ground his teeth and hit DELETE.
CHAPTER 4
Marissa
The buzz of my phone caused me to lurch. Normally I stashed it in my purse, never thinking about personal calls or emails or web surfing during the workday when my sole focus was serving our clients. But after the so-called urgent message this morning, I’d kept my phone close. I silenced it before the buzz could sound again.
“It’s a boy.” I digitally inserted an arrow to the pertinent appendage then framed the shot. A mixture of excitement and sadness pricked me every time I saw a new life on the ultrasound screen, especially those times the baby was near the same number of weeks as the one I’d lost so many years ago.
The young mother named Marjorie did little more than offer a feeble smile. “I had a feeling it was.” Her eyes turned watery. “My husband would’ve been excited.”
I handed her a tissue and waited for her to talk. Sometimes mothers in crisis just needed someone to listen. Marjorie seemed more private than most, but from previous conversations I gleaned that she’d lost her husband overseas, and her only blood relatives lived across the country. A tough fate for someone who hadn’t even reached twenty-one.
She dabbed her eyes, already devoid of makeup. “I’m sure he’s up there somewhere. I just wish he could see Li’l Jacob.”
“You’ve already chosen a name?”
For the first time, a true smile lit Marjorie’s face. “I’m naming him after my husband.”
I set the transducer probe aside and squeezed Marjorie’s hand before handing her a towel to wipe the goop off her stomach. “That’s a great way to remember him. I’m sure he’d be proud.” I clicked on the print icon and waited for the pictures. Once she had the gel cleaned off, I slowly pulled her upright and handed her the shots of Jacob.
“Thanks for everything.” Marjorie pulled her shirt over her protruding belly. “I don’t know what I’d have done without New Heights. It’s been scary.”
New Heights resided in a renovated, single-story home near downtown Elden Springs. The former living area served as a lobby, and the dining room was transformed into a boutique that stored a revolving stash of donated supplies for the mothers-to-be and babies. The bedrooms had become offices, one for me and one for Tristan, who also ran his private practice from a separate office with its own entrance out back.
“We’re always glad when we can help.” I opened the blinds to let in more light.
The ultrasound area was separated from my office by a privacy screen and was anything but clinical. Lacy tablecloths were draped across antique tables in front of large windows with matching coverings. The books on the nightstand and the vintage tray in front of the mirror on the table lent the room a bed-and-breakfast ambience—a peaceful quality that many young ladies desperately needed during such a high-anxiety time in their lives.
I’d done all of the decorating myself when Tristan and I opened New Heights shortly after I’d married Colin and decided I wasn’t cut out for nursing despite my degree. Instead, I’d become an ultrasound tech because the thought of working with expectant mothers made me happy.
Of course, the opening of New Heights was completed before I realized that for me, conceiving a child would not come as easily as it did for the women we served. Out of habit, I glanced at the calendar and noted the date before returning my attention to my client. “Have you been to all your doctor appointments?”
Marjorie shook her head. “I went to the first one and got prenatal vitamins.”
“Why didn’t you go back?” Purposely, I kept my voice just above a whisper, trying to keep out any hint of judgment.
“They did a … test … and I can’t go through that again. It felt so invasive.” She wrinkled her freckled nose.
“Oh, honey. No, no. They don’t do that every time. Just the first time, to make sure everything is okay. Unless you have other issues, you’ll probably only need to give a urine sample and listen to the baby’s heartbeat—that kind of thing.”
“Can I do that here?”
Our town only had a handful of doctors to choose from, and one was already semi-retired. From the stories I’d been told, most of them herded the women through like cattle—especially ones they deemed less than savory, which, sadly, was how many of our clients were viewed.
I patted her arm, rigid with stress. “Unfortunately, we can’t give you actual medical care. You need to see an OB or a midwife. In the end, you’ll be glad you did.”
She nodded without speaking.
We walked out to the lobby, and I handed her a pamphlet outlining the basics of what to expect at each month’s doctor visit. “Come back next month and you can tell me all about your doctor and what they’ve said. By then we should have some more maternity clothes in stock for you to choose from.”
“Hi, Marjorie.” Christina, our seriously underpaid third staff member, motioned the young mother over to the boutique. “Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
“Great! We have some cute boy blankets that came in this week. Come see.” Christina’s contagious smile reeled Marjorie over to the bay window and they began to chat.
Noting the empty pitcher of water, I swept it off the table in the lobby and refilled it in the kitchen.
When I came out, two young mothers-to-be who’d had earlier appointments for referrals stood at the breakfast bar, slathering their toasted bagels with cream cheese. Other than their soft chatter, the house was quiet. No more clients on the books until after lunch. I slid the phone from my pocket and swiped the screen, then clicked on the email icon.
