He nodded.
“Have you ever considered that she’s using the garden as an excuse to stay connected to you on a regular basis? I’m betting she has other excuses she uses in the winter, too.”
Lola had him there. During the spring and summer it was the garden. In the winter, Jessica worried about the water pipes freezing or the furnace maintenance. These were things he’d taken care of on his own when she’d lived with him, but he’d figured Jessica’s nagging was her way of looking out for her investment. Once the divorce was finalized, they’d planned to sell the house and split the profit. But maybe Lola was on to something. Granted, he’d been purposefully encouraging Jessica’s calls and texts by playing dumb when it came to maintaining their home, but he hadn’t thought about Jessica doing the same thing.
“She’s just worried about her investment in the house,” he said, still not convinced Jessica was trying to find different ways to see or talk with him. When she came to the house, she was usually distant and rigid, and never showed any signs of still being attracted to him.
“So she never leaves anything behind if she comes here?”
All the time. “Is this the point where you go back to minding your own business?” he asked, but softened the dickish comment with a smile.
“It probably should be, but I have one more question and then I promise I’ll drop the subject.”
“Okay. But I’m holding you to it.”
“When Jessica comes over, do you ever do anything…special for her? You know, like candles and wine. Maybe some flowers. Something romantic to let her know she’s still your wife and you want her to stay that way.”
He turned off the faucet and headed for the gate. “I never said I wanted to remain married.”
“Three and a half years is a long time to drag out a divorce. Why not just finish it so the two of you can move on with your lives.” She looked around the backyard. “You have good feng shui in your outdoor space. One way to apply that good energy to yourself is to let go of the past. Starting with the wedding ring you still wear.”
He fingered the back of the ring with his thumb. It had become so much a part of him, he sometimes forgot he even wore it.
When she met his gaze and he caught the excitement glittering in her eyes, he could have kicked himself in the ass. From the start, Lola had been all over him, eager to hear about his past exploits as a Navy SEAL. She was also a bit touchy feely. He’d chalked her interest in him and the casual touches as her just being young and outgoing. Now he questioned just how far her interest went. Because he didn’t want to lead her on, he decided to end her possible infatuation with him now.
“Look, you’re a great person. And I like working with you, but coworkers are all that we could ever be.”
Her eyes widened. “I…oh, my. This is embarrassing.”
He pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I never intended to embarrass you. I just wanted to set the record straight.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” she said. “Sorry, Dante, but you’re like…how old are you?”
He cleared his throat and blamed the high temperature for the heat creeping up his neck. “Forty.”
“That’s way too old for me. Besides, you’re more like a surrogate uncle to me. The idea of us being anything more than friends or coworkers is…gross,” she finished with a cringe. “Sorry. I mean you’re good looking and all. You know, I should just stop right here, huh?”
Relieved and not offended in the least, he chuckled. “Maybe.” But as he led her through the gate and toward the Camaro, he considered what she’d said before he’d stupidly assumed she had a crush on him. Maybe a woman’s perspective was what he needed. Jessica’s cousin, Shannon, was tightlipped when it came to anything having to do with his wife. Rachel…she was such a loose cannon and had major pregnancy brain, so that was a no-go. His family lived out of town, and he didn’t know his brother’s wife well enough to discuss his marital problems. As for his mom, with the onset of Alzheimer’s, he didn’t want to upset her. Besides, losing Sophia had wrecked his mom and the subject of his daughter and wife had become taboo with her. “You really think I should do something romantic for Jessica the next time she stops over?” he asked, hopeful.
A sly smile tilted the corner of Lola’s mouth and she arched a brow. “Do you really want a divorce?”
No. “I’d like to move on with my life.” If possible, with Jessica. He’d never wanted the divorce and was still in love with her. But did she still love him enough to move past the loss of their daughter and remember why they’d married in the first place?
“Then text her. Make up an excuse about the garden or a problem with the house, and tell her she needs to come over. When she does, hit her with some romance,” Lola said with a punch to her palm. “If she’s not into it, then maybe it’s time to finalize that divorce and bring good feng shui into not only your home, but into yourself.”
Hit Jessica with some romance. His wife didn’t have a romantic bone in her sexy body. But he had been in limbo since she’d left him. Or rather, since Sophia had been taken from their lives. He missed his child and would never forget her sweet smile, or those beautiful dark eyes or her chubby fingers and toes. His chest tightened. Jessica couldn’t forget, either, nor would he ever want her to. Too bad she’d forgotten their vows to each other.
In good times and in bad, they were supposed to be together.
Maybe he should hit her with some romance and remind her of how they were supposed to be—or could be—if she’d come back to him. Before he over thought it and changed his mind, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began typing.
Three and a half years had been too long without his wife. If she rejected his move to romance her, he’d force her to finally sign the damned divorce papers. Then he’d get all feng shui, or go into deep meditation.
Fuck that. He’d hit the Jack Daniels.
Chapter 2
“DID YOU BRING the shovel?”
Wayne looked from his wife to the two-year-old boy struggling in her arms. From the way Mr. Independent reached for the blue Thomas the Train sitting on the dated, linoleum kitchen floor, he had playing to do and no time for cuddling.
