He chuckled. “Did you forget to feed my tropical fish?”
“No, I—”
“Did you wear high heels on my hardwood floors?”
“No, Evan.” She sat up and leaned back in her own seat. “I went to Gabriel’s show opening last night.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
He stared straight ahead, his gaze glued to the freeway. A small tic pulsed in his cheek.
She gripped the edges of the leather seat. “And then he came over for dinner.” There. She’d said it. It was out in the open, come what may. She could have just as easily not told him, but she couldn’t be certain Gram would keep her mouth shut. Plus she hated dishonesty.
Evan said nothing as he took the James Street exit into downtown. When they stopped at a red light, he said quietly, “That sounds cozy, Louisa.”
She forced a laugh and slid her hand over to his upper back, ruffling her fingers in the graying blond hair at his collar. “Yeah, leftover spaghetti is pretty romantic, isn’t it?” At least, it wouldn’t be with anyone besides Gabe.
He turned his head and squinted at her. “Leftovers, hmm? You didn’t share the same strand of noodle, did you? You know, each of you at opposite ends, nibbling your way toward each other?” Despite the teasing words, his tone vibrated with displeasure.
“No, we ate off our own plates.” They drove in silence a few moments, the smooth hum of the tires beneath them the only noise. “It was Gram’s idea. She needed someone to take her to the opening—she and Gabriel were always close.”
Evan harrumphed under his breath.
“Then afterward, Gram just kind of invited him over for dinner.” She left out the part about Gram staying behind at the gallery, leaving her and Gabe alone.
“I don’t like this, Louisa,” Evan said finally, pulling into the parking garage of the high-rise apartment building, his knuckles stark white against the black leather steering wheel.
Louisa couldn’t help grinning. “You’re jealous.”
“Of course I’m jealous,” he snapped, whipping into his reserved parking space. “Your ex-husband appears out of the blue, you slow dance with him at the wedding, you take forever in saying yes to my marriage proposal, and now you’re frolicking around town with the man and invite over for dinner.” He killed the engine of the Saab. “Damn right, I’m jealous.”
Neither of them moved to exit the car. Louisa bit back another grin. “First of all, you don’t know my ex-husband. He most definitely does not frolic. With anyone. Second of all, there’s no need to be jealous, Evan. Like I said, Gram was the one who insisted I take her to the opening and then invited him over. If I hadn’t gone with her, she would have made Mother go.”
Evan’s lips twitched. “That would have been interesting.”
“So please don’t worry about it. Okay?” She reached across the console and squeezed his knee.
After a moment, he clasped her hand.
They climbed out of the car, and Evan set the alarm, the high-pitched beep echoing against the cement walls of the parking garage. Over the roof of his car, he asked, “Do you plan to see him again?”
Louisa didn’t look at him, adjusting the strap of her purse across her shoulder. “I don’t plan to, but…”
“But you’re not ruling it out,” he said in a flat voice. He cursed under his breath as they walked toward the elevators. “I don’t know why you’d ever want to see him again, why you’d even let your grandmother talk you into going to that opening. It’s not even art, for Christ’s sake. Anyone can take a photograph. You just point and shoot.”
She frowned and bit her lip from blurting out that she found Gabe’s work beautiful and emotional. She didn’t dare tell Evan she couldn’t get the images out of her mind.
Evan pushed the button to signal the elevator. “That man put you through hell, Louisa. I should think you’d hate him. But for some reason, you seem to have a weakness for him. Your folks agree with me, you know.”
She frowned. What they all seemed to forget was that she used to be married to “that man.” She used to love him. Nothing Gabe could do would ever make her hate him. Even after last night, when she’d been so furious with him over that stupid whipped cream incident. Why couldn’t he have just kept his hands to himself?
The elevator doors opened, and they climbed inside. Evan pushed the button for his luxurious penthouse on the top floor. The car climbed smoothly upward. He stared straight ahead. She turned to say something, to appease him somehow, but his stony expression kept her silent.