“What’s happening?” Tristan’s voice jolted me from behind.
Quickly, I stepped away from him and pocketed the phone. “Just finished with Marjorie. She’s having a boy.” I infused my comment with the same enthusiasm I’d normally feel.
“I meant the phone.” He pointed to the bulge in my pocket.
“Just … stuff.” My answer would never suffice, but it bought me time to think of something less ridiculous than the truth—trying to follow my husband’s cyber trail.
Tristan’s eyebrow crept hig
her. “Stuff, huh?”
“You don’t need to know everything.” I forced a smile and hoped he bought into it.
“Got any appointments?”
“Not until one.”
“Walk with me.” He opened the front door, and I reluctantly left the safety of New Heights, where he’d never engage me in a personal conversation.
The phone buzzed in my pocket again. If Tristan would just let me be, I could satisfy my curiosity and get on with the day. I took off at a brisk pace and stepped around the weeds springing up through the cracked sidewalk. “Needed to stretch your legs, eh?”
“Something like that.” Tristan kept pace next to me, his presence comforting me like a porcupine.
I breathed in the fresh mountain air and pretended to enjoy the sunshine. Soon it would be too warm to take a midday jaunt. We passed a lawyer’s office and a dentist’s—both were also in renovated houses on our street. The faraway sound of children on a school playground permeated the air. Soon, we’d gone nearly a half mile without words cluttering the peace.
“What’s going on?”
I snorted. “You lulled me into a false sense of security. Nice.”
“I thought you said you knew all my tricks.”
“Must’ve forgotten that one.” I folded my arms against a sudden chill.
“Or you have a lot on your mind.” He slowed his pace and caused me to match it.
“Don’t use your psychologist’s voice on me. It won’t work.” I’d already decided to stop dragging Tristan into my personal issues with Colin. Over the years, I’d told him far more than was right, until I realized that I was only reinforcing the concerns he’d had before Colin and I married. That was the last thing I wanted. Tristan’s opinions meant far more to me than they should have. Plus, I was embarrassed that he was right.
“Did you forget who you’re talking to?” He shoulder-bumped me, which always came out a little stronger than he probably intended, since he was a full head taller than me and stronger than he gave himself credit for. Like other fortysomething bachelors, he spent entirely too much of his free time at the gym. Between that, occasional dating, and writing a book he didn’t think I knew about, he stayed pretty busy.
“I know, I know—you’ve known me longer than anyone else. Late-night pizza parties, scouring the courtyard fountains for coins, yada, yada.” I bumped him back. “Some things are personal, that’s all. It’s not affecting my work, so can we leave it at that? Please?”
He stopped and gently grasped my shoulders, turning me to face him. “I’m not trying to butt in.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Maybe I am, but I can see that something’s got you down.”
“It’s been a long week.” I stepped away from his touch.
“You’ve been acting differently for months now.”
“Then what took you so long to ask?” I challenged him before backing down. “Sorry. I really don’t mean to be punchy. It’s just not a good idea for me to spill my guts to you all the time. Know what I mean?”
“Isn’t that what friends are for?”
Normally, yes. But after Colin accused me of considering Tristan as more than a friend, it was dangerous ground. Not that Colin’s accusation had an ounce of truth to it. No attraction whatsoever existed between Tristan and me. On the other hand, what I had with Colin had burned through me like an inferno from the time I first saw him across the classroom laboratory minding his beakers.
If only that had lasted.
I resumed walking, not daring to look Tristan in the eye for fear he’d tease out everything in my head without me saying a word. He had a quality about him that elicited immediate trust, that made a person feel safe and understood.
It only took another eighth of a mile to cave. “I get the feeling Colin isn’t being totally honest with me.”
“Hmm.” The single syllable held the barest trace of judgment. Or perhaps it was my imagination.
“I found a way to forward his email to my phone.”
“I remember telling you that was a bad idea.”
“I can’t think of another way to … check on things.”
“Have you asked him?”
An honest conversation with my husband? Not in this lifetime. Hadn’t had one of those in years. But I refused to admit it out loud simply because it would make it real. Sometimes pretending was the only way to stem the loneliness.
“What’s that? I didn’t hear your answer.” He held a hand to his ear.
“Funny.” I inhaled the scent of bread from the bakery I frequented. “No, I haven’t asked him. What am I supposed to say, ‘Hey, got a hot date tonight?’”
“That might work.”
