And he remembered. Their first anniversary. Angelina hurt and angry and—he realized now—embarrassed over sexy lingerie lying on the closet floor. Put that brilliant brain of yours to work for us, she’d said.
Nicholas laid aside the Bible and the half-eaten pizza slice. He licked sauce from his thumb and removed his cell phone from his pocket. He quickly programmed an alarm to ring at every hour with the message “Abide in my love.”
If this kind of reminder was what it took for him to stay present, stay aware, stay engaged with God and—hopefully—his wife, he’d submit to using it every day for the rest of his life.
He returned the phone to his pocket, then, it rang.
He checked the caller ID. “Hey, Julius. Any news?”
“Not yet. I need you to make a list of anyone else you met with at Gavin’s firm. Date, time of day, what you talked about, anything you can remember.”
“Can’t we ask them to check their scheduling records?”
“They’re not talking without a warrant. Gavin didn’t show yesterday or today—which I expected—so the place is in chaos. Document all you can. I plan to have the PI start tracking down things today. You good with that?”
“Yeah.” He thought of his wife. “Angie might not be. Julius, I don’t know how much money we have. I don’t know how much she’s willing to spend on my behalf.”
“I already spoke with her and got a yes. She wants to be cleared of suspicion asap, before her art show. I’ll touch base with you later today. Start that list.”
Nick ended the call. Angie’s art show. Honestly, if the detective who’d first interviewed him hadn’t brought up the event, Nick wouldn’t have remembered.
Dear God, I neglected and forgot and missed out on so many things that were important to my wife. How can I ever make them up to her?
The sorry-excuse-for-breakfast pizza slice caught his attention.
At once, he knew the first way he could show love to his wife.
***
Her husband was cooking dinner. She should have suspected he’d planned to do so, as earlier he’d borrowed her car and returned with groceries.
Now, the aroma of simmering, un-burned meat and vegetables drifted from the kitchen. Not once did a smoke alarm go off.
Show off.
As Angelina retrieved packing tape from the utility room, she considered flipping the kitchen breaker simply to mess with him, then decided against it. He might laugh and smile.
She’d have trouble keeping her resolve if he looked at her with his curly hair mussed, his dimple showing, and laughter in his eyes. She’d remember the good times between them, and she simply couldn’t risk that because she’d remembered them throughout the night as she’d dreamed of him.
The joy they’d shared at purchasing their home in Rowe City. In the title company’s parking lot, he’d actually picked her up and spun her around. He’d kissed her, and she’d felt like a heroine in a movie when the hero declares his love and the happily ever after begins.
The days they’d spent together in Gatlinburg right after she graduated from the art institute. Strolling the streets, playing minigolf, and perusing storefronts of wood crafts, candles, and quilts. She’d thought they’d found common interest in mission-style bedroom furniture and artist Bev Doolittle.
Their wedding night.
The way he looked at her when they first met; as if he were amazed and speechless and didn’t care he couldn’t put two words together. He’d smiled that disarming smile, laughed that slow chuckle, and said, “Hey.” Just “hey.” And they’d looked at each other for a long moment because neither of them had wanted to look away.
Nope. She couldn’t have that.
No smiles. No dimples. No laughing. No long looks.
She returned to the library where Laurie stood cleaning and categorizing books by author and edition.
“I could live in this room,” Laurie said. “The domed ceiling with wooden buttresses, the built-in shelves, the judge’s chambers treatment on the far wall. Your entire home is a study in design and architecture. The flow from room to room, the color palettes, the high-end finishes. You and Rita did a beyond amazing job with every detail.”
“Thank you.” But, oh, it hurt to be there, surrounded by shadows of memories that hadn’t happened.
“I really hope you get to keep this place. If you want to, that is. And maybe you won’t have to part with all of your lovely pieces.”
“Rita is sending someone to guide us through the cataloging process.”
“We’ll be glad she did. I’ve only done it once when I worked for a firm in Orlando before Pierce and I moved here. That task takes a careful and experienced eye.”
Until now, they’d worked together without small talk. Now, Angelina took a fortifying breath. “I want to apologize again for my outburst last evening.”
Laurie touched her hand. “You were hurting pretty badly. You still are. That kind of hurt can’t be held inside. No apology is necessary.”
Every negative thing she’d ever heard her father say about people of faith rushed through her mind. “I can’t figure you out.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You know I’m thinking about ending my marriage. I went completely off the deep end last night—in front of your toddler daughter, I might add—and stormed off like a crazy woman. Yet you’re talking to me the same way you did when you brought me chicken and dumplings. Why aren’t you wagging a finger at me? Condemning me?”
“I only wag my finger at my daughter. And maybe Pierce when he acts like a child.”
“And?”
“And what? What am I going to condemn you for? For being hurt? For wanting more from your marriage? For wanting to feel more loved than you have?”
“I didn’t think you’d look at it that way.”