He and Gabe couldn’t be more unlike each other. Evan’s hair was blond, Gabe’s was dark. Evan’s hair was straight, Gabe’s bordered on curly. Evan was stocky in build and had a constant battle with his weight which he was winning for the moment, whereas Gabe was lean and sleek as a panther.
But it wasn’t just their looks. Evan was extravagant, where Gabe was more practical. Evan was materialistic. Gabe couldn’t care less about material possessions. Evan had lots of money and lived for it. Gabe probably had lots of money now, too, but she would bet he lived no differently than before.
Evan flipped through his briefcase. He was so focused on status and prestige. She couldn’t blame him, really, having grown up poor and borderline nerdy. His professional success meant the world to him, which was why he was so excited about his foray into politics. Whether he became Seattle’s next mayor or not wasn’t the biggest issue. The status and notoriety the election would bring him was most important.
On the other hand, Gabe also grew up poor and under the worst kind of conditions, yet status and fame meant nothing to him. His focus had always been on other things, more personal things…like her. She closed her eyes and could almost feel Gabe’s mouth on hers, and her nipples actually tingled in response. He’d always been such an expert kisser, making even the most chaste peck on the lips a passionate experience. Whereas Evan—
Stop it!
“Let’s go away this weekend, Evan. Just you and me. Somewhere romantic.”
Evan shook his head. “I have too much catching up to do at work.”
She squeezed his arm. “Please. We could leave tomorrow morning and come back first thing Sunday. You’d have the rest of the day to work.” She raised pleading eyes to him. “For me? We can celebrate our engagement…” She waved her ringed hand in front of his face.
When he sighed, she knew she’d won.
“Where would you want to go?” he asked, with an almost resigned breath. They stepped off the elevators and he unlocked his front door.
“I was thinking we could drive over to the Olympic Peninsula,” she said. “Maybe have a picnic in the mountains or on the beach, then spend the night in one of those quaint bed and breakfasts in Port Townsend. Just a lazy, romantic getaway.”
By the time she climbed into a cab two hours later, headed for home, they had two first class seats waiting for them on a morning flight to Las Vegas.
****
Welcome home, newlyweds.
The bright banner hung across the garage of Sarah and Arty’s new home.
Sarah swallowed and dared not look at her husband as he pulled into the driveway. Several weeks ago, when Arty’s folks told them they could have this rental house, she was ecstatic. Her own home. Sure, it needed a lot of TLC, but it would be theirs to begin their married lives together.
Now, she could barely stand to look at it, let alone that banner. Newlyweds. That term implied wedded bliss and joy and passion. What a sham.
Arty put the car into park, then got out and strode toward the garage. With the briefest glance in her direction, he ripped the banner from its attachments. He flung it aside before heading back to the car.
He slammed the door and hit the remote for the garage. Watching the single door rise, Sarah said, “We should probably keep that banner.”
“Why?” Her husband’s tone was sharp.
“As a keepsake.”
They pulled into the garage. Arty popped the trunk and
circled to the back, squeezing by the boxes they had stacked along the walls. She climbed out and joined him behind the car.
“Why would you want a keepsake for something you’re clearly not happy about being—a newlywed?” He practically threw their suitcases out of the trunk.
Thank God, she hadn’t bothered buying any souvenirs from Fiji. They’d surely be broken from the careless way he handled the luggage. Of course, she couldn’t blame him for being pissed off. It wasn’t like they’d had a good time on their honeymoon.
She reached out to touch him, but he bent to pick up their heaviest suitcases, moving out of her reach. “Arty. Of course I’m happy about that.”
His golden eyes met hers. His anguish slammed into her like a tsunami. “Are you? You’ve been acting really weird for a couple of weeks now. I thought it was just cold feet, that you were stressed about the wedding and having to deal with my mother on a daily basis. But now I think it’s more than that. You wish you’d never married me, don’t you?”