“Maybe in your world. Let’s face it, if someone isn’t being honest, confronting them isn’t going to suddenly make them see the light.”
“It might.”
We rounded the corner back onto our street. A breeze lifted my hair and gave me a momentary reprieve from my sulkiness. “You know how Colin is. He’s not a talker.” Anymore. Not like he used to be. We’d spent hours discussing books and movies and ideas, and more hours chatting aimlessly. We never ran out of things to say, until—
Not going there.
I shunned the sadness before it could take root.
“It’s worth a shot. Better than sneaking around and reading his messages behind his back.” Tristan bounded up the front steps. “One of you has to be honest,” he said before disappearing inside.
I winced. Tristan had a way of pegging me and calling me to account. Never mind that I was only trying to save my marriage—and my sanity.
Once again, I pulled the phone from my pocket and stepped into the shade of an oak tree. Swiped the screen and held my breath. Sure enough, the screen was illuminated with the moniker PinkBunny91. Subject line: “Urgent, Please Read.”
But when I pressed on the email, it had already been erased.
CHAPTER 5
Marissa
Pot roast, baby potatoes, and salad with homemade dressing—Colin’s favorite. The smell of dinner permeated the air, and I could only hope the meal stayed warm until we sat to eat. Every time the owl clock above the dining table ticked off another minute, my anxiety ratcheted up. I was like a nervous schoolgirl, peeping through the blinds at the sound of every car cruising by our house.
Waiting, hoping, praying.
When we first met back in college, I did roughly the same thing. Only back then I waited with excitement, knowing that he wanted to see me as much as I did him and that we had something special between us. A fire that couldn’t be quenched.
Until it was.
Now I waited in anxiousness, fairly certain that he probably hadn’t been where he said he was. No man spent that many hours at work and resisted every effort his wife ever made to drop by and see him. A stronger woman would follow him to find out. And yet, I didn’t have proof other than the barely detectible scent of perfume on his collar when I dared to give him a hug, which could’ve just as easily been my overactive imagination. Or the furtive glances my way before he answered text messages on his carefully guarded phone. Of course, there was PinkBunny91.
But more than anything, it was the sense of unease when we were together and the way we ran out of things to say beyond polite conversation. The way our once passionate kisses had disintegrated into air kisses and our hugs had become friendly. Just, friendly—unless it was one of the days highlighted on the calendar, like today.
This evening, things were going to change, and it was starting with pot roast. I’d even taken Tristan’s advice and deleted Colin’s email account from my phone. I needed to trust him until his infidelity—emotional or otherwise—was proven. If he maintained that he was faithful, I needed to rely on that.
Love believeth all things, or so I’d heard.
The growl of an engine roared outside. It sounded nothing like Colin’s Honda, but I couldn’t resist the urge to look. I scanned the street and watched the muscle car
from two doors down pull to a stop. Still no sign of Colin as the sun crept closer to the horizon.
This was silly. What I needed was something productive to keep my mind occupied. He’d be here anytime now since baseball practice ended at seven. He’d probably been held up by one of the parents, wanting to know why her son wasn’t the star of the team or some such nonsense. And Colin, in his patient way, would appease her and highlight all the great ways her son could still contribute.
He’d make a great father, if he ever got the chance.
One day we’d have children and life would get better. We would get better. My heart squeezed at the thought of holding a baby, the desire that always hummed inside me and leapt to the forefront whenever the subject came up. Which, let’s face it, happened fairly often in my line of work.
God’s got this, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time.
I wandered to the mirror in the hall and checked my face and hair. Before I pulled the roast out of the oven, I’d given myself an updo the way Colin liked it.
Finally, Colin’s car purred in the driveway. I hurried to the china hutch and grabbed the matches, lit the candles, and composed my nerves. Tonight would be the night we started to fix things and light the fire that brought us together. The embers still burned, somewhere.
The front door opened and closed with a soft click. Colin had yet to look across the cavernous living room to see the table set with the good china and stemware. Instead, he tossed his keys onto the side table and rubbed his forehead, eyes pinched.
“How was practice?” I shoved aside the possibility that he might have been somewhere else. My suspicions were my own. Unfounded and full of the doubts I had about myself. Slowly, I moved toward him.
He turned, taking in the candlelight and intimate place settings—next to one another instead of on opposite ends of the table—and the bottle of wine set out to breathe. Uncertainty flitted over his face as he glanced from me to the table. I could see his brain rapid-firing, trying to gauge what occasion he’d missed.
“It’s not our anniversary.” I infused my voice with playfulness, hoping to help him shed the weight of the day. “I just wanted to do something special for you.”
Shadows of Hope Page 3