“I had all those feelings back when Pierce turned away from me. So, what you’ll get from me are sympathy and a listening ear. And lots of oohs and ahhs over your stunning home. And I might shed a tear or ten over you having to part with your marvelous things. I’ll warn you—I don’t merely cry over Hallmark commercials. I cry if I drive past a Hallmark store. Don’t worry, tomorrow I’ll bring my own tissues.”
Angelina couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you for real? Sorry. I didn’t mean to be insulting.”
“I’m not insulted. Look, I know you’re still leery of me. But I think you’re leery of everyone. Am I right?”
She nodded.
“Here’s what you should know about me. I hurt when I see others hurting. Sometimes I absorb it too much, and God or Pierce, or both, have to remind me to keep my head on straight. Right now, God’s directed my path to intersect with yours. You’re hurting, so I hurt for you. If there is anything I can do for you, or share with you, or pray about for you to try to take away your pain, I’ll do it. Providing it’s not illegal or against Scripture. That’s what friends do.”
Were they becoming friends? With the exception of the days she’d spent with Kay so long ago, the weeks right after she asked God into her life, and a few other times at church functions in Birmingham, she’d felt alone for most of her life. She’d pretty much decided that was her lot in life. Could she be wrong about that?
“Is every woman at The Barn Church like you and Kay?”
“Some of them are. And some are like you, hesitant and on the fringe.”
Hesitant. Laurie had definitely pegged her with that one. On the fringe? She’d have to think about that.
She only knew she didn’t want Laurie to leave.
“Please stay for dinner,” Angelina said.
“Oh, I don’t have to. You’re paying me; you don’t have to feed me.”
“No, I mean please stay for dinner.”
Laurie lowered the book in her hands. “You don’t want to be alone with him, do you?”
“No. I don’t.”
Nicholas knocked on the door. “Ladies, supper’s done. Beef stew.”
S
he met Laurie’s gaze. “You want to eat in here?”
“You bet I do.”
***
Nick carried dirty bowls and spoons to the kitchen, then leaned against the counter.
All day, he’d given Angelina space. He hadn’t hovered, hadn’t touched her, hadn’t cornered her into speaking to him. Instead, he’d cleaned his office, talked twice with Julius and worked on his list, gone grocery shopping, and cooked supper.
The act of serving Angelina and Laurie—especially Angelina— knowing she ate what he’d prepared and had enjoyed it, that he’d nourished her, for lack of a better word, brought a sense of fulfillment and joy he didn’t remember having before. Giving her what she needed, even when she hadn’t asked, made him so happy he wondered how he’d lived without this particular satisfaction.
Today, you loved her like I love the church.
In the past, he’d missed thousands of opportunities to serve her. Now, the desire to love her in whatever way she wanted, give her whatever she wanted, expanded in his heart, filling a place he didn’t know had been empty and unused.
His cell chimed, an alarm marking the eight o’clock hour. Abide in my love.
What if for the next year, he made these two activities part of every day: Read, or study, or worship, or listen to a sermon—something to stay connected to God—and if she’d let him, do something intentional for his wife to show her how much he loved her?
How might he grow spiritually? Assuming Angie didn’t immediately file for divorce, how might his marriage change for the better?
“Nicholas, the stew was delicious.” Laurie entered the kitchen carrying her purse and donning a jacket. “I’m going home.”
“I’ll see you out.”
“All right.”
He watched her taillights disappear down the dark driveway.
“I’m leaving, too.” Angelina approached from behind.
“May I walk you to the carriage house?”
“Why?”
“It feels wrong not to.”
“I walked home last night by myself.”
“I know. It’s not about you being incapable, it’s about my priorities.”
“O-kay.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t try to make you talk to me like I have in the past.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Interesting you realize you’ve always done that. But I’m not the same person I used to be. You can’t make me talk if I don’t want to.” She pulled a flashlight from her pocket to light the way and proceeded out the front door.
He stayed a few steps behind. Dry leaves and pine needles stirred in a gentle breeze, and the gravel driveway crunched under their feet. Cicadas chirped in chorus.
Close by, an owl hooted. Angelina didn’t flinch, but he did. He was glad she didn’t see his reaction.
They rounded a corner through the pines and oaks, into the clearing holding the stables. A motion sensor utility light activated at their approach.
“The light was a smart choice,” Nicholas said.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been back there and couldn’t resist walking under the metal overhang and peeking into one of the stalls. It was clean, empty, and looked as if it had never been used.
“Where are your horses?” he asked.
“At the vet’s. I boarded them for the trip to Vegas for Rita’s wedding.”
“Of course you’d have had to do that.”
“I probably could’ve paid someone to come care for them here, but Godiva was about to foal again. I didn’t want her giving birth alone, not after having twins last time. The vet texted me on Sunday that she’d delivered.”
“Boy or girl?”
“A filly,” she said. “He sent me a picture. She’s gray now. She’ll be black, but with a blonde mane like her mama’s.”
“You always wanted one with that coloring.”
“Did I?”
“You mentioned it a couple of times.”
“I’m not keeping them.”
