* * *
Saturday night Adam showered, shaved and doused himself with cologne, then went to pick up Chelsea. It felt weird to be walking up his own front walk as a suitor instead of a husband. He felt stupid ringing the doorbell rather than just walking in. He reminded himself that he had to earn the right to walk back in.
The door opened and there stood his wife, looking tantalizingly beautiful in a blue sundress and heels. Her hair, which she often wore pinned up when she was at work or out in the yard gardening, was down. The way he liked it. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he didn’t. That was another right he was going to have to earn back.
“You look good, Chels,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said primly. No smile.
It was going to be a long, uphill battle. He stood aside and let her pass, then watched the sway of her hips as she walked to the car. His wife had the cutest butt in the world.
“Hi, Dennis,” she called.
The predator next door was sitting on his front porch, reading a book. Probably for cover so he could watch Chelsea, too. Adam frowned as he opened the car door for her. “I don’t like that guy,” he muttered.
“He’s perfectly nice,” she said.
Yeah, he was being perfectly nice for a reason. The same reason Adam was on his best behavior. He walked around and got behind the wheel. “You know, he can’t be all that perfect. He’s divorced.”
“His wife left him,” Chelsea said.
“Well, that proves it. There must’ve been a reason.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when Adam realized he’d said the wrong thing. Next to him, Chelsea raised an eyebrow. “I know you had good reason to kick me out,” he said.
“I did.” She said it defensively, almost as if she was trying to convince both him and herself that she’d done the right thing.
Well, maybe she had. Maybe he’d needed a major wake-up call. “Thanks for going out with me tonight. I want to make this work.”
“So do I,” she said softly. “I’ve got an important reason.”
He got that. “We always said we’d never be like our parents, never split up.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “I know.”
At the restaurant the maître d’ led them to a quiet corner table covered with a snowy linen cloth and gleaming silver and crystal. A little candle added a romantic glow and the flowers in the vase were fresh. Schwangau was the fanciest restaurant in town, and it was the place to go if you wanted to impress a woman. Tonight Adam needed to do some serious impressing.
Their waiter appeared and asked if they’d like to start with drinks.
“Yes,” Adam, said and proceeded to order Chelsea’s favorite—champagne.
“No champagne for me,” she said.
Nothing to celebrate. This didn’t bode well. “Okay,” Adam said. “What would you like?”
“Lemonade.”
“I’ll take a Pilsner,” he told the waiter, who nodded and left. Now it was just the two of them and suddenly Adam didn’t know what to say. He tried to remember something, anything, from one of those books he’d read and drew a blank. So, instead, he pulled her present out of his pocket and slid it across the table. “Happy anniversary. I promise I’ll be on time next year.” Please, God, let there be a next year.
She smiled. It was the first one he’d seen since she kicked him out of the house. There was hope!
He held his breath as she picked up the package and unwrapped it, opened the jewel case and gave a little gasp. It reminded him of when they made love. How he wanted to hear that little gasp again.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. She took out the emerald necklace and held it up.
“I wanted to give you something special, to make up for...” Here he faltered.
Now the waiter was back with their drinks. Adam grabbed his and took a big gulp. After seven years of marriage he was back at square one, nervous and tongue-tied with a beautiful woman he wanted to impress.
She held the necklace out to him. “Help me put it on?”
He took it and came around to her side of the table. He pulled aside her hair, exposing her neck, and flashed on the image of doing the very same thing when they were in bed together, then kissing her neck. He wanted to do that now, but he clasped on the necklace and returned to his chair.
“Adam, did you mean all those things you said in that letter?” she asked.
“Of course I did.” He’d poured his heart into that letter. How could she even ask?
She lowered her head and studied the menu.
“I know I wasn’t perfect, but was I really that bad a husband?”
She looked over the menu at him. “Sometimes, yes.”
“But not all the time.”
“Not all the time,” she conceded. “Not at first.”
Now the pesky waiter was back again, needing to know what they wanted to eat. A restaurant was not the place to be when you were trying to have a serious talk with your wife.
They placed their orders, the waiter left and Adam said, “Okay, finish what you were saying.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear, but it was the only way they were going to settle this and get back to normal. The new normal, he reminded himself. The old normal hadn’t worked so well.
“Remember when we were first dating?” she asked.
What did that have to do with anything? He
nodded.
“You called all the time. You drove across the mountains in a snowstorm to see me at Christmas.”
“Because I wanted you.” He still did.
“And then you got me. But after a couple of years...” She shrugged.
“What?”
“You started taking me for granted. Like that fish in the rec room.”
“What?”
“The fish you caught in Mexico.”
“The marlin.” He’d had that baby mounted.
“I was like that marlin. You got me, and then you didn’t need to work anymore. I might as well have been hanging on the wall along with the fish.” In case he hadn’t gotten the symbolism, she added, “You’ve been taking me for granted, practically ignoring me. I want to be with someone who wants me all the time, not just some of the time, like when he’s after sex or needs something picked up from the cleaners.”