“It’s in the back of my pickup.”
“Garbage bags, too?” she asked, still forcing the child to stay on her hip.
“Yep. The heavy-duty black ones I bought on sale last week.” He pulled off his ball cap and set it on the dark green, laminate countertop. “Smells good,” he said, lifting the lid off the pot on the electric stove’s back burner. His mouth watered when he breathed in through his nose. His wife made a fine pot of spaghetti sauce. Only he wasn’t sure he had much of an appetite, not with what lay ahead of him tonight.
“I splurged and picked up Italian sausage, too.”
After replacing the lid, he faced her. “And it’s not even my birthday,” he said with a forced smile.
Dimples’s pretty blue eyes softened with sympathy. “I know you wanted to keep this one and I feel kinda bad about that.” She shifted the squirming child to her other hip. “But you’ll see. Soon enough we’ll have another.”
He looked to the boy who now shoved at his wife, making it clear he wanted out of her arms. With a sigh, he took the child from her and kissed the top of his blond head. He didn’t want another. He wanted this one. Out of all the kids, Mr. Independent had been his favorite. He not only resembled them, but he was smart and had a sweet temperament.
“Do you want your train?” he asked the boy.
Mr. Independent placed his chubby hands on either side of Wayne’s face. “Tickles,” the boy giggled, and rubbed his palms along his beard stubble.
“Tickles?” He grinned and loved the way the child’s blue eyes lit up with excitement. “Does this tickle, too?” he asked, and brushed his jaw along the crook of the boy’s neck.
Mr. Independent let out a squeal of laughter. When the boy calmed down, he gave him a big smile and said, “Again.”
“No more,” Dimples said, her tone censuring. “Wayne, you’re only making this harder on yourself.”
Knowing she was right, but hating to let the boy go, he set him down on the linoleum. The child immediately went for the train, scooped it up in his little hand, then ran into the living room.
While his wife set the table, he took a few steps, leaned around the corner and watched the boy play. Sadness filled his head and heart. Had it really been only two years ago since they’d brought him home? Damn, time had flown by. He could remember that first night the little guy had spent here. He’d only been about four months old and they’d placed him in his grandmother-in-law’s old bassinette at bedtime. They’d been waiting for him to wail something fierce, like the others had done. But the baby had taken his bottle, then slept throughout the night.
As he watched the boy, other memories emerged. The first time he rolled, his first tooth, the little army crawl across the shag carpet, the first time he started scaling the furniture. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He’d been alone with Mr. Independent that day and had known then what he knew now. He’d become too attached. Worried his wife would walk in and see the boy trying to walk at ten months, he’d kept sitting him back down and encouraging him to keep crawling. But Mr. Independent was a stubborn and determined little cuss. Once he’d started moving those legs, there’d been no stopping him.
Now he had to go.
The plates and silverware stopped clanking. He glanced over his shoulder when Dimples touched his arm. “Dinner ready?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said, staring at the boy. “C’mon, hon, it’ll be all right.”
That’s what you think. “You got another lined up?” he asked, and tried his best to keep the bitterness from his tone. He’d grown tired of giving up the boys, and moving from place to place was not only a pain in his rear, but keeping up the lies was plain exhausting.
Instead of answering, she moved past him and into the living room. “Elton, time for num-nums,” she told Mr. Independent in a sickly-sweet voice. She picked up the boy and carried him into the kitchen.
“I bring train,” Mr. Independent said, staring at his Thomas.
“Sure, sweetie,” she answered, and placed him in his highchair.
“I sit in big chair.” The boy pointed to the vacant chair across from him. “I sit there.”
“You’re not big enough yet,” Dimples said and, looking away from the child, gave Wayne an I told you so look.
He took his seat next to Mr. Independent and gave the boy’s head a quick rub. “Is Thomas gonna eat spaghetti, too?”
“And rolls,” the boy said.
He inwardly cringed. Damn it, the kid talked too well. The last few had been slow on the draw when it came to speaking. This one had caught on quick.
After Dimples placed a plastic plate of cut up spaghetti in front of the boy, she handed Wayne his dish, piled high with noodles, sauce and Italian sausage. She’d even made a nice salad to go along with the meal. Once she took a seat, she bowed her head.
“Dear Lord, thank you for this meal and for our little Elton. We pray that you will embrace him in your loving arms. Amen.”
“’Men,” the boy said, while he murmured the same.
“I went to the library today and printed off some job postings in the Chicago area,” Dimples said as she buttered her roll. “I’ll tell you, I’m looking forward to getting out of this town.”
He rather liked where they were living. Sure, the house they’d been renting for the past two years wasn’t the greatest and needed work, but it was cozy and homey. Plus, he liked working for the local builder.
“I’m sick of the other moms around here,” she continued. “They’re nothing but a bunch of gossips, telling me about so and so doing such and such, acting like their kids are better than everyone else’s.”
He poured ranch dressing on his salad. “You’re gonna run into that no matter where we live.”
“I suppose. Still, he’s gotta go and there’s no right way of explaining it.”