“No!” She blinked. “I just—” She blinked again. “I just—”
“You just what, Sarah?”
She stared at the ground. He had tan lines across the tops of his feet from wearing flip-flops on the beach day in and day out. She barely had any color, having spent much of their vacation holed up in the room, crying.
When she didn’t answer, Arty stormed into the house.
Blinking back tears, she grabbed their carry-ons and followed him inside. Piles of wedding presents stacked in the living room, waiting to be opened. Sarah swallowed hard. She’d imagined her and Arty opening them after their honeymoon, oohing and aahing over their friends’ and families’ generosity. Now, she couldn’t care less about what they’d received. It all seemed so unimportant. All she wanted was for things to be how they were before she’d found out she was barren. Back then, she’d had so many hopes and dreams for the future, most of them revolving around having children.
She heard Arty banging things around in the back of the house. Back of the house. This place was tons bigger than the apartment she’d lived in for several years. Arty’s parents joked that they’d given them this four-bedroom house instead of one of their smaller rentals because they expected all the rooms to be filled with grandbabies very soon.
Sarah swallowed the sob threatening to bubble from her throat and forced herself down the hall, startled to find Arty in one of the spare bedrooms.
“What are you doing?” she asked, even though it was very obvious what he was doing.
He shoved clothes from his open suitcase into a chest of drawers. “I’m moving into this room until you decide you want to be married to me.”
“But—”
“Oh, come on, Sarah. It’s not like you’ll miss me sleeping next to you.”
She knew what he referred to and a flush swept over her body. They’d been married for almost a week, and they’d yet to consummate their marriage. She looked at the ceiling to keep from crying. You’d think she’d be cried out by now.
Arty made a snorting sound under his breath and shoved past her in the doorway. The front door slammed, then she heard the car back out of the garage.
Moving like a zombie, Sarah headed toward the master bedroom. Her bedroom now, apparently, not hers and Arty’s. She smelled the roses before opening the door. Rose petals, hundreds of them, covered the bed and floor. An envelope addressed to her in Arty’s handwriting was propped against the pillows. Obviously, he’d arranged this before they’d left for Fiji. Before this nightmarish marriage had begun.
With her heart in her throat, she read the card.
By the time you read this, we’ll be husband and wife. I can’t tell you how much I like the sound of that. You are my heart and my soul. I love you, Sarah, and can’t wait to spend the rest of my life showing you how much.
P.S. I think it’ll take a lot of practice to make babies. Perhaps we should start now???
Sarah fell to her knees and pressed her forehead against the edge of the mattress. Rose petals drifted to the floor, dotting her knees and feet.
How could she possibly tell him she wasn’t the woman he thought she was? How could she tell this wonderful man, who couldn’t wait to be a daddy, that she couldn’t bear his children?
****
The fans roared as the baseball arced high over left field, only to quiet into disappointed groans as the outfielder made a leaping catch at the wall to make the third out and end the sixth inning. The opposing team jogged toward the dugout as the Seattle Mariners headed into the outfield.
Gabe and Sarah sat in their seats in the upper level deck overlooking second base as Arty headed to the concession stand. Sarah turned her head in that direction, watching him go. She sighed.
Once Arty was out of hearing distance, Gabe asked, “You guys okay?”
Sarah turned to him, eyes innocent. “What do you mean?”
“It’s obvious you’re fighting.”
She worried her lower lip. “It’s…nothing. You know what it’s like when you’re first married and living together. You just…get on each other’s nerves a little.” She stared out over the crowd.
Gabe narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t completely buying her story, but wasn’t too worried. They’d been married just over a week. How bad could their problems be? “So, tell me about Louisa and Evan.”
Sarah blinked once, then turned to him, some of her good humor returning. “Geez Louise, you don’t beat around the bush, do you?” She sounded relieved to talk about something other than her and Arty. She stretched her legs out as far as the seating allowed. “What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you’re willing to tell me without betraying your friendship to Louisa. Do you like the guy, for starters?”