They reached the bottom of the steps.
“Because of my arrest? I’m sorry, Angie. I’m sorry you were questioned twice—Julius told me. I’ll do everything I can to clear us.”
“I don’t want them.” She paused. “I don’t love them like I thought I did.”
“What? Why?”
She looked off into the night. “I thought you weren’t going to make me talk to you.”
“Right.”
He had about ten seconds tops before she went up the stairs. Dear God, help me make the most of this moment. “I’d like to give you something.”
“We’ve been over this. I’ve never wanted gifts.”
“I know. I know. It’s not like that. Hear me out. I realized the times I brought you things you didn’t want, I let my, um, anger and frustration at you ruin the gesture. I never told you why I bought a specific item for you.”
“I know why. They were my consolation prizes for all the times you were gone, all the times you didn’t take me along.”
“No, that’s not necessarily true. A couple of times, maybe, although I’d have to really think back to each time to be certain. Mostly, I bought them because I’d see something and think of you. Your smile, your favorite color, something you said you’d always wanted. Like this.”
From his jacket pocket, he produced a small, carved wooden horse. Black with a blonde mane. She was perfectly proportioned, her head bent with a mischievous tilt.
“I saw her at the airport in Spain before flying home last week. From a local artisan, I presume. But she made me think of you, because, well, I remembered you saying you wanted one with these markings.”
She continued to avoid his gaze.
“Please take her. She’s for you.”
“Nicholas, this isn’t going to work. We aren’t going to work.”
“Thanks for letting me walk you here.”
“No argument? No plan and promise for how this time will be different?”
“I know you can’t believe you’ve gotten my attention this time, and you’ll have it from now on. I’m not going to try to talk you into moving back into the house tomorrow or even letting me kiss you. I only ask for one thing: Every night, let me walk you back here and accept the gifts I’ll have for you.”
He backed up. “Think about it. Just consider it. You can let me know tomorrow.”
He stopped. “And maybe go ahead, walk up the stairs and lock the door. I love you, Angelina. With everything I am. And I don’t want you to say it back to me unless you mean it forever.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She’d stayed up too late.
Angelia’s head pounded as she rolled away from morning’s light. She knew she should have gone to sleep after Nicholas left, but the desert painting had beckoned her.
She’d let the skyline be and had worked instead on the desert floor, adding rifts and dips in the sand. She’d spent almost an hour on a lizard she placed on a large rock, his multi-colored throat bulging as he gauged the threat of the coming storm.
She opened one eye and spied the painting. The colors needed time to settle. She’d have to let it sit, let it breathe for a couple of days before she added more layers.
Her cell phone chimed with a text. Would you like an omelet? – N
Ha. After all these years, the man was really going to make her breakfast? Call her picky, but she didn’t want burnt toast this morning.
She shouldn’t let herself think this way; how nice it would be to have someone prepare her breakfast. To not eat alone.
To smell something besides smoke in her kitchen.
Eating an omelet the man prepared couldn’t hurt her. And if—no, when—he changed back into the old Nick, she’d stay very far away, once and for all.
Be there in fifteen she texted back, then realized Laurie wouldn’t reach the house for an hour. Angelina wouldn’t only be near Nick, she’d be near him and alone with him.
Unless she carried the omelet to the library
and ate while she worked. That’s what she’d do.
She dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, pulled her hair back in a ponytail. She slipped into her sneakers by the door, grabbed her keys, and jogged to the main house.
She let herself in the front door. Inhaled deep, the scent of butter and bacon and yumminess coming from the kitchen. She went straight there, curious to see what else he’d made besides the omelet.
Pancakes. The omelets he’d placed on the warmer, while on the griddle, he flipped pancakes. He knew she loved pancakes. The jerk.
Two for two, she thought, remembering the figurine horse from last night as she watched the pancakes brown.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Hi.” She bit her lip against saying more, flexed her fingers against the desire to touch the damp curls at his collar. She knew, if she stepped closer, exactly what he’d smell like from a fresh shower.
She folded her arms. Turned away to set the table.
No, no, no. Danger, Will Robinson. He’ll only be this way for a day. Two at the most. If she started counting with Tuesday, the day he came home, he’d be back to his old ways by tonight.
Yep. When he walked her back to the carriage house tonight, the metamorphosis would begin.
The thought made her sad. She didn’t want to witness him changing back again. Then again, if Laurie saw it, too, she’d understand what Angelina had been up against all these years.
She watched him retrieve a tray from a large cabinet, arrange the food on plates like one might for a picture in a magazine. A glass of juice for each, and silverware. One place setting went onto the table, the other onto the tray.
“Enjoy.” He carried his breakfast from the room, leaving her alone with her growling stomach and a plate of delicious food.
She ate. Expecting at any moment he would return and request a certain response. The Nick she knew wouldn’t give her space. He’d smother her until he was assured she’d forgiven him for whatever offense, then slide back into whatever behavior had caused the conflict.
Abide With Me (The Barn Church Series Book 3) Page 19