Ow. “Come on, Chels, I can’t have been that bad.”
“Yeah, you could.”
“What do you want—I shouldn’t work?”
Now she was beginning to look perturbed. “Of course not. You know that’s not what I’m saying.”
All right, yeah. Deep down he did.
“You do a lot of things that don’t include me.”
“So do you. You’ve got your book group....”
“That’s only once a month. You, on the other hand, have softball, fishing, poker.”
Was she going to make him give up poker night? Fishing? Well, okay, if that was what it took. At this point he’d give up anything. Hell, he’d cut off a leg. “Chels,” he began.
She raised a hand to silence him. “I’m not saying you have to give all that up. I get that you want to be with your friends and do your guy things. But what about doing something with me once in a while? How about doing more things with other couples?”
Okay, he could do that. “Sure. Have your friend Juliet and her husband over. I like Neil.”
“We don’t have to be together 24/7, but we could be a little more like when we were first married,” she added.
They used to do things all the time—going to dinner, to the movies, playing gin rummy on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
“You could take me fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“Yeah. Fishing. Why do you always have to go with
men?”
“You wouldn’t like it.” She’d be bored. She’d want to talk, and you didn’t talk when you were fishing.
Now she looked like she was going to cry.
“Okay, we can go fishing. We can find all kinds of stuff to do.”
She’d complained before that they didn’t spend enough time together. Whenever she did, he’d take her to a movie or out to dinner and then everything would be fine.
Until he relapsed. Somehow, he never noticed when he was slipping back into his bad habits. Not that he’d thought of his behavior as bad habits. Not that he’d really thought at all.
Now, taking a critical look at his life, he realized that when it came to his marriage, there was hardly anything he hadn’t taken for granted. He’d assumed Chelsea would care for the house and cook the meals on top of working, and that all he’d have to do was bring in the big bucks, mow the lawn and wash the car once in a while. She even paid the bills. She’d taken on that chore when they were first married and he’d happily let her. He hadn’t wanted to be bothered. He’d never thanked her for everything she did. Heck, he’d hardly noticed. And while she kept their household running smoothly, he played poker with the boys, fished and convinced clients to prescribe his company’s medications. And all the while, his marriage kept getting sicker.
“Adam, I love you.”
Relief washed over him. They were going to be okay.
“But I can’t go on like this. I won’t.”
He felt his heart stop. “I’ll change, I promise.”
“You need to, because I’m pregnant.”
“What?”
Great. Here was the damned waiter with their first course.
Adam felt like he was going to explode waiting for the man to go through the ritual of peppering their salads. Once he’d left, Adam asked the question that had been burning its way through his mind. “How can you be pregnant?”
Not the right words to say. Her eyes flashed. “How do you think?”
“I mean, but...” They’d been told they couldn’t have kids. The doctor had said...
“It’s a miracle, Adam, that’s what it is. And look at you. Instead of being thrilled to hear this, you’re acting like I just told you the world was coming to an end.” She threw down her napkin and stood.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Come on, Chels, don’t do that. We haven’t even eaten yet.”
“I’m not hungry anymore. You and your selfishness, you took away my appetite.”
With that, she ran from the restaurant.
How was she going to get home? He didn’t want her walking, not when she was pregnant. He threw down some bills and tore off after her.
She was already halfway down the street when he caught up with her. “Chels, come back and get in the car. I’ll take you home.”
“I don’t want to get in the car. I don’t want to be with you. Not after the way you just acted.” And to prove it, she kept walking.
“Cut me some slack. I was surprised, that’s all.”
“I can see it in your face—you’re not happy.”
“Of course I’m happy,” he insisted, walking along beside her. At least he would be once he’d adjusted to the idea. First he had to get past the panic. All this time, he’d thought they wouldn’t—couldn’t—have kids. He hadn’t worried about the future or put much of anything in savings. Suddenly, they were about to have another mouth to feed, a college education to pay for, maybe a wedding. It was overwhelming. And, unlike him, Chelsea’d had time to get used to the idea. “How far along are you?”
“Two months.”
“You’ve known for two months?”
“No. I found out when you were in Alaska.” She stopped right there in the middle of the sidewalk so she could put all her energy into glaring at him. “I was going to tell you on our anniversary.”
And he hadn’t come home. He’d not only forgotten their anniversary, he’d denied her the chance to share an important milestone in their lives. And now, his panicked surprise had been the final nail in his coffin.
“You are the most selfish man I know,” she said, and started walking again.
“Chels, come on. Let me drive you back to the house. You shouldn’t be walking all the way home. It’s not good for the baby.” Well, maybe it was. What did he know?
“The baby will be fine, and so will I. And we’ll both be better off without you.”
Would they end up with Dennis the Menace? No, not that. “Let’s talk about this.”