“You couldn’t have started with an easier question?”
Gabe’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s a tough question?”
“Evan’s an okay-enough guy, and he treats Louisa nice, but…Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I just never got over the idea of you two together.”
That made two of them. “Do you think she’s happy with him?”
Sarah shrugged. “Says she is, but you never know with her. She says she loves her job too, but…” She waved her hands in front of her face. “No, let’s not go there.”
Gabe watched a few plays of the game. He retracted his legs to make room for Arty who shuffled sideways between the rows of seats holding two plastic cups.
“Excuse me. Sorry. Oops. Sorry. Excuse me.” He rolled his eyes as he stopped in front of Gabe, as if to say, “Thank God, I made it,” and handed him a soda before sitting in the vacant seat between him and Sarah. Gabe noticed their bodies didn’t touch. He bit back a smirk. Newlywed arguments were so silly. She was probably mad at him for not putting his dirty socks in the hamper, or something equally banal.
He glanced at Sarah’s empty hands. “You’re not having anything, or is your old man too cheap to spring for another drink?”
Sarah’s lips pressed together. “I don’t have the stomach for anything tonight.” She touched her abdomen as if to soothe it.
A slow grin spread across Gabe’s face. “Do I predict a little Rhodes’ offspring in the not-so-distant future?”
Sarah straightened in her seat, and her neck and cheeks turned red.
Arty muttered something under his breath.
Sarah jumped to her feet. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” She practically sprinted down the row and up the steps.
Gabe watched her go. “What did I say?” he asked Arty.
A tic pulsed in Arty’s jaw. “Who knows? I don’t know what’s wrong with her lately. She’s about as prickly as a porcupine. I can’t say anything without her either crying or yelling at me. We barely spoke our entire honeymoon.”
This was completely unexpected. Arty and Sarah were the ideal couple. “Well, maybe she’s just overwhelmed with everything. You know, planning the wedding, moving to a new place, being married. She lived on her own for a lo
ng time, you know.”
Arty shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that simple. I think—” His lips thinned. “I think we made a big mistake.”
“Big mistake? In getting married?”
Arty nodded and his shoulders slumped, as if he had all the weight of the world on them.
“But you are great together.”
Arty shrugged. “I sure thought so. But as you know, sometimes that just isn’t enough.”
Gabe’s heart turned over at that. Wasn’t that the truth? But his and Louisa’s relationship had been dealt a tragic blow. He couldn’t imagine what was going on here. “There’s got to be some explanation for how she’s acting, something that has nothing to do with you.”
“I’ve been over and over it in my head, going over everything I’ve said or done in the last few weeks, trying to figure out what the hell happened to make her hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
Arty hissed a doubtful sound under his breath. “I’m even…wondering if there’s someone else.”
“No way. She’d never do that.”
Arty just shrugged. “She acts like she’s hiding something. But she won’t talk about it.”
Gabe didn’t know what else to say. This was unbelievable. He fully expected these two to be rocking in their rocking chairs side by side in their old age.
It was far into the next inning when Sarah returned, her eyes red and puffy, and her cheeks and collar of her shirt damp as if she’d just splashed water on her face. She seemed to go out of her way not to touch Arty as she sat.
Awkward silence stretched into the rest of the inning. Finally, Sarah sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “Gabe was asking me about Evan.” She didn’t look at Arty as she spoke to him.
Arty snorted and tossed back his head. “Payne.”
Gabe couldn’t help grinning, despite concern over his friends. “I take it you don’t like him?”
Arty made a face. “It’s not that. It’s just—”
“See, he can’t explain it either,” Sarah said.
“No, I can explain it,” said Arty. “It’s Evan’s political aspirations that concern me. I guess I don’t see Louisa in the role of politician’s wife. I mean, look at how she and mom have clashed over the years. Mom’s perfect in that role, but Louisa…I don’t know. I just don’t see it.”
Deliver the Moon Page 7