No. There wasn’t.
“Just yesterday, he pulled his diaper off and tried to climb up on the toilet.” She shook her head. “You know I don’t do potty training.”
No. She didn’t. Once the kids had moved on from diapers to underwear, or they could open up the pantry and find themselves a snack, she’d lost all interest in them. In some ways, he understood. His wife was a natural born nurturer. She loved babies, loved caring for them and was a good mother. But she didn’t like kids, and that was the crux of the problem.
He looked over to Mr. Independent. The child had spaghetti sauce all over his face and a couple small pieces of noodles on his cheek. The boy grinned. “Daddy eat ’pasgetti, too.”
His stomach turned and he lost interest in his meal. He’d come to love this one more than the others, and had foolishly hoped Dimples would change her mind about him. As much as he loved babies, too, he’d also have loved to watch his boy grow up, teach him how to throw a ball, ride a bike, about girls, how to shave. His stomach too nauseous to eat, he pushed the plate of spaghetti aside.
“Now, hon, you knew this day would come. It always does.” Dimples looked to the boy she’d raised for two years and gave him a smile. “Elton, tell your daddy you’re ready to go.”
“We go bye-bye,” the boy said, picking up a handful of spaghetti. “We go park and play.”
“No park,” she said, and used her napkin to wipe sauce off his nose. “It’s late and the park is closed. But heaven is always open to God’s children.”
Wayne’s skin crawled and, at the same time, anger settled in his chest. “Don’t have to be this way,” he said. “Why can’t we keep him and still get another? You used to talk about having a big family.”
She tossed her napkin on the table. “That was when I thought I could have a family.” Her eyes shimmered with tears. “Besides, bigger kids means bigger messes, and that includes money. We do fine when we have just one little one. Add on another mouth to feed and there goes our stash. We’d have to rent a bigger place and we’d still have to move.”
Dimples was right. With resentment clawing at his belly, he shoved his chair back, grabbed his plate and moved to the sink. The job he had as a carpenter for a local builder earned him around thirty-five thousand dollars a year, plus medical. He’d grown to like living in St. Joseph, Missouri, and didn’t want to leave. The place they rented was priced right. With their lease only four hundred and ninety-five dollars a month, and their utilities averaging around two hundred, they’d been able to save money.
Still. If they were going to have another baby in the house, they would have to move again.
Dimples’s chair scraped along the linoleum. Seconds later, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed along his back. Normally, he loved the feel of her ample curves against him, but not today. Not with what she wanted him to do tonight.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” she said, resting her chin on his upper arm. “But you promised me, remember? You promised to give us what we need.”
Six days after she’d flatlined while giving birth to their stillborn son and had awakened from a coma, she’d made him promise to give her more babies. Destroyed by losing the baby and nearly losing his Dimples, he would have agreed to just about anything to make her happy. Now her happiness had become his hell.
“I know I did,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice this time. If only he didn’t love her. If only he could bring himself to leave. But he couldn’t. What they’d done, they’d done together, and he preferred freedom over prison. “Does it have to happen tonight?”
“Yeah, with tomorrow being Friday and all, I think it’s best. You haven’t been in the bedroom yet. I’ve already done most of the packing, but would rather not finish it up with Elton getting in my hair. Plus we’re two days away from the end of the month. I just assume we put the rent money toward a new place.” She gave him a squeez
e. “So, what do you say? I was thinking right after you cash your paycheck, we could leave and head for Chicago. The jobs I found for you are better paying and—”
“Rent’s gonna be higher there. You’ll have to work for a while.” When they were between cities and kids, his wife would always pick up a full-time job to help earn extra money.
“About that…”
He turned in her arms. “You did find another.”
The dimples he loved dented her cheek as she sent him a big grin. “We’ll have to make a stop along the way.” She gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
He looked over the top of her head and caught Mr. Independent using his fingers to place the spaghetti on his spoon. Damn, the kid was cute.
His wife followed his gaze. “He’s been a joy and I’m grateful for having him in our lives, even if it was only for a short time.” She looked back at him. “Why don’t you head on out. I’ll take care of these dishes and get some more packing done before I go to bed.”
While she wiped the boy’s face and hands, then changed his diaper, he packed a few snacks and a sippy cup filled with milk. Deep-seated sadness had him moving slowly. He didn’t want the boy to go, and he didn’t want to move. Although he’d love another baby, he worried about the risk. They’d been careful and smart, but one slipup could land them in prison.
“Well,” she began, looking down at Mr. Independent, “you’ve been a good boy. Mama loves you very much.” She dropped to her knees and gave him a hug and kiss.
“Yove Mama, too,” the boy responded. “I go bye-bye with Daddy.”
“Yes, you are. Now be a good boy.” She stood and, still staring at the child, let out a sigh. Then she shrugged and moved toward the back bedrooms. “Call me on your drive home,” she said without a backward glance.
He lifted the boy into his arms, then carried him out to his Ford F-150. After he secured him in the car seat in the second row of the truck, he handed him his sippy cup. The boy grinned at him and immediately started drinking his milk.
Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) Page 4