“I’m done talking and I’m done with you. And if you don’t quit following me, I’m going to call the police and have you arrested.”
Her words stopped him in his tracks. At dinner she’d told him she still loved him. She couldn’t mean what she’d just said. He started moving again. “You can’t do this, Chels. It’s not fair. You have to give me a chance.”
“I just did and you blew it.”
“Well, give me another.” He caught her arm, forcing her to stop.
She scowled at him.
“Let me take you home.”
“You’re not staying.”
He nodded. “I know.”
The ride home was a silent one. Chelsea was still steaming and he didn’t know what to say.
Back at the house she was out the car door before he could even come around and open it for her. He watched as she ran up the walk. There went the most important person in his life. How little he’d done to show her that she was. Why had he thought his marriage could run on autopilot? Hadn’t he learned anything from his folks?
As a kid he’d felt both confusion and frustration over the disintegration of their marriage. He’d hated it when they fought, hated seeing his mom in tears. Now his wife was in tears. Oh, boy.
He drove slowly away. If there was a romance novel that told a man how to deal with this kind of mess, he sure needed it. He had to find his way to a happy ending—and soon.
Chapter Thirteen
The more people who posted on the website Jonathan had set up for the reunion, the more panicked he became. It was June. The reunion was ten weeks away. He had ten weeks left in which to get buff. He was going to have to double his efforts. Work less, work out more.
At least the dance lessons were going well, he thought as he used one of the instruments of torture at the gym. Lately he’d been meeting Neil after five a couple of days a week. Neil wasn’t done with his shift at the Sweet Dreams warehouse and this wasn’t one of their regular days, but Jonathan figured he knew what he was doing now. He didn’t need babysitting. He increased the weights on the machine and got to it.
Did women have any idea how hard guys worked to get their attention? Almost everything a man did centered on winning a woman’s approval. The jocks showed off their moves on the football field or the basketball court, while the brains tried to impress with their smarts. Brain or brawn, all guys spent a fortune on dinners out, concert tickets or jewelry, whatever it took to get the women of their dreams. They did things they would never even consider in their saner moments, like joining a gym.
Oh, man, this was a killer. Maybe he shouldn’t have increased the weights so much. Push through, that was what Neil had said last time they were here. Okay, pushing through, pushing, pushing. Ow! What the heck? He stopped and rubbed his upper arm. Something had just gotten pushed too far. That couldn’t be good. He decided he’d had enough for the day.
Anyway, he had to go home and get cleaned up. He was due for another dance lesson at his sister’s that night. She’d offered dinner, as well, but he’d made an excuse to avoid that. She was trying to master the art of chili and he wasn’t sure he’d survive it. He wasn’t sure he’d survive the lesson, either. Tonight was East Coast swing, which Juliet had pr
omised would make him look like a rock star on the dance floor. She and Neil had given him a demonstration after he’d passed nightclub two-step with flying colors and she’d declared him ready for something new. It looked like fun, except with all those spins and twists and flips, it also looked incredibly hard. But, hey, being a rock star wasn’t all fun and games.
He played some Frisbee with Chica, ate a tuna sandwich and then showered and put on some cutoff jeans, along with his favorite T-shirt which said Real Men Play Chess.
Chica knew she was being abandoned and she wasn’t happy about it. “Don’t worry,” Jonathan told her. “Adam will be home pretty soon.”
Not that Adam was very good company these days. His date with Chelsea had been a disaster and, once more, she was refusing to take his calls, which made him sullen and antisocial. Actually, Jonathan didn’t mind the fact that Adam had taken to hanging out in his makeshift bedroom, watching movies on his computer. It beat having him camped like a thundercloud on the living room couch, making snide remarks as Jonathan practiced his dance steps.
This sour-lemon version of Adam was someone Jonathan hadn’t seen before. Normally the guy was fun to be with. He’d changed since Chelsea had kicked him out. Well, women did that to you. One minute you were happily boogying down the road of life. Then you met a girl, fell in love and you got detoured to Shit City where the sky was always gray.
Jonathan had visited there often enough, every time Lissa acquired a new boyfriend. Now he wanted to check out the real estate in someplace new. He hoped the dance lessons, among other things, would take him there.
A horrible smell greeted him as he walked into Juliet’s house, along with the shriek of a smoke detector. He remembered a joke Neil had made once: “Dinner’s ready when the smoke detector goes off.” Juliet hadn’t been pleased, and Jonathan had told him that wasn’t funny. Instead of apologizing, he’d gotten defensive. “Why don’t you eat dinner here every day for a couple of years and see how you like it?” Of course, Juliet had started to cry. Neil had apologized, and they’d kissed and made up. At the time Jonathan had thought he was a shit. But smelling this burned...whatever, Jonathan had to admit he’d probably get a little tired of bad cooking, too. He wondered if Juliet ever got tired of trying. And if she ever got tired of Neil.
Romance on Mountain View Road Page 16
